Total pages in book: 238
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 231781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1159(@200wpm)___ 927(@250wpm)___ 773(@300wpm)
I shook my head, continuing out the door. “Have fun, survive…”
And then I stopped, remembering.
The Lord of the Flies. A disturbing classic novel and one of the only ones I actually enjoyed in high school because it was so dark and…possible.
The boys who crash-landed on a deserted island without any adults had three rules. Have fun, survive, and…keep a signal fire going.
It only took a moment to decide. Shooting off, I glanced around me to make sure I was alone, and headed outside into the driveaway.
The empty fountain sat in the middle of the circular drive, and I looked overhead, seeing a clear sky for once.
I wasn’t sure this would last, especially if rain soaked the wood, but I had to try.
Gathering sticks, branches, and even twigs, I hauled armful after armful to the empty fountain and threw them in, creating a massive pile. I returned to the edges of the driveaway, gathering more, and built the pile higher, so it blazed bright and big, the light hopefully visible in the dark and the smoke visible in the day.
I ran farther to the tree line, picking up more kindling, and ran back, throwing it in.
But an arm shot out and grabbed my wrist.
I jerked my head, seeing Will in his jeans and T-shirt, green eyes void of the boy I remembered.
I yanked my wrist away and pushed him back. He grabbed my arm, and we both fought, me trying to escape and him trying to stop me.
“Someone is bound to notice it,” I growled.
“No one will notice it,” he told me, “and you’re mistaken if you think he’s going to let you light that in the first place.”
Struggling, I pushed him away from me, and he let me go.
Yeah, I know. It was a long shot, and maybe without Mommy and Daddy’s money, there was no point in them even trying to escape, because if they left here, they could only go home to the very people who sent them here in the first place. They weren’t going to give up their names, hide in Brooklyn, and be pizza delivery boys.
But I didn’t belong here. I had a job, and I didn’t need anything from anyone.
“What did you do to get sent here?” I asked him. “I mean, your parents actually sent you here? Aren’t you their favorite or something?”
He just held my eyes, refusing to answer.
It had been a while—maybe a year or more. Micah said Rory was the last new arrival seven months ago, and even he had already been home once, only to be sent back.
What was Will doing with himself? He was going to have the life.
“You’re twenty-six,” I told him. “What comes after this? Where do you go? Do you suddenly grow up?” I searched his eyes. “If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s not going to. You do you, and I’ll do me.”
He stepped in, looking down at me. “I hear you’re making dinner,” was all he replied with. “We’re hungry now. Go cook.”
I flashed a glare. Excuse me?
I shoved him in the chest, pushing him back.
I’m not serving you.
I’m not sitting at your table.
You can go and screw up your life without a care.
And also…
“You gave that sleazebag my underwear,” I said.
You son of a bitch.
A grin teased the corners of his mouth, but he simply turned back to me, holding back his smile.
“But then you didn’t need them, right?” I taunted, calming my voice. “Still have my pink ones from after Homecoming? Have you used them a lot, or did you just lube up with your own tears over the years?”
He crouched down and got in my face with his eyes on fire. “What makes you think there weren’t lots of hot, wet panties over the years?”
Spinning around, he left, and I burned a hole in his back as he disappeared into the house.
Believe me, Will Grayson. I know exactly where you’ve been.
Emory
Nine Years Ago
“They have mac and cheese, burgers, turkey tetrazzini,” Erika Fane told some girl ahead of me in line, “and chicken pot pie today, but I’d recommend the chicken sandwiches. They’re good and spicy.”
No. They aren’t. The freshmen were the only ones who still hadn’t realized where those cramps in the middle of fifth period were coming from.
The other blonde who looked like she could be her sister—except Erika Fane didn’t have a sister—just stood there, not looking over the selections that Fane listed off.
“It all sounds fine,” she replied. “Whatever you recommend.”
Fane grabbed the chicken sandwich wrapped in foil and brought it to her. The other girl held out both hands, feeling for the item.
I narrowed my eyes, watching her. Slowly, and keeping her eyes focused ahead, she took the item and set it on her tray herself, albeit a little clumsy.
Like she couldn’t see.
Realization dawned. This was Winter Ashby. Bitchy Arion Ashby’s kid sister.