Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Sorry.” I sniff, my eyes watering as I try to fight back the next sneeze. “I just thought we could carpool, maybe talk, save gas…” I hold up my hand and turn my head to sneeze again.
“No. And if you’re sick, stay away from me. I have way too much going on to risk catching whatever plague you’ve brought with you from Ohio.” Her glossed-up lip curls, and she shakes her head as if Ohio is a dirty word or something. Annnd, there goes my compassion as I watch her proceed to the kitchen, heels clicking on the hardwood floors.
“Unbelievable,” I whisper. So what if she’s nursing a broken heart? She’s vicious. God, I’m nothing but nice. Turning, I march straight to the bathroom for a tissue. That, and I need to get away from her bad energy.
All right, this is it. I’ve bent over backward to make some sort of connection with her. That stops today. Clearly, it’s unwanted.
All she does is work, or stay locked in her bedroom or the bathroom crying. At first, I just thought she was upset that our dad was making her take me in. But, come on, this is like a whole ’nother level. I’m also the best roommate ever. I keep to myself and try to give her space and privacy. It’s not my fault this house is small and I can hear her crying and talking to herself.
God, the only reason I even thought I’d try asking for a ride is because my car is broken. I blow my nose again and toss the tissue in the trash as I look around and weigh my options. I don’t have much because my car is freakin’ broken, and from what little I know, you absolutely need a car in LA. I glance at myself in the mirror and straighten my ponytail. I’m already nervous and excited about today. Why does she have to be such a dick? I mean, she’s a professor at the university, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous…
“Make sure you lock the door, Alex.” Her snippy voice alerts me that she is, in fact, leaving, and if I don’t somehow get in her car, I’m gonna be screwed on my first day.
“Wait, Skylar.” I run out, only to see her backing out of her tiny garage. Unless I want to throw myself onto the hood of her Mercedes, I need to face the fact that it’s too late.
“Fuck,” I scream, not caring that the neighbor’s dog runs down their steps to bark at me.
Skylar lives in a super cute neighborhood in Santa Monica, where most of the houses on her street are still small and were built in the 1950s. Sure, there are the McMansions down the road, but for the most part, this street is mostly singles or old couples.
“Oh shush, Walter,” I snap at the dog that’s now growling at me through the white wooden fence that separates our yards. Walking back into the house, I slam the door with so much force the windows shake. Then I flop down on her couch and look at my watch: 7:15 a.m. My first class isn’t until nine o’clock. Do I chance taking my car? I mean, it’s just down PCH. It should be fine, right? I bite my bottom lip, lean back, and cover my face with my hands. This is just not how I visualized my first day going.
I should have known something was weird when my dad called me into his office the night before I left. I thought he’d tell me how much he’d miss me. Instead, he went on and on about how my sister was difficult. That I was a smart girl, and he was confident I could make it work. See, Skylar is from his first marriage. She’s fifteen years older than me and clearly lives way beyond her means, which is why I’m being forced to live here. Our dad already pays for most of the rent. Why get me an apartment when Skylar has an extra bedroom?
Yet she’s done absolutely everything to make me feel unwanted. The other day she told me to separate all the food in the refrigerator, that she was going to bill our dad extra since I keep eating her food. I had one peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It took all I had to stay quiet.
“Oh God,” I groan. My car breaking down was a sign, a foreshadowing. As soon as that check engine light came on, I should have stopped, called my dad, and gotten it fixed. Instead, I ignored it and kept driving, hoping it would turn off. It didn’t, and by the time I pulled into Skylar’s garage it had started making noises. To be honest, I was just so relieved I made it, I blocked it out of my mind until I tried to drive around a couple of days ago.