Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“They just want to get back at your father. He pissed off a lot of people, Aspen.”
“I know, Mom. I live with most of them.”
“Just keep your head low and ignore them. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m trying.” Aspen huffs. “Mom, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth. At Dad’s trial, were there any recordings used for evidence?”
Holding my breath, I lean into the phone. This just got a lot more interesting.
“What do you mean by recordings?”
“Like tape recordings. Quinton thinks I wore a wire at one point. I don’t even know when. Did Dad ever put a wire on me without me knowing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How would he do that, and why?” I can’t see her mom’s face, but I can tell she sounds a little frazzled at this new revelation. “I don’t remember there being any recordings at the trial. Quinton is just messing with your head. Don’t believe anything he is saying.”
“It’s not what I believe. It’s what he believes. We kind of had somewhat of a truce, and now he is back to hating me and making my life hell.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Aspen.” Her mom almost sounds annoyed by her daughter’s problems. “Anyway… I just called to check up on you. I have to go, but I’ll call you back in a few weeks.”
Wow, what a bitch.
“Okay.” Aspen doesn’t even try to keep her on the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“All right, bye, honey,” her mom says, but it doesn’t sound like a genuine endearment, more like how a southern person says it to a customer at a diner.
“Bye, Mom.” Aspen hangs up the phone and lies back down on her mattress.
I was confused about her before, but that confusion just reached a new level. Could she really have been wearing a wire without knowing? Or is this all just an elaborate game? Aspen is smart. Maybe she suspects me of keeping tabs on her.
Fuck, my head hurts trying to figure this out. One thing is clear. I need more information.
17
ASPEN
A month passes, and it’s much slower than I’d like, but I make it through without dying. I got the cast on my leg removed a few days ago, and now I feel like a new person. For the first time in six weeks, I can take a complete shower without having to wrap my leg up.
I’m so excited about it that as soon as I’m finished with classes, I head straight back to the dorm to take a shower. The door to my room is barely closed, and I’m stripping out of my clothes and rushing into the bathroom. It seems like I’ve waited for this day forever, and by forever, I mean six weeks.
I walk into the bathroom and head straight for the shower. I grab the handle and turn the water on. The pipes creak, and I step into the shower, expecting water to come raining down on me, but after a second, there’s nothing. I look up to see a small trickle of water coming from the showerhead, but that’s it.
Frustrated, I let out a growl. I turn the knob on and off, watching the showerhead to see if any water comes out, but nothing.
“Goddamnit!” I curse angrily while twisting the knob once more. “What the hell is wrong with this thing?”
It’s my luck to not be able to take a nice, hot shower fully for almost six weeks without my cast being in the way for something to go wrong with the shower as soon as the cast is off. I slap the wall in frustration and try the knobs one more time like it might fix it.
As soon as I twist the knob again, the pipes make this strange noise. “What the—” My words are cut off when a geyser spray of water comes erupting out of the shower, soaking me in an instant.
I can’t seem to get my hands to work fast enough, my fingers slip over the plastic, and I scramble to shut the water off, half drowning myself in the process.
I twist and twist and twist until the water spray becomes a drip.
My half wet, half dry hair sticks to my skin, and I blink back the water on my lashes. I could try to take a shower, but I don’t really want to stand under a spray of water that’s going to peel my skin off.
I swallow down my anger, grab a towel, and dry myself off. It’s only four in the afternoon. I could go down the hall to the maintenance room and see if the guy who works in this corridor can fix the shower. Preferably today.
The idea sticks, and I get dressed in a hurry and rush out the door. I’m sure I look like a maniac with my hair all over, and my cheeks flush from the spray of water, but I don’t care. All I want is a hot shower, which apparently isn’t going to happen unless I can get someone to fix my possessed showerhead.