Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir. Can’t say I miss the smell in the junior dorm. The senior building is a rose garden compared to last year’s rooms.” Silas is basically catnip for parents, way too good at the small talk.
Dad chuckles. “We put a fresh coat of paint in over the summer.”
“Get in some fishing during the break, sir?”
“Not as much as I’d have liked.”
They chat about fishing for a bit, my dad thrilled to have another dude with whom to discuss the boring topics his daughters don’t give a shit about. And despite the drunk driving incident that landed Silas at Sandover, he’s never been in trouble, so I guess that’s why Dad has a soft spot for him. Figures he’s a good influence on me.
Dad tolerated Duke. Barely. We were at each other’s throats for weeks when I first got together with Duke, until I finally made my dad realize it was better to know who I’m spending time with, and let it happen where he can mostly keep an eye on us, than have me sneaking around behind his back with random strangers. I’m not sure Dad appreciated the ultimatum, but he came around to the idea. He still hated Duke’s guts, though.
“The trout were a bit smaller than—”
“Cool, thanks, Dad,” I interrupt. “He doesn’t want to hear about your trout.”
Silas is too polite to rescue himself, so I grab him by the arm and pull him toward the staircase. Dad skulks around at the foot of the stairs for a moment before retreating to the den. And in about ten minutes, he’ll casually walk past my bedroom door and pretend not to eavesdrop, and I’ll pretend not to know. It’s practically a routine now.
“So…” We plop down on the bed and I turn on the TV to give us some noise protection. “You’re back.”
“Afraid so.”
“And how was the Vineyard?”
He rolls his eyes at the way I emphasize the word. I can’t help giving him some shit over being a hoity little nerd, running around the island in polos and Sperrys like a preppy golfcart mafia. Silas is obnoxiously close with his perfect Full House family, who spend their summers boating and hosting lobster boils. It’s adorable and disgusting.
“It was good.”
I study his face, noting the reddish tinge to it. “Did you actually get a tan?”
“My sisters let me fall asleep on the floating dock,” he grumbles, “and I woke up looking like human jerky. Last week was my molting season.”
“Poor baby.” I do feel bad for him. Silas can get a sunburn just sitting too close to a window. “Have you seen Amy yet?” I ask.
He hesitates, a response I’ve noticed more often lately. He and Amy have been together since freshman year when they both started at Ballard Academy, where we all met. He’d never say it himself, but I’ve started to wonder if he isn’t still with her out of habit more than interest.
“She doesn’t get in until later. We’ll probably meet up over the weekend.”
“How’s that going?”
“Yeah, good.”
I stay quiet, letting him try convincing himself first. When it doesn’t take, he shrugs.
“She wanted to come out to Martha’s Vineyard but her parents wouldn’t let her. They were on her grandparents’ ranch for a big family reunion or something. She didn’t take it well,” he admits.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to wake up married to her.”
“Why do you do that?” A sigh punctuates his frustration as he sits up.
“What?”
“You know what. You’re always picking at things.”
“How?” I try not to laugh when he scowls at me, and fail miserably. “I’m just saying, if you’re not going to stick your oar in the water, you’re at the mercy of the current.”
“Yeah, and how’s things with, oh, wait, you don’t have a boyfriend. Because you’re off self-centered douchebags with hyperinflated egos this week, right?”
“Touché, dickwad.”
Silas smothers a grin. “How was Colorado?”
“Ugh. Nightmare. We get there and find out my aunt just got dumped by her boyfriend, so I spent six weeks on her rollercoaster of grief. I ate three gallons of mint chocolate chip and had eight pedicures, Silas. Do you understand me? More people have touched my toes than a truck stop gas pump.”
He snickers loudly. “Seems like there’s a side hustle in a combination of those interests somewhere.”
I swipe him over the head with a throw pillow. He bats it away.
“What?” he laughs. “Just, you know, if you need money for running shoes or whatever.”
“Speaking of running, actually. I was on the trail today and ran into one of your strays.”
“My strays?”
“Looked like a senior. Some guy named RJ.”
He nods with recognition. “Yeah, I met him during move-in. That’s Fenn’s new stepbrother.”
My jaw drops. “Oh, shit. I forgot about the whirlwind wedding. But you didn’t tell me he was coming here. What’d he do?”
It’s the first question everyone asks. What heinous affront to civil order did the new kid commit to be remanded to this ivory penitentiary? For the guys, it’s their way of sizing each other up and finding their position in the power structure. For me, it’s mostly curiosity and so that I know who to steer clear from.