Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Because you wouldn’t have been able to fake it.
With a sigh, I sit on my bed and bite at a ragged nail. If he’d kissed me then, I’d have lost the tenuous hold I have on pretending I don’t want August in all ways. I’m not that good an actor. If he had just kissed me, I’d have yielded without pause. But he said it himself: It was for practice. And, no, August, that’s not what I want. I cannot kiss him in private while knowing that it isn’t real.
Shoving to my feet, I will myself to forget about kissing under false pretenses and focus on packing my stuff.
I have more clothes than I realized, and sorting through them is draining. Mainly because I have the urge to try on everything just to be sure I want it, and then end up depressed, as most of it looks dowdy and plain.
Why have I hidden myself away? I like clothes and pretty things. And it’s not about being able to afford them. Plenty of people on a small income manage to creatively dress themselves with style. It was about me feeling as though I shouldn’t be seen. Or perhaps it’s more not wanting to be seen. I’m not certain. What I do know is that I don’t like it. I need to find Me in all this mess.
Mood spiraling, I toss aside a pair of lumpy jeans that I never liked wearing. The door buzzer distracts me from my project. I shove on the first bottoms I find and hurry out to answer it. Earlier, I’d ordered a bunch of garment bags; hopefully they’re here now.
But it isn’t a delivery person on the other side. It’s much worse.
“What the hell?” I say as June and May take advantage of the open door and stride past me, twin expressions of murder on their faces, carry-on cases rolling behind them.
“‘What the hell,’ she says.” June snorts and crosses her arms over her chest.
“What the hell indeed,” May parrots. Her nostrils flair. “That’s our line, Pennywise McSneaky.”
I shut the door with a sigh. “I meant . . . Why are you—how—did you two get here? You’re supposed to be in school. On the East Coast.”
“Oh, she’s a funny one.” May puts her hands on her hips and taps her toe.
“It won’t save her,” June adds.
“Look.” I cross toward the living room. “Can we skip the Tweedledee act? I’m not in the mood.”
“Defensive too.”
“Guys!”
My outburst catches their attention.
June wrinkles her nose, but answers calmly. “We can attend classes online for a week. We traveled by plane. January paid for the tickets. As to why—”
“You’re freaking engaged to our brother—to August—and we have to hear about it on the freaking news!” May shouts in outrage. “I repeat. You’re engaged to August!”
“August!” June echoes.
“You keep saying his name like I don’t know who he is.”
June points a finger at me. “Don’t get cute, Pen.”
“You’ve never indicated even a passing interest in him,” May says. “Now you’re marrying him! August!”
“Yes, August,” I snap, then sag against the side of the sofa. “I know, I know. It’s . . . unexpected.”
“No shit, Shirley.”
Okay, I’ve . . . erred. I didn’t consider the fallout of our news, which is just plain sloppy—of both August and me. We should have planned for this. In my defense, I didn’t consider it would spread so fast— No. I just didn’t want to face my friends and lie.
“So what gives?” May flings her arms out in exasperation.
“I . . . ah . . .”
Sarah strides out into the living room with brows raised. Her sharp gaze darts around. “What is going on out here? Your yelling woke Edward!”
It’s clear May is about to tell my roommate to mind her business, but then May’s lips part in a gasp and she squeals. “Oh, my God! It’s that a real frog?” She all but leaps over to Sarah—and Edward, who is on her shoulder. “Oh, he is! Oh, isn’t he the cutest?”
Edward preens.
June joins them, making happy noises of appreciation. “Oh, look at his little hat. Isn’t it darling?”
Today, Edward is sporting a silver glitter cowboy hat. He looks appropriately jaunty.
Irritation dissipating in the face of my friends’ obvious love of Edward, Sarah beams like a proud mama and introduces them to her frog.
“He is adorable!”
“I want one!”
“You’d lose it in a week, May.”
“Would not.”
They bicker and gush over Edward, and I take the moment to text August an SOS.
Pen: Your sisters are here. HERE! They know! HALP!
He doesn’t answer. It’s not entirely unexpected. August warned me he’d have his phone silenced at various times throughout his working days. And it became a little . . . strained between us after the Incident. When he walked me to my bike last night, he reverted to the formality I’ve received from him our whole lives. Okay, not that formal. But echoes of it returned, and with it, a sense of awkward uncertainty. I responded in kind, determined not to push or cling. I’m the one who drew the boundary lines and this is a job of sorts, after all. If he’s busy with other things, then it’s his right.