Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Oh. Yeah. Okay, whatever. Where’s the degree?”
“Decree,” I emphasize. “Do you have a notebook or a diary or something?”
“A diary?” he questions. “That’s fluffing girl stuff.”
“Whatever.” I sigh. “I have my diary in my backpack.”
“You have a diary?” His brown eyes are huge as he looks at me. “Does it have a bunch of crap in it about girl stuff and sleepovers and, like, tampoons or something?”
“Tam-poons?” I question in confusion. “What in the heck is that?”
“I don’t know. My dad always says they’re a woman thing when we get them for my mom. I think you have to shove them in your butt when you’re a woman.”
“Shove them in my butt?” My mouth is wide open. “Ew. Gross. I’m not doing that.”
“Good idea, Lia,” he says, nodding with very serious eyes. “I wouldn’t want to shove anything in my butt either.”
I’m definitely going to have to ask my mom when I get home if she shoves tampoons in her butt too. But right now, I need to focus on the important stuff. Like marrying Ace when I’m twenty-five.
I pull the pink bound notebook out of my backpack, flip to the last page, and scribble down the rules.
Ace and Julia get married at 25 years old. No matter what.
It’s a little sloppy, but my handwriting is getting better at least. I write my name at the bottom, J U L I A, and hand the notebook to Ace to do the same. “Sign your name at the bottom. That’s your decree.”
He has to concentrate to hold the pencil right, and I roll my eyes at how stupid he thinks school and writing are. His Hulk rests on the floor at his knee, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth as he spells aloud. “A-C-E, right?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Julia!” my mom calls, just as Ace puts the pencil to the paper. “Come on, honey, let’s go! Daddy’s double-parked downstairs!”
“Coming!” I yell back, jumping to my feet and hovering over Ace.
It takes him a while to put his letters together still, and I know I need to get moving. “You write your name and then keep the notebook somewhere safe, okay? Then we’ll have our official decree.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Ace Tobias Kelly!” Ace’s mom is now yelling for him too.
“I’ll write my name, Lia. Promise.”
“Okay, good.” I lean down and push a kiss into his cheek quick, grab my backpack, and take off down the hall.
Ace Kelly is my best friend, and when we turn twenty-five, he’ll be my husband.
As weird as it’ll be to be old, I can’t wait.
Over eleven years later…
Friday, June 6th
Julia
Oh. My. God. He killed Luna.
“Of all the irresponsible, unforgivable, unbelievable things my best friend could…” I whisper to myself as I walk across my bedroom at my parents’ house in Short Hills, New Jersey, drop my overnight bag, and come to a screeching stop near my window. My hands shake and my exhale stutters.
Ace Kelly straight up murdered my plant, and the carnage of the crime scene is laid out like an episode of CSI right in front of me.
“Luna?” I whisper, staring in horror at the limp, drooping leaves of my once-thriving peace lily. She looks like she gave up on life a few days ago, which, incidentally, is exactly when I left her in Ace’s care. I step closer and inspect the butchery. The soil is soggy and drenched, like Ace tried to water her with the tears of every woman in the city who’s had to deal with the aftermath of dating an emotionally unavailable man, and you and I both know, that means Flood City.
I explicitly told him, “Only a little water every day. She’s very particular and only likes to be misted,” and he straight up waterboarded her like he was trying to get state secrets.
Oh boy, did she ever break.
My poor Luna. She’s been my go-to gal since I started my freshman year at Dickson University last fall. She was my study buddy for midterms and finals. She was my emotional support plant during Scottie’s tragic cheerleading injury. And when I had to move out of the dorms in May, I brought her home to my parents’ house, my intention to spend the rest of my college career with her.
And now, she’s dead.
Damn you, Ace Kelly, you direction-avoidant moron.
I yank my phone out of the Chanel purse Ace’s mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday and send a text to the offender himself, the heat of my anger shooting from my chest to my fingers. It’d probably be more dramatic if I called, but my generation doesn’t do that.
Me: Where are you?
Because of my innocuous words, he misses the angry text memo.
Ace: Damn Jules thank fuck you’re finally home from the Catskills feels like you’ve been gone forever but good news already omw to your parents’ place