Northern Stars – Compass Read Online Brittainy C. Cherry

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
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That seemed backward for a parent to say, but I wasn’t going to argue it. “Deal.”

Right after I finished the talk with my parents, I headed to my bedroom, collapsed onto my bed, and pulled out my cell phone to send off a text message.

Aiden: Guess what?

Hailee: You met Timothée Chalamet and gave him my number?

Aiden: No.

Hailee: Oh. Then there’s a very good chance I don’t care.

That sounded about right. I skipped right past her snarky remark.

Aiden: I’m coming home for senior year. We can finish our high school to-do list.

At the beginning of our freshman year, Hailee and I created a list of things we wanted to complete in high school before graduation. Unfortunately, we’d only crossed off a few items since I missed a whole year with her. I had a lot of catching up to do with our list. The more I thought about heading home to be somewhat of a normal kid again with my best friend, the more excited I became.

Hailee: Are you really?

Aiden: Yup. I’ll be back in the house next door in no time, annoying the living shit out of you.

The three ellipses appeared before disappearing, then showed up again, then disappeared, and did that repeatedly. Which meant Hailee was overthinking her message. My best friend was the master of typing and deleting her messages. She was probably debating on if she should be sassy or sweet. My favorite sweet and sour girl.

Aiden: No reply? Couldn’t think of a clever way to sass me?







Hailee: Hurry up already, loser.

A little bit of sassy and a dash of sweet. The way I liked her the best.

6

Hailee

* * *

He’s coming home today! He’s coming home today!

Today was the day I got my best friend back. It was almost time for Aiden’s arrival, and I was ecstatic. Though, I was trying my best to play it cool.

I kept staring at the clock in my bedroom as if my intense stares would speed up time. Unfortunately, I didn’t unlock some hidden superpower of mine, and the clock continued ticking on its own timeline.

Fifteen more minutes.

He’d be home in fifteen more minutes.

The way he was cutting it close by returning to Leeks the day before our senior year stressed me all the way out. But at least he would be home in fifteen—correction, fourteen—minutes.

I’d even had him send me the link to his current location so I could track his drive from the airport all the way home.

I hopped out of my bedroom and dashed to the kitchen as a timer went off, where I had double chocolate chip cookies made for him. There was also a lemon pound cake, a dozen brownies, and oatmeal cookies sitting on the counter. I made all of Aiden’s favorites as a ‘welcome back, best friend, if you ever leave me again for as long as you did, you’ll have hell to pay’ treat. I pulled the apple crisp from the oven and set it on the counter.

Did I make too many things?

Yes.

Did I care?

Not at all.

Baking calmed my nerves. Whenever I was overly anxious or overly excited, I found myself in the kitchen whipping something up. I got that trait from Mama. She was the best baker in town, from weddings to baptisms to dog birthday parties. If there was an event, Mama was the one baking all the sweets. She was so close to opening her own bakery with Dad, too. He was the brain behind the endeavor, and Mama was the soul. They worked together like coffee and creamer—just the perfect blend of not too sweet and not too bitter.

We’d even spotted a location in the town square for the shop. I was certain that was where I’d spend a lot of my afternoons helping the family out, but that was a story for another time.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave as I took off the oven mitts.

Twelve minutes.

I was sweating bullets.

Why did I feel nervous? I shouldn’t have been nervous. My armpits were drenched, making my white T-shirt equally soaked. I dashed to my bedroom, ripped off my shirt, hopped into my bathroom, bathed my pits in deodorant, then slipped into yet another shirt that I hoped I wouldn’t sweat my way through. I checked myself in the mirror and saw every piece of my mother resting against my face, from her brown almond-shaped eyes to her button nose. Our skin was golden brown, which Mama swore made us glow like goddesses in the sun, and our natural hair—well, that differed a bit. Mama’s natural curls were always packed with moisture and care. They dangled perfectly down to her bra strap, each one defined and healthy. Mine always became a big, dried-out afro puff because I preferred binge-watching movies on my weekends instead of doing all-day natural hair care routines.


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