Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I’m in the car and on my way to Briggs’s house in no time. It only occurs to me once I’m a couple of blocks away from school to call Wren and actually find out if it’s okay to come over. “Hello?” she answers, sounding tentative. I hate that she sounds so unsure of why I’m calling. I must have really hurt her, which means she must have fought back a lot of nerves to leave me that card. She didn’t know how I would react.
“It’s me.” I don’t know what to say beyond that. There’s so much she deserves to hear, but I can’t find the words. “Can I come over? It’s okay if you say no.”
“Oh, my god! Yes! I’m home—Tia is at a friend’s house, but Briggs is picking her up later. We have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Say less,” I reply, and we share a soft laugh. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.” My god. She sounds so happy. It’s humbling, in a way. So happy to hear my voice and know I’m coming to see her. Somebody actually thinks I’m worth that level of excitement. I will not squander this friendship. It’s the best, most precious thing in my life. All it took was a little time without her to realize how much I need her.
She’s outside the house when I arrive and doesn’t bother waiting for me to get out of the car before she runs over with her arms outstretched. “Hi!” she happily chirps before giving me a hug that heals something inside me. I take a moment to soak it in, hugging her back, breathing slowly. This is good. This is something I want to feel. I don’t want to rush through it or take it for granted ever again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, almost crushed under the weight of the pressure in my chest.
“It’s okay. Come on in,” she urges, pulling away with tears sparkling on her cheeks. But she laughs, taking me by the hand and leading me inside. “Are you hungry? There’s tons of food.”
Now that she brings it up, I’m sort of starved. I was too confused and conflicted this morning to do more than stumble my way through getting ready for the day while avoiding thoughts of Tucker, like my life depended on it. Food was the last thing on my mind. By the time I got to school, the idea of going to the cafeteria, where people would only make fun of me, seemed like the worst idea imaginable.
In other words, I haven’t eaten anything. “I am hungry, thanks.” There’s something comforting about walking through a quiet, peaceful house after practically tiptoeing around to avoid Dad and his unpredictable attitude.
Not to mention the lack of ugly memories when we pass the stairs. I didn’t kill anybody here. I can relax a little.
“I really am sorry for acting the way I did,” I tell her again once we reach the kitchen, where she flings open the fridge so I can look inside. My stomach growls loudly at the sight of lunch meat and cheese, fruit and yogurt, pasta salad and smoothies. I grab a smoothie, along with an apple, before perching on one of the stools by the counter.
“That’s not nearly enough. You look like you’re losing weight, and you don’t have much to spare in the first place. Are you not eating?” She pulls out a package of turkey, along with a package of cheese and a bottle of mustard. “I’m making a sandwich. Do you want a sandwich?”
Now that she’s mentioned it… “Sure. Thank you.” The answer seems to make her happy—she smiles wide before pulling a loaf of bread from the counter and taking out four slices.
The fact she doesn’t grill me for answers makes my heart swell in a nice way this time. The pressure is pleasant.
She’s a good person. I shouldn’t have pushed her away. When I tell her that, she frowns a little but eventually shrugs. “I know you must’ve had your reasons. And I’m here to listen whenever you want to share them. Even if you don’t, that’s fine. Just, you know…” She glances my way. “Maybe don’t take it out on me next time.”
“I swear, I won’t.” But now that we are here together, just the two of us, a yearning starts to stir in my chest. It would be so nice not to carry this all by myself. I would never tell her about Mom—I can’t shake the feeling she would always look at me differently if I did. And she doesn’t need to know about my cutting, either. It’s bad enough Tucker knows about it.
Still, there’s a lot I’ve been keeping from her, but I don’t want to keep so many secrets anymore. All secrets do is make a person feel disconnected, and I’m tired of that now. I’m tired of so many things.