Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
oBITCHuary: Sooooo?
McMonster: There’s something I need to tell you.
oBITCHuary: Oh?
oBITCHuary: Are you a serial killer? Because that’s going to be amazing for my podcast and disastrous for our friendship. Plus, you can forget about that coffee meeting I have planned for us when I come back to New York.
McMonster: I’m not a serial killer.
oBITCHuary: Is it going to make me like you less? Whatever it is you’re going to tell me?
McMonster: 100%.
oBITCHuary: Then don’t.
McMonster: ?
oBITCHuary: Seriously, don’t. I like you. I don’t like men. I want to continue liking you. Please don’t burst my bubble. I feel like you’re helping me make progress. I don’t want to lose it.
McMonster: I’m not a liar.
oBITCHuary: You’re not lying to me. You’re omitting information I am disinterested in. There’s a difference.
McMonster: No, there isn’t.
oBITCHuary: Well, *I’m* a liar. So, you know, meet me in the middle. Jeez.
CAL
McMonster: Good night?
oBITCHuary: Hmm, I don’t recall you ever contacting me in the middle of the night before. Has it been a good night for YOU?
McMonster: It’s actually been an epic shit show.
oBITCHuary: Anything I can do to help?
McMonster: Yes. Let me tell you what I need to tell you.
oBITCHuary: Other than that. I really want to stay friends. I don’t have many. And I’m still on probation with my childhood BFF.
McMonster: My, my, you can be selfish when you want.
oBITCHuary: Only with you.
McMonster: That’s all right.
oBITCHuary: Why?
McMonster: Because you’re the only person I’m selfless with too.
CAL
“Alive” —Pearl Jam
My alarm clock notified me that it was six a.m. by blaring into my ear in decibels that shook the purple walls of my bedroom. I smacked it off and rolled onto my stomach, moaning into my pillow. Even after a trillion-hour shift at Descartes and crying to Kieran for forty minutes straight about Dad, I still couldn’t fall asleep last night. My mind was on overdrive, replaying my interactions with a certain sulky, tattooed chef the size of a prehistoric animal all night.
Row was right. Yesterday, Kieran’s presence had caught me by surprise. I had texted him that I was feeling too sad and anxious to sleep, but I’d never expected him to show up at my house. Then again, I’d never expected Row to refuse to evacuate my premises. How did he know I felt uncomfortable around Kieran? How did he know I was scared?
Well, I wasn’t scared per se, but I had sat on the other side of the wraparound porch of my house, across from Kieran, like a freak. Clutching my phone, 911 already saved on the screen just in case, as we’d talked into the night.
Now I needed to both keep my promise to Dad to pick up running again and somehow appear to be a functioning human for work today. My Spidey-senses told me there was a lot of caffeine in my near future.
Dragging myself to my closet, I stuffed my legs into neon-green leggings, slipped on a pink Dri-FIT shirt with a matching headband, and grabbed a fanny pack for my keys and scrunchie. I also put on two yellow wristbands for the cuteness factor. I wasn’t hoping to bump into Prince Charming. With my luck, I was more likely to bump into Ted Bundy. But Dad had loved this outfit. He’d said it screamed Cal, and it was an homage to him.
Mom was still asleep when I tiptoed my way out of the house. Cool, briny breeze assaulted my nostrils. I did a few torso twists and leg stretches on my front porch as I scanned my surroundings, dread drip-drip-dripping down my belly.
You can do this. There is nothing to be afraid of.
Only there was. Which was why I hadn’t run in so many years. My worst memory was attached to running. But I couldn’t let my father down. He hadn’t known what made me stop running, but he had known that running was important to me. I needed to at least try.
There will be no evil men, no lonely woods, no bad people. Just you and the music. And your maddening urge to pee every time you run, probably.
Squaring my shoulders, I squinted beyond the mountains stretching along the coastline. I decided to take a two-mile route downtown, make a U-turn at the harbor, then jog back home. It was a familiar route—one I’d run with my dad often before my injury—and I knew there would be at least a handful of pedestrians around. After watching a ten-minute TED Talk about motivation on YouTube, I began power walking down the street. At first, I strode fast. This was no issue. I was used to walking—I was a New Yorker now, after all—then gradually, I picked up speed.
See? It’s just like riding a bike. Minus the crotch pain and freezing fingers.
Soon, the soles of my shoes pounded the pavement. The first few minutes felt fine. Good, even. Physically, I broke the barrier. I was running again. Fast too. Then I realized…I was running. Just like that time when my life had turned upside down. A shock wave of anxiety zipped up my spine, and my whole body turned to ice.