Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Yup, I’m positive.” I go to the glossy cherry cabinets before pulling open the first door and peering inside only to find plates and bowls. I slide over to the next cabinet and try door number two only to find a stack of glasses.
Irritation bubbles up inside me. “Mom, where are the mugs?” How is this place supposed to feel like home when I don’t know where anything is? It’s like I’m a guest in someone else’s house, forced to live someone else’s life.
You know what?
I want my old one back. I want to go home and stop this farce. But that’s not possible. So I do the only thing I can and stuff all the sadness and frustration deep down inside where I can’t dwell on it.
“Next one over.” She points, oblivious to the misery swirling inside me.
I huff out a breath and pull open the cabinet only to find a row of neatly stacked mugs. I grab an oversized one, already able to tell that it’s going to be a shitty day. With my mug in hand, I pour a gigantic cup of coffee and dump two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into it before stirring. Today, I’m going to need all the help I can get. My eyelids flutter shut as I take my first sip and allow the java to course freely through my veins.
Better. Much better. If I’m lucky, it’ll be enough to help me survive Hawthorne Prep.
As I lift the mug to my lips for another sip, Austin strolls into the room wearing his navy blazer, crisp white button-down, and tan pants. His dark hair has been combed into an effortlessly messy style.
“Well, don’t you look all School Ties,” I can’t resist mocking.
“Huh?” He blinks as his forehead wrinkles in confusion, not getting the movie reference.
Our parents snicker before Mom says, “Let’s hope real life doesn’t echo cinematic expression.”
True that.
I search my brain for an updated reference he’ll understand. “You’re channeling Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl.”
Not thrilled with the comparison, he scowls his displeasure. I’m saved from a barbed rebuttal when Austin’s attention gets snagged by Mom flipping a fluffy pancake onto a plate next to the stove.
My brother stabs a finger at the three-stack tower already glistening with butter. “Please tell me that’s for me. I’m starving.”
“All yours,” she says with a smile.
“Awesome.” He grabs the plate and a fork from the drawer before settling at the table. We all stare silently as he plows through the hot cakes with record speed. It’s almost impressive the way he can demolish a plate of food in a matter of minutes. I’ve never witnessed anything like it. Somewhere out there is a food challenge circuit missing their crowned champion.
Once he pops the last bite into his mouth, he glances up. “Are there anymore? That didn’t even make a dent.”
With a strange mixture of amazement and disgust filling her face, Mom shakes her head. “How is it that you don’t weight three hundred pounds?”
Austin flashes a grin before patting his flat belly. “Fast metabolism.” It’s a rare bit of happiness from him that we’re dazzled with.
For a moment, it’s like everything is normal again.
“Well, you certainly didn’t inherit that gene from me,” she grumbles.
After my brother demolishes another plate of pancakes, we grab our backpacks and head to the front door.
“Wait a minute, I almost forgot,” Dad says, tossing a set of keys at us.
Austin snags them from the air before I have a chance. He smirks before opening his palm. I expect to see the keys to the Volvo with their familiar four-leaf clover key chain that my dad has had forever, but it’s not there.
My brother frowns before we both glance at our parents in confusion. “What are these?”
Huge smiles break out across their faces.
Dad shrugs, enjoying every moment of this surprise. “Beats me, maybe you should look out front.”
Austin and I stare at each other for all of two seconds before scrambling through the kitchen to the foyer. The slap of shoes striking the marble echoes throughout the house. When we reach the front door, Austin elbows me out of the way and flies through the entrance before skidding to a halt under the portico. I slam into the wide expanse of his back before peeking around him, trying to catch a glimpse of the surprise.
“Holy shit!” Austin exclaims, hands going to the sides of his head as if to keep it from exploding. “No way!”
There, in the middle of the brick drive, sits a shiny black Mercedes G-Class SUV.
I grin and wait for Mom to reprimand Austin for his language, but she ignores it.
“This is just a little thank you. We know that neither of you wanted to uproot your lives and move here. Hopefully, a brand-new set of wheels to share will make everything a little easier to contend with.”