Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, apparently not put off by my amazing conversational skills.
“Not much on dancing, I guess,” I shrug, silently congratulating myself on being able to say a complete sentence with my heart hammering in my chest. It only beats harder when a miracle of holy miracles happens and Gavin sits down beside me.
“Kind of defeats the purpose of going to the prom then,” he laughs.
“I guess so. Why are you out here, instead of in there getting your dance on?” I ask, out of curiosity. I finally get up the courage to look at him. That was probably a mistake. His blue eyes manage to sparkle even in the night and he’s even more devastatingly handsome closer up. My palms go instantly sweaty and I can virtually feel my ovaries heat up, clenching with need. I might not have much experience with men, but my body definitely wouldn’t mind experimenting with Gavin…doing anything with Gavin, really.
“Getting my dance on?” he smirks, and his full lips look really good in a smirk…
“Yeah,” I say with a goofy grin on my face—that I can guarantee does not look good, but I can’t stop it.
“I needed some air. I would have skipped tonight if Bella wouldn’t have bitched at me about it. I’m not much on fancy parties and dancing myself.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Gavin O’Leary I know,” I tell him truthfully.
“But then, we don’t know each other do we?” he asks. A crease forms on his forehead as he stops and thinks back, trying to place me. I could have told him we’ve had at least one class together every year since middle school. I could have told him that I sat two seats in front of him all through grade school, with the exception of Mrs. Pierce’s fifth grade class when she refused to go with alphabetical order. That year I sat directly behind Gavin. That was a really good view. I tell him none of that, however.
A girl has her pride.
“Please. Everyone at Freemont knows who you are. They’re all betting on who will make it big in Hollywood first—you or Bella.”
“Seriously?”
“Scouts honor,” I tell him holding up two fingers in a ‘peace’ sign.
“Were you ever a scout?” he laughs, squinting down at me as if he’s searching for a lie.
“No, but I kissed one in sixth grade, so that counts,” I shrug.
“Did you bet on me or Bella?” he asks after a few moments of silence.
“If I say Bella, are you going to get your feelings hurt?” I joke, starting to feel strangely comfortable around Gavin, which is probably bad.
He laughs out loud, throwing his head back and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. What would that be like?
“So you did bet on Bella,” he says finally, his eyes leaving mine and his face lifts up to the sky and he’s watching the moon I was noticing earlier. I can’t help but wonder if he sees the stars that are surrounding it. Does he know the constellations like I do? Has he ever spent hours admiring them and wishing he could float up to them?
“She seems to have a flair for the dramatic,” I say a tad too sweetly. My words must shock him because his face jerks around to mine. I figure I may have pissed him off. After all, I am talking about his girlfriend.
“You know Bella too, I guess,” he sighs out loud. I get the feeling he’s agreeing with me, without actually agreeing.
“I know the type,” I tell him, and I do. I’ve lived with the woman who has cornered the market on dramatics my whole life.
“Yeah. Strange thing is, I don’t even want to be in the movies. Not really. I have a full ride promised to me next year at Stanford if I want it for football.”
“Are you going?”
“I want to. My parents would die. I got a scholarship offer to the Royal Performance Arts Academy in Scotland. They’re driving me insane and demanding I go. Who wants to go to Scotland?”
“Um…lots of people?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I’m not one of them. The thing is I’ve hated every commercial, every bit-part or role I’ve had. My parents have pushed me to do them, but I hate it. I hate it all. I love football, anything athletic really. It reminds me I’m alive. It makes me feel free.”
I think over his words. Really there’s a lot to think about there. I can even relate. Well, I mean not at passing up the opportunity to go to Scotland, because I couldn’t even imagine and not about sports, because they bore me. The most active I get is when I walk to the old recycling scrapyard by the house. Still, I know what he means about feeling free. I feel that way when I draw or create…What would he think if I told him my plans for the future? Would he feel sorry for me? Probably.