Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Are you okay...um...?” he asks. His forehead crinkles as he looks at me in confusion. He's forgotten my name...Again.
“Jerk,” I mumble as I move to pick up my stuff. “The name is Tillie. We've known each other since sixth grade, Ryder.” I don’t bother to hide my annoyance—I’m too busy ignoring the way it hurts.
“Yeah, I know that,” he lies, covering for his embarrassment as his cheeks turn red. “Have you seen Emmie?"
I sigh. Even though I think he's a jerk, I've had a secret crush on him for years. No one knows. Besides, he's been hung up on Emily forever, and they've been together since I arrived in Wyoming. He thinks I hate him, which is fine because it's safer that way. Emily would never forgive me if she knew I thought of Ryder like that, and Ryder… He’d likely be grossed out. He doesn't even see me as a person, let alone girlfriend material.
Right now, I feel bad for him. His world would shatter if he knew Emily was currently under the stairwell making out with Chad Martin—just like she has every morning since school started. She's been secretly dating the star football player Chad Martin for the last couple of weeks. I hate keeping the secret, but Emily is my best friend and I have to—even if I don’t like it. Besides, Ryder would be so hurt. He’s hopelessly devoted to her. It would kill him if he knew, and I doubt he would believe me if I told him anyway.
I tried to convince Emily to break it off with Ryder first instead of cheating on him. She said she needed to make sure Chad was what she wanted before she did that. I told her that was kind of cold, but she never listens to my advice, at least not when it comes to dating. She says I don’t understand the way everything is done. Maybe she’s right. I haven’t even had a boyfriend. Still, if this is how you treat someone that loves you, I don’t really want to be in a relationship. I shake my head, pushing my thoughts away, bending down to retrieve my books.
“She volunteered to help Ms. Thomas in the science lab this morning,” I lie. “She said she would see you at lunch,” I mumble, trying not to look him in the eye. I’m not the best liar in the world. I catch sight of Ryder's frown, and my heart squeezes in my chest as guilt threatens to drown me. I shouldn’t keep covering for her.
“She didn't mention that to me,” Ryder grumbles.
“It must not have been planned. I only heard about it this morning.”
“I wish she had texted me.”
“Her phone was dead. She probably will after Ms. Thomas lets her charge it while they work.” I am inventing shit off the top of my head, getting deeper and deeper into the lie. I hate feeling guilty and God, I am. I wish I had just ignored him.
I have all my books but one that’s just a little out of my reach. I’ve been dreading that one because I’ll have to stretch and that’s not fun in these clothes. I swear, when I get home, I’m going to lock myself in my room and just let my fat-self breathe completely naked.
When Ryder squats down to join me, I panic—with a capital P. I've never been this close to him before. I bite into my lip to keep from moaning as the scent of his cologne threatens to pull me under. I look at the floor trying to figure a way out of this before I make a fool of myself. I need to get out of here.
I stretch out to grab the last book, but so does he. Our foreheads collide, sending a stab of pain through me. “Ow,” I groan, rubbing my head. I turn away from him, intending to stand up. He picks the same exact moment to lean forward again, causing us to crash into each other again. This time, he hits the back of my head and I jerk from the shock, lifting my head up to look around and it causes the hit to be harder than it would have been.
“Son of a bitch,” he curses. When I turn around, he’s holding his nose.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, rubbing the back of my head.
It’s hard to reach the spot that hurts—mostly because my shirt is so tight. I extend my arm trying to get to it and the motion tugs on my shirt. I realize my mistake when the movement puts tension on the buttons, and I hear a slight tearing sound. I watch in disbelief as the top button pops off quickly followed by two others, who can’t take the strain of holding my breasts on their own.