Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“I said maybe.”
“You said what?”
I scowl, but I don’t mean to. She licks her lips, wide-eyed and looking so sweet as she gives a half-hearted shrug. “Well, nobody else has asked m–”
I descend on her mouth, kissing her hard. Everyone else doesn’t matter. I’m always her date.
I give her bottom lip a little bite before pulling back. “I’ll get rid of Hawke,” I tell her, now that that’s settled. “You go get dressed. I’ll take you to school.”
She nods, smiling, and leaves through my door instead of the window. I almost follow her to see this secret entrance, but as soon as I move, I flinch again, feeling my wet pants.
Shower first.
The school day passes quicker than I expected. From the moment she leaves to get ready for class and I step into the shower, I can’t stop thinking about a playlist and what I would put on it for her. Dylan loves everything. She could dance to polka if her mood suited.
And then I think about all the CDs I burned for her or mixtapes I made her, because the cars her dad loved still had tape decks and CD changers.
I liked making those lists for her, but I made them because I wanted to be important to her. To give her something Kade never would, as if it would make her love me.
I don’t want to sink back into doing things for the wrong reasons.
So, I don’t do anything.
I don’t make her a playlist over the course of the day because it would feel like surrender.
Just like I don’t tell my brother how much I miss him.
And I keep my mouth shut around her at lunch, and how I’m starting to dread that her time here is halfway up. I don’t want to be away from her when she goes home.
I should tell them both all of that, because while being myself never got me what I wanted, I’m not happy being whoever I’ve been trying to be the past year, either.
By eight p.m., I cruise into the Falls, Dylan already at Helm’s Field with Farrow and everyone else. I pull up to where their cars are parked, same place as when we came to set off the fireworks, on the other side of the fence.
We could’ve sat in the Visitor’s section to watch the Pirates and Knights, both teams we hate, battle it out, but that would mean buying tickets, and no one here is giving their money to Shelburne Falls. At least until it’s our turn to play next week. We’ll be coming back here. Unfortunately, our field lacks all the amenities, like sufficient seating, concessions, and groundskeepers.
Farrow, Constin, and Calvin lean on the hood of Farrow’s car smoking and passing around a Thermos of something that’s probably not coffee, while others loiter around, various vehicles and motorcycles littering the area.
Circling the front of the car, I avoid the field, seeing players running in their uniforms out of the corner of my eye, and hearing the tackles, the whistles, and the cheers. The game should be over soon, but I don’t check the scoreboard.
Instead, I watch Dylan.
She walks over to me dressed in a crewneck pullover sweater with thick stripes, half tucked in to tight, ripped jeans. A brown leather belt with notches all the way to the buckle is wrapped tightly around her waist, and all I can think about are the images of everywhere my hands roamed this morning.
I sit on the hood of my car, leaning back against the windshield, and I meet her eyes as she stops next to my car. “Our parents are probably here,” I tell her.
Even Jared and Tate and Jax and Juliet always showed up to support us. My dad is probably standing on the sidelines with Kade’s coach. I wonder which side he’ll stand on next Friday.
“You’re allowed to go say hi,” I tell Dylan, smiling a little. “If you want.”
The prisoner exchange isn’t all that serious. I’m sure her parents would like to see her.
But she’s quiet for a moment. “It’s okay,” she says. “The space is actually nice.”
“For your dad or you?”
She gives me a look. “What do you know?”
I face the field again, finally glancing at the scoreboard. “Just what my dad fills me in on during our weekly chats.” And then I paraphrase for her. “‘Jared won’t let you race, and sometimes he has trouble using his emotion words.’” She snorts, and I keep going. “‘And you’re just biding your time until you graduate, and he no longer has a say in what you do.’”
She shakes her head, but amusement is written all over her face. “Pretty much.”
I get it, though—enjoying the space. No talking at least means no fighting.
But the truth is, we’ve had it pretty good. Loving, two-parent households, and none of us are on drugs. There are hills to climb once in a while, but I’ve never felt like I was on my own, and I don’t think Dylan has ever felt like that, either.