Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Not to change the subject,” Fenn says then, “but have you noticed Sloane being weird? Because RJ’s starting to worry me.”
I think it over. On the drive home after school, she was definitely less than chatty. But I didn’t dwell on it because it meant I got to skip the daily debrief when she drills down into everyone who was mean to me that day. Whose ass she needs to kick. Which tires to slash. My older sister is my ultimate protector, even when I don’t need protecting. Honestly, I’d let her leave bags of flaming dog turds in every locker on campus if I thought it’d make a difference, but as intimidating as Sloane is, there isn’t a machine conceived by woman or man that can halt the gears of high school gossip.
In general, though, I don’t know if I’d classify her behavior as weird so much as lovesick. Ever since she got back together with RJ, she’s been sort of obsessed, walking around inside the opaque aura of a love haze. I’m happy for her, but it’s sort of creepy. Sloane used to shun the notion of romance. Now she’s peddling love to everyone like she’s running a multilevel marketing scheme door-to-door.
“She’s been pretty distracted this week,” I answer. “All she does is text RJ. If I didn’t know better, I’d think those two were getting ready to run away together.”
Fenn shrugs. “If they did, I’d have our room to myself, so…”
“I’d say it’s normal for a new relationship, but nothing about Sloane is normal lately, so what do I know. They’re in their own bubble, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, good for them, but RJ needs to get over it.”
Fenn’s consternation is sort of endearing. He only just patched things up with his stepbrother, and I get the sense he’s feeling a little jealous. Starved for attention, maybe.
“I don’t know how to describe it,” he adds. “Every time I look at him, it’s like he’s trying to figure out how to tell me my grandma died or something.”
Huh. “Okay, that’s a little strange. Maybe that’s just how his face looks?”
RJ’s a nice guy, but he does have strong antisocial tendencies. Sort of like a resting bitch face. For an extroverted guy like Fenn, it must be downright alien.
“Like a couple days ago, I came into our room after practice and caught him on the phone. With Sloane, I assume. But he looks up at me like a deer in the headlights, and his eyes shift away. It’s stupid, but I swear I saw that same look every time someone talked about my mom being sick. When they were all afraid to tell me how bad it was getting.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach for Fenn’s hand and entwine it with mine, holding it in my lap.
I know what it’s like to lose your mother, although mine didn’t die from a drawn-out illness. She died suddenly, no warning at all. A freak drowning that nobody saw coming. And I was only five years old, young enough that I don’t remember much from those days. Only brief moments. Glimpses of the funeral, all the people constantly in our house for days afterward, while my sister and I tried coming to terms with the concept of death and the scary notion that Mommy was never coming back.
“My dad was already checking out at that point,” Fenn says absently, rubbing circles into my skin with his thumb. “Obviously he was at her side every second, but I was invisible to him. He knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer, so he totally shut down.”
Silence falls between us. I feel the sadness emanating from him and wish I could make it better. I think about my own loss, that huge hole left in my life after Mom died. I barely remember her, which makes it worse. I don’t even have some cache of warm, wonderful memories to crack open whenever I find myself missing her.
I do have one cope, which is kind of embarrassing, but I bite my lip and decide to voice it, because I hate to see Fenn hurting.
“I talk to her sometimes,” I admit shyly. “My mom.”
“You do?”
“It’s dumb, I know.”
“No, it’s not.”
I shrug, because silly as it is, I couldn’t stop if I tried. “When I get overwhelmed or scared, or even if I’m really happy about something. I imagine she can hear me, that she’s in the room somewhere, and I just talk to her.”
“What do you say?”
“Anything. Everything. Like when it suddenly hit me that I want to be a veterinarian, I told my mom before I said anything to Dad or Sloane.” A bittersweet smile tugs on my lips. “I know I was probably imagining it, but I swear I felt her presence that day. That she was proud of me for figuring out my path.”