Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Matthew!” My mom scolds, looking around the room. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”
Molly, the blabbermouth, steps forward. “Oh, I’ll tell you all right. I had Cece send him one innocent email on my behalf, and suddenly he won’t leave her alone. He is driving her nuts.”
“She said that?” My mom whispers, looking absolutely horrified. The kind of look one might have if they found out their child was a serial killer. A bit over dramatic but… there you have it.
“Hello,” Molly says sarcastically, holding up her fingers and begins ticking off my many offenses. “First he emails her back incessantly after she sends him one measly note. He even freaking emailed her at a bar from across the freaking room. Cece sooo doesn’t have time for his B.S mom!” Molly holds a second finger perched in the air, and now pokes at a third. “Secondly, Matthew gets her number from this one,” she pokes Weston in the chest. “Thirdly, now in addition to emailing, he’s also texting her. I can’t take it anymore!”
“Man Wakefield, I knew you were hard up, but I didn’t think you were desperate.” Weston laughs, and my sister has enough loyalty to smack him in the arm.
My dad shoots him a stern look – he is clearly not as amused as the rest of us as he stands, arms folded in the corner even as he sips from the long neck of his Pale Ale bottle.
Weston swallows guiltily, and clears his throat. “Uh, sorry, sir.”
Dad nods and points at me with the hand holding his beer bottle. “Son, maybe Weston has a point. Are you, in fact, stalking her?”
Defensively, I say “No goddamn it, I am not stalking her.”
Molly starts fake coughing like a twelve year old boy. “Lies.”
“Is anyone even going to let me defend myself?” I begrudgingly ask – and I’ll admit, it kind of sounds like I’m pouting. There’s a lot of silence that fills the room, and this is the moment my dad choses to bite down on a carrot that was laying on the counter.
His loud crunching is the only noise, until my mom says, “Sweetie, maybe you should just leave Cecelia be,” Mom says gently, patting my arm. “Besides, I don’t think you’re her type.”
Agitated, I shout, “Jesus Christ, I am not bothering her! And what the hell do you mean I’m not her type? I’m everyone’s type!” I shoot Molly a dirty look and slice my flat palm across my neck - the way I used to do when we were younger: a move that clearly says ‘I am going to murder you.’
Molly, completely unthreatened, shrugs, raises one brow and rolls her eyes at me. All at the same time. It’s an understated move she’s been perfecting for years - one that has always managed to completely piss me off. “Well, you haven’t exactly denied the cyber stalking now, have you?”
“Would you please. Shut. Up.” I glare at my sister, seriously wanting to duct tape her to a kitchen chair like I did one time when we were younger.
Okay, it was three times.
But all these accusations and crunching and eating are taking their toll.
Until…
“Well, I personally think you should send her an apology note,” Mom says in an attempt to be helpful, having moved to the sink to scrape the cream cheese from the taco tray down the garbage disposal. She slaps Weston’s hand away when he goes in with another chip.
“Mom, no!” Molly shouts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you insane? Seriously mother, that’s so counter-productive and not what I meant at all. He needs to stop. Period.”
I scratch my chin, which is stubbly from lack of shaving, pretend to mull the idea over, and snap my fingers. “Hmmm, the idea does have merit. Good thinking Mom.” The words come out slowly.
Weston, the big dope, just stands there silently shaking his head, even though his eyes are covertly meandering back and forth to the heap of cream cheese at the bottom of the sink.
“One last note and then you are done young man. Do you hear me? Then you leave that poor girl alone,” my mom lectures from the sink. She pokes at me with a wooden spoon. “I’m not kidding. If I hear any more about this I’m calling her myself to apologize on behalf of you.”
I grin. “Got it. One last note and I’m done. Thanks for the advice, Mom.”
Winking at my sister, I saunter out of the room, spring in my step.
* * *
Cecelia
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 19, 2014 at 11:32:12 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: One last note.
Hey. My mom is making me send you this letter. She said I have to leave you alone and not send you any more messages – you have Molly to thank - she ratted me out. I told everyone you liked me & that when you received this letter you’d most likely slip into a deep depression.