Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Poor Leka’s mind is blown. The once tight jaw is slack. His eyes are slightly widened. “You go to a Catholic school,” he says, like the scripture verses from the nuns serve as some kind of holy chastity belt.
“Right, but as long as we go to confession, it’s all good.” Besides, some of those priests probably get off on the girls kneeling next to them whispering about all the dirty stuff they got up to during the week.
He sits silently as he processes the information. His hand comes up to stroke the bottom half of his face, probably to hide whatever strong emotion he’s feeling, but I can always tell what’s going on in his mind. Not precise, exact thoughts, but general emotions. Right now, he’s upset—likely over the fact that the safe place he stashed me at is a hotbed of vice—drugs and sex mostly.
“And, you, Bitsy? What are you confessing to?”
“I tripped Jillian Murkowski about three weeks ago,” I say candidly.
He tries to hide a grin behind that hand, but I can see his eyes light up. “What for?”
“Just being a general bitch. She’s in tenth grade and has a boyfriend in high school. She seems to think that gives her an increased status at school and goes around telling the other girls what she doesn’t like about their looks. Leila is so tiny that her parents must be munchkins. Is she sure she’s an eighth grader? Camryn is heavy. Do you really think that you should have that dinner roll with your lunch?” I mimic Jillian’s nasally voice. “That sort of thing.”
“What does she say about you?”
“Nothing. This isn’t the first time I’ve tripped her.” Last year, I accidentally, on purpose, stepped on her hand during PE as she was leaning on a riser in the gym.
Leka snorts. “Fine. So your school’s a mess. Why haven’t you told me before? You could’ve gone somewhere else.”
“There are going to be jerks everywhere. What’s the point in starting over? At least here, I know who the jerks are and can stay out of the way of the really dangerous ones.”
“I don’t think that’s how school’s supposed to be,” he chides gently, but he’s done lecturing me. He’s also done being upset, because he’s picked up his sandwich again.
“If you say so.” But I think that’s how school is everywhere. You just endure it and once it’s over, then you start living. At least that’s my theory. Once school is over, once I’m eighteen, then Leka will see me as a woman and we’ll live happy ever after.
Not that we aren’t happy now, but I feel like we could be closer. Or maybe I fear that Mrs. M is right and that some woman is going to snatch him up before I’m ready to claim him. Or, rather, he’s ready for me to claim him, because I’d announce to the world right now that it’s going to be Leka and me forever and not in that brother/sister shit that everyone is trying to press on me.
“I still think you should go to this dance. These things are supposed to be fun.”
“I’d rather have every tooth pulled without Novocaine.”
“That’s real painful. I’d go for the dancing over the teeth pulling.”
“I have a better idea of what to do with my time,” I propose.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I wait until his mouth is full before springing my brilliance on him. “I should get a job.”
He starts shaking his head before I can even get my last word out. Since his mouth is full, though, I press my advantage. “Yeah. Remember how I told you how Mandy’s dad owns that frozen yoghurt joint over on Beecher and 2nd?”
“No.” But I can tell by the shift in his gaze that he does recall it. Leka’s not great with reading, but his memory is near perfect.
“Mandy’s working there a few hours a day and said that I could help her out. He pays $7 an hour and I could work like ten hours a week. Maybe more on the weekend. That’d be like a $100 a week.”
“What do you need? I’ll buy it for you.”
I tip my head back in frustration. He can be so dense sometimes. “I know, but I want to earn my own money. Every gift I’ve gotten for you, you’ve paid for, so it’s like you buying yourself a present, which is dumb.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I barrel on. “And, if you really feel like I’m missing out on something, then this is the perfect way for me to fit in better. Lots of St. Vincent and Assumption kids come to the place and hang out.”
“Then you should go and hang out,” he says. Abruptly, he shoves away from the table and takes his plate to the dishwasher. For anyone else, I suppose his flat voice and closed face would put them off. Not me.