Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
His face was all hard angles, hair that was the darkest shade of brown possible that was always slightly in need of a cut, making the strands fall into his brilliant blue eyes, and these lips that were not prone to smiling, but they did every once in a while, sometimes even my way, stealing all the air out of my chest.
His voice was raspy, too. That was the only way to describe it, low and raspy, like he had a perpetual sore throat.
He worked a half dozen odd jobs and played with his bands on nights and weekends.
Which was where he was bringing us.
To one of his shows.
He was going to drop us at the strip mall a few minutes away because it was too early, let us shop and eat and hang out, then he would pick us up on his way in to set up.
I was excited.
To hang out with my friends, sure. There was even a really cool indie bookstore to check out.
But more so to spend time with Vance.
I wasn't stupid. Or naive. By any stretch of the words.
I knew he didn't see me that way, that all he saw when he looked at me was this giant, permanent-marker stain across my forehead that spelled out Jailbait.
I didn't stack up to the girls who could only be called groupies who came to his shows with their short skirts, bared midriffs, and low-cut tops, showing off boobs I might never have. Girls who gyrated their hips in a way that would give him all kinds of ideas. Girls who he would throw an arm around, then disappear with outside.
And not to discuss music or society or great spoken word artists like he did with me.
No.
For blowjobs or sex.
I knew how the world worked, how guys like him operated, how the girls would use their bodies to try to get their hooks in him.
Stupid girls, I couldn't help but think as I would watch it all go down. My aunts would have my head for even thinking something like that about my fellow women. But, really, it was stupid, y'know? He's not screwing you for your mind. Which is why he will forget you exist five minutes after your clothes are back on.
I was working the long game on Vance.
I already knew he liked how my mind worked, that he enjoyed my company, that he didn't just tolerate me because I was his little sister's friend, and he had to put up with me.
So I would bide my time.
I would let the other girls have him.
I would remind myself that it was all for the best, that he could get that out of his system with them while I aged up and became a possibility for him.
Then I would make my move.
Heck, Iggy was even in on it.
She would tell me all the time that she hoped I married Vance, so we could be actual sisters.
Which was why she was smuggling something really awesome for me to wear to school with her. I could change in the woods, let her do my makeup since she had an amazing hand at it even though she wasn't technically allowed to wear it, then we could all walk out to meet Vance.
I should have stayed in my jeans and long-sleeved tee.
I shouldn't have changed into the skintight black dress that cut too short on the hem.
I couldn't have known that at the time, though, as I walked out of the woods feeling more confident than I maybe ever had before.
It didn't escape me, either, that Vance looked taken aback, and seemed to need to force his face forward out the windshield as we got to the passenger side of the car.
"You're gonna be cold, Ferryn," he told me, but his voice sounded almost, I don't know, tense? Tense, I decided, was a very good thing as I climbed into the backseat with Heather as Iggy moved in beside her brother.
Everything was fine.
We got sugar-filled coffee drinks. We looked through endless shelves of books, only each buying one because our purses weren't big enough to store more than that.
We bought some earrings and bangle bracelets at a little jewelry store, then we had slices of pizza as we waited for Vance to show up.
He did, sometime around seven, his car pulling into the lot.
I never did get back in it.
Vance had been half-climbing out of his door, Iggy and Heather almost running toward him as I struggled with my purse that felt stuck on something.
I didn't realize it wasn't something until I noticed a darkness overtake Vance, as his body stiffened, as his mouth opened.
It was right then I knew.
The falling sensation in my stomach started.
The gut-flinch Uncle Malcolm called it. He said it was a gift. He told me to always trust it, to always follow it. That if I got the gut-flinch, if my body was telling me that something was wrong, then it was wrong.