Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“What are you saying?” he shouts back.
I turn around, and before I can second-guess my words, I blurt out, “That I’m done.”
“You don’t mean that.” He scoffs as if the idea of me breaking up with him is so outrageous. Newsflash, buddy. You are not that good of a catch.
“Yes, I do. We’re over!” I shout back, then turn around and stomp off. He yells something at me in return, but I don’t hear it. And I don’t care to either. I’m so done with his shit.
Pulling out my phone, I dial my mom’s number.
“Harper,” she says, answering on the first ring. “You better be walking through the door in the next eight minutes.”
“I’m going to be a few minutes late.”
“Then you’ll be grounded,” she states matter-of-factly. “You know the rules.”
“Richie is being an ass and I’m walking home,” I whine.
“Seven minutes, Harper,” she says, then hangs up.
Damn it! There’s no way I’m going to make it home in seven minutes. I walk down the sidewalk, not even bothering to rush, knowing I’ll never make it on time anyway. As I walk, I think about Richie’s and my argument. In the past, when we’ve gotten into it and broken up, I felt bad and immediately wanted to work it out, but for some reason, this time it feels different. The only emotion I feel right now is anger toward myself for being stupid enough to think I could count on him. He may be a year older than me, but sometimes he has the maturity level of a ten-year-old boy.
I try to dredge up any feelings at all, but there aren’t any. I’m not heartbroken or sad—if anything, I feel relieved that we’re over. That I don’t have to deal with the constant whiplash of his hot and cold. I don’t know if it’s him who’s changed, or me, but something clearly isn’t working anymore.
“Get in,” I hear a voice call out. I glance over and Landon’s in his white Mustang driving next to me.
“Did Richie send you to take me home?”
“No. I overheard you guys fighting and said I had to get home. He’s still at the field.”
“And why would you do that?” I ask, curious. “What’s in it for you?” First, there was the ice cream, and then him giving me a ride to the field. Let’s not forget about the comment implying he thinks he can get in my pants. The looks he’s been giving me. And now he’s going out of his way to give me a ride home. If I didn’t know better, I would think Landon Maxwell might like me. But that doesn’t make sense because Landon doesn’t date—ever. Many girls have tried, and all have failed.
Landon just laughs. “Does it matter? Just get your ass in the car before you’re late.”
We pull up to my house at 6:01. “Better hurry,” he says as I run up my sidewalk.
“You’re late,” Mom says the second I enter the front door.
“A freaking minute,” I argue.
“You’re grounded.” She walks into the kitchen and pulls whatever she’s cooking out of the oven.
“You can’t be serious! I was a minute late. One minute! I even called to let you know!”
“You knew the rule. You were lucky you got that after sneaking out.” She walks over to me and puts her hand out, wiggling her fingers. “Cell phone.”
“What?” I hold my phone to my chest. “Mom, c’mon, please. It was one minute.”
“Late is late, Harper,” she insists. “Phone, now.”
Instead of handing it to her, I fling it onto the counter and then run upstairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. I throw myself onto my bed and curl into a ball. Angry tears build in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. One more year and I’ll be out of here. I can’t wait. No more having to abide by my mom’s stupid rules. No more curfew. I’ll be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want.
I’m not sure how long I’m lying in bed, cursing my luck and life, when there’s a knock on my door. “Harper, unlock the door,” my mom demands.
Not wanting to make matters worse, I climb off my bed and do as she said. When I swing the door open, she stares at me for a long moment, then says, “Is that weed I smell on you?” Oh, Jesus! This seriously cannot be happening right now. I must have the worst luck in the world! How could I forget Melissa blew that damn smoke into my mouth and all over my clothes? Oh, that’s right. Because I was too busy breaking up with Richie and getting grounded for being one minute late.
“I didn’t smoke,” I tell her honestly. “It was Melissa.” I almost feel bad for throwing my friend under the bus, but desperate times and all that.