Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
I merely sigh.
“No, it’s okay. Everyone’s family is different and mine just happens to be pretty terrible. Although maybe not as terrible as yours. I mean, at least Andrew and Amity aren’t in jail.”
Now, it’s Chloe’s turn to smile sardonically.
“Yeah, at least your parents weren’t trying to import opium into the United States,” she says. “I swear, Tom and Bertha are so insane.”
“Are they still practicing that religion they got into? You know, the cult?”
Chloe sags a bit, looking defeated all of a sudden.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” she says. “I don’t keep in touch with them. The drugs, the shaman, and the … well, everything was awful. The drugs were just the tip of the iceberg.”
I nod.
“I’m sorry I brought it up, Chloe. I know it weighs on you.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says with a half-smile. “Now, I’m expecting a baby and things are going to be better,” she says in a determined voice. Then she brightens. “Now go, Ames! This is your chance! I don’t want to see your face anymore because you need to get out from under your parents’ thumb. We’ll be fine at A Woman’s Secret. Go!”
Then, without any further ado, my friend clicks off and I’m left in silence in my room. The lack of noise is jarring at first, but then, I spring into action. I dart to my closet and pull out an enormous backpack which can easily fit some extra clothes, a sleeping bag, a sleeping pad, and some supplies. Then I rummage around for a lightweight windbreaker, as well as shorts, a top, and my hiking boots. It’s all there, and already, I’m feeling better. Maybe I’m not Indiana Jones, but at the very least I’m going on an adventure … because I can’t stay in this hellhole any longer.
3
Amy
Shit! I stumble and almost fall, practically doing a face plant into a bush. What was I thinking?
Oh, that’s right. Chloe encouraged me to go on a week-long hike to “get away from it all,” and that’s what I’m doing at the moment. In fact, I left the morning after our phone conversation. I didn’t even tell my parents. I was a no-show at dinner, and then the next day, I dropped a note on the table in the foyer telling them I’d be gone for a little bit.
I look down at my cell. There are no calls from Amity and Andrew despite the fact that I’ve been hiking for a couple hours now. I have full signal too, so it’s not like their calls were lost in the ether. No, my parents don’t care about me, and so long as my “fiancé” is still in rehab, there’s no need to keep tabs on my whereabouts. In fact, they’re probably happy that I’m out of their hair so that they can keep going about their plastic lives, with their fake smiles and helmet-like hair.
I snort, staring at the dirt trail in front of me. How in the world am I descended from Amity and Andrew? I swear, I must have been switched at birth. Other than the fact that we all have red hair, it doesn’t seem like we share any DNA whatsoever. Is it possible that I was switched at birth? Maybe a nurse made a mistake, and there was another baby girl named Amy born that day.
Or maybe, Amity and Andrew actually are my parents, and I’m just unlucky. I sigh, sitting down on a huge boulder. The sun beats down on my head, and I pull the brim of my hat further over my eyes. With ivory skin like mine, you have to be careful. My mom always says that I have to apply sunscreen in order to not become old and wrinkly. Sadly, she’s probably right about that one.
At least it’s beautiful here. The sun isn’t too strong yet, and the light shines through the leaves of the trees above me, casting dappled shadows on the dirt floor. There’s plenty of vegetation, and the sheer amount of greenery soothes my nerves. Not only that, but I can hear bird calls as well as the rustling of leaves. Perhaps there are animals in the brush, although I doubt they’d show their faces with a human around.
My stomach growls, and I decide it’s time for a snack. Reaching into my pack, I rummage around before reappearing with a meatball sub in my hands. Yes, I decided to treat myself, weight gain be damned. Again, this is something that my mom and I always argue about. As a realtor, Amity’s very concerned about “presentation” a hundred percent of the time and works out like a fiend. She cycles between lifting weights at the gym, working with her trainer, brutal rides on the Peloton, and going for long runs in the woods next to our house that last two to three hours. When she comes home and sees me eating food, she can’t help but look disgusted.