Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I didn’t say that.” Kory is quick to correct me.
“You didn’t have to. I read between the lines.” She starts to talk again, but I keep going, seeing an opening here, and I’m going to take it. “We don’t have to, you know.”
Her brows rise at that and then slowly drop.
“It’s not that easy.” When she responds, she shifts closer and drops her tone. “No one is going to not vote for her. If you’re one that does, after that, she’ll make your life hell.”
“Why does she have to know?”
“We just call out our votes when Coach asks.” This is getting better and better.
“What if it wasn’t done that way anymore?”
“Then maybe she wouldn’t be captain.” Kory smirks, and I know she’s in. She leans in closer, telling me a few people who would be willing to vote against her. The more she talks, I start to think that I don’t want to be the captain. I just don’t want Lana to be either.
When Lana calls for everyone to follow her, Kory rolls her eyes my way so that I can see before following her. I don’t. I jump down off the stage and head straight for Georgia, who is now off to the side standing alone with her arms wrapped around herself.
“Hey,” I chirp at her with a bright smile. She appears so unsure right now.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing her vibe is off. Though we are now around a ton of people.
“You don’t have to go with them?” She nods to the ice girls heading in the other direction.
“Nope.” I pop the P.
“You really need to be careful,” Georgia tries to warn me again.
“You want me to keep a low profile?” I would if she truly wanted that. I’m not here to make her life hard. Not when she’s been there for me through challenging times.
“No, I want you to be yourself; I’m only letting you know.”
Ahh, she’s worried about what blowback I’ll get and how it will affect me. Even if they do their worst, what can they really do? I might be at their school, but we’re from two different worlds. I’m sure after graduation I will never see any of them again. Except Georgia.
“I got it.” I hook my arm into hers, heading back toward our dorm room. We spend the rest of the night decorating and getting everything put together before crashing out to reality TV and consuming all the junk food.
The next morning, I’m up early. It’s a habit I’ve formed. Georgia tends to stay up late with her face planted in a book.
I used to get up before school and do paperwork for my dad’s shop, and then I’d go for a run and then off to school. This morning I headed over to my sister’s to check in with her and have breakfast. I leave her to get back to her lesson planning and walk the short distance into town to grab a coffee and stroll around.
I pause when I spot a mechanic shop with a Help Wanted sign in the window. It says part-time. Wondering what they are searching for, I stroll inside. I know it’s a long shot, but I do need a job. It’s not fun being broke, and I’m not hitting my sister up every five seconds.
I’m a girl that loves overpriced coffee and manicures, but can you blame me? Gel nails are the best thing to happen for a girl when you work in the mechanic field, even if only doing office shit. Though it’s never only office crap. There are times your help is needed in the actual shop.
“You Joe?” I ask when I enter the shop through the office door. A man in his early twenties stands from behind the desk that has two worn-out chairs in front of it. The smell of oil and brake fluid takes me back home. I have to swallow down the emotion that tries to flood in.
“I’m Joe Jr.” He runs his fingers through his short dark curls. “Call me Joey. It makes things easier around here.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Madeline.” He reaches down to use the cloth hanging off his hip to wipe his hands.
“They’re kind of dirty,” he tries to warn me as he offers me his hand in return. They appear fine to me, but that’s because I know that oftentimes a mechanic’s hands might appear dirty, but really they are stained from work, and it’s an easy thing to say instead of explaining it.
“Well,” I take his hand and shake, “if I were worried about that, I probably shouldn’t be asking about what position you’re hiring for.” I nod back toward the sign. Joey’s brows rise in surprise.
“What? I know cars.” I don’t know everything, but I know a lot. “But I’m even better at paperwork.” I tap the stack of estimates he has in a pile on the desk next to a pile of invoices. They are definitely in need of some organization. The side door into the shop opens, and I know it’s Joe Sr. when he steps through with that same dark wavy hair and deep blue eyes.