Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
You just never know.
But it’s almost always fun to find out.
“Oooh!” I smile. Because I suddenly remember what the plan was yesterday and why I’m out here in the middle of nowhere.
I’m heading to my BFF’s house in Toledo where I will beg to sleep on her couch. It’s going to be so great to see Jacqueline again.
I’m already on the road when I look down at the gas gauge. “Shit.” I need some. I’m not even really sure where I’m at, but if you just drive long enough there’s always a gas station. I’ve got almost a quarter of a tank, fifty bucks left on my credit card, and gas is only two bucks a gallon these days, so I’m not worried. I definitely have enough cash to drive straight through to Toledo.
Sure enough, just a few miles up the road, there’s a highway with a gas station near the on-ramp. I’m humming a song as I pull in, pretty satisfied with my life right now. I’m on the verge of a new adventure. I can feel it. Things are gonna work out in Toledo. Even if I do have to babysit Jacqueline’s kids and sleep on her couch, it’s all good.
I use thirty bucks to fill the tank and then go inside the gas station to pee and wash my face. It’s crowded. And people are looking at me.
This is when I realize that I’m wearing my Halloween costume. Slutty schoolgirl.
I almost snort with the irony since the college I was partying at last night was Catholic.
But I ignore all the stares and just slip into the bathroom. I pee, then wash my hands and stare at the mirror. I screw up my face, still staring at the mirror.
On most mornings, after an all-night party, I would mostly be concentrating on how shitty I look. The bags under my eyes, the pale face, the messy hair—which has leaves in it. No wonder people were staring.
But on this day I’m focused on something else. Because someone has written a poem on the mirror.
I read it out loud:
“No cakes, or cookies, only Pie.
Moths and fireflies in the sky.
You must go back, you must relive,
Accept, and honor, and forgive.”
Wow. Someone had a good time last night. Then I snort and grab a paper towel.
But then… wait a minute.
I look back at the mirror and read the poem again, just as someone knocks loudly on the door. I just stare at it, confused, almost… dizzy.
I walk back over to the sink, lean my hands on it, and look at those words. Is it weird that my name is inside this poem?
It’s not, right?
Just a coincidence.
More pounding on the door. And I’m just about to open my mouth and shame them for doing that when I suddenly see an eight-year-old girl in my head, standing in that grungy hallway outside the bathroom door, crossing her legs because she needs to pee so bad, she might wet herself.
I go over to the door, throw it open, and just stare down at her. “How did you get here?”
She pushes past me and then closes the door behind her, shoving me out of the way.
How did I know that?
That was weird, right?
“Anyway.” I sigh, then straighten my girls out inside my red, leather bustier—“Ow.” Something is poking my boob.
I reach into my bustier and find a piece of paper. I pull it out, expecting it to be someone’s phone number, but I find a picture instead.
I stare at it, my head cocking to the side like a confused dog.
It’s a picture of me. It’s actually one of those photobooth things with a row of different poses and it’s been ripped in half. Like two people wanted to keep it, and this was the answer.
I’m sitting in some man’s lap and we’re… wow. I click my tongue. He’s super-hot and we’re kinda sexy. But what the hell am I wearing?
It looks like a prom dress. A very outdated, ugly prom dress.
I look down at myself, and nope. This is not adding up.
Then I hear a song on the gas station sound system. Joan Jett’s signature piece. And then, suddenly, a memory of last night flashes through my head.
Me and this guy. Dancing and kissing.
But… I glance up, scanning past a bulletin board on the opposite wall. Past the lost dogs and free kittens. Past the business cards for random services. That’s not what I did last night. I wasn’t wearing that dress, I didn’t meet that guy.
My gaze lands on a flyer. I reach across the aisle and snatch the piece of paper off the bulletin board. It’s that poem from the bathroom and it’s got another verse or whatever underneath.
Waking up is never smooth.
This time you get to choose.
Which direction, you will know,
Once you forgive, and love, and grow.