Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“Living with her grandparents. Now she lives with Alex. She’s really shy and sad, but I like her.”
A pensive look sits on her face. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to be friends with her? You cried for weeks when Alex became too busy to let you use his little studio. I never should’ve let you spend so much time over there. You’ve always had a strange fixation on that entire place.”
“I’m not spending time with him, Mom. I’m spending time with Lily.”
“Alright, then. Just make sure you don’t bother him. You and your friend are welcome to hang out here. Just clean up after yourselves. I don’t want to come home to a sink full of dishes.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll text you if I go over there.”
“Please do. You know I worry when you disappear.”
With that, she leaves. For the record, I don’t disappear. I like to go for walks. I bring my journal and my camera so I can jot down poetry, make sketches, and take photos. I admit I don’t always tell my mom where I am. A peculiar but soft voice seems to murmur in the recesses of my mind, whispering things like why do I have to tell her my every move? I’m an adult. But, logically, I know I’m still a teenager and have to tell her where I am because she’s my mother.
That hushed voice has been my companion for as far back as my memories reach. In fact, I can remember hearing it when I was just a toddler. It’s not creepy like how voices in people’s heads are shown in movies where they go crazy and hurt people. It’s more like there’s another, older me inside my head who has her own thoughts.
Anyway, back to nonimaginary friends. Lily and I have been walking to and from school together every day. I’ve finally managed to convince her to sit on the bleachers with me and the girls for lunch, but she just sits there, quiet as a mouse, reading a book or staring at her phone. She rarely eats her lunch. Every now and then, she’ll nod, or if we’re really lucky, a faint smile makes a brief appearance on her face, but that’s it. The girls think she’s weird and they’ve cornered me alone more than once to ask why I’m even bothering with Lily at all because she’s so not cool. Their words.
Do I care what they think? Abso-damn-lutely not. Lily desperately needs a real friend—someone who isn’t going to just give up on her—and that someone is going to be me.
I grab my phone and send her a message.
Hi, it’s Penny. Do you want to hang out today?
Fifteen minutes later, she replies.
Lily:
My father is making me unpack my things so I “feel like I’m home.” What a load of crap.
I finish applying mascara and answer.
I can help you. I’m really good at organizing and decorating.
Lily:
Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to waste your Saturday helping me.
It’s not a waste. It’ll be fun. :-)
Lily:
Ok. But only if you want to!
See ya in a few minutes!
I throw on a pair of jeans, a hot-pink hoodie, and white sneakers. As I leave the house, I send my mom a quick text.
When I get to Lily’s house, she’s waiting for me on the front porch steps. Smoking!
“You smoke?” I ask in surprise.
“Sometimes,” she answers without looking at me.
I wave a cloud of smoke out of my face. “That’s super unhealthy. You could get lung cancer. And you’ll get yellow zombie teeth. Do you know how much veneers cost?”
She stares at me blankly. “I smoke like two a day if that.”
“That’s two too fucking many!” Alex bellows from the upstairs window.
Yikes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Alex raise his voice before.
Lily rolls her eyes and snuffs the cigarette out on the wooden step. I almost feel the embers burn in my soul. I love this beautiful old porch. I’ve sat here for hours with Alex and Cherry, listening to the wind chimes.
I swallow back the comment sitting on the tip of my tongue. I don’t want Lily to feel like everyone—including me—is against her. Maybe I can politely slip a cute little ashtray over here.
“I guess we should go unpack my stuff,” she huffs out.
I follow her into the house. Odd relief floods through me when I see everything is exactly the same inside. As we walk past the red velvet couch, I have to literally restrain myself from crawling on it like a cat and pulling that lush throw blanket over me. I’d give anything to take a nap there with the breeze blowing through the bay window.
We pass a disheveled, exhausted-looking Alex on the stairway. He nods a hello at me but says nothing. The tension in the air is thick and so different from the quiet calm that usually envelops the house.