Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Emily stood, smoothing her sundress and brushing off her backside. “I wasn’t trespassing,” she insisted. “I just came out here to see my dad’s car all decorated.”
As if she had part ownership of this stable just because we’d allowed her dad to park his car here for a few days. To be fair, we’d always sort of treated each other’s neighboring orange groves as one continuous property, but I was in no mood to be fair. And anyway, what she’d said was clearly a lie. “Your dad’s car is down there,” I gritted, pointing behind me as though she didn’t already know that.
Emily moved her eyes slowly in the direction I’d pointed and then back to me, smiling sweetly. “I saw the books from below and was curious. I thought some homeless person might be living here. Maybe even a mass murderer or a…cannibal or something. I figured your mom and dad would want to know.” She looked around at the things I’d brought into my private hangout—books, binoculars, a pad of paper and a few pens, a deck of cards—and her lip quirked. A cannibal? Really? No, the little brat had uncovered a secret of mine and could tell I was mad. She was enjoying this.
“Get out before I push you over the edge,” I threatened, taking a step forward, hoping to scare her and wipe that self-satisfied smirk off her pretty face.
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.”
She glanced toward the edge, noting, it seemed, that she was nowhere near it, and therefore, not in any danger of being pushed. My baseless threat appeared to anger her more than anything, and with a huff, she bent and picked up one of my books and then held it in front of her. “I should have known these were your books the minute I saw them,” she said, her gaze going to the title of the one she was holding. Roman Aqueducts and Water Supply. Her expression registered dramatic disgust. “Boring books.” She lowered the pitch of her voice, doing a mocking impersonation. “I’m Tuck. I read boring books so I can get more boring. Boring, boring, boring.” I watched, my mouth falling open as I radiated rage and disbelief, and though I wouldn’t have admitted it, a small bit of curiosity. I was never quite sure what Emily was going to do from one moment to the next. She picked up another book, A Soil Owner’s Manual, and held it up to her face, pretending to read, crossing her eyes, taking a few steps one way and then the next in a drunken sort of stagger. “Oh good,” she said. “A book about dirt. I just got even more boring. Just what I was going for. Maybe I can join the Boring Olympics or start a business where I help people who can’t sleep.”
“Boring is better than stupid,” I retorted.
Her mouth set. Her blue eyes sparked fire. Yes, I knew her well enough to know that that was her button. She had trouble in school. Her parents were always on her case about her grades. She was behind in almost everything, except her beloved music class. She picked up one of the hand weights I’d brought up here so I could strengthen my mind and my body, the same way my grandfather had done all those years ago, or so the story went.
“I’m Tuck,” she said, using that same mocking pitch. “I lift weights so I can get even…” she paused to move her eyes over my body “…scrawnier than I already am.” She lowered the weight, crossing her eyes again and pretending to struggle as she lifted it, doing it again, huffing, moving her arm faster as she grunted in a parody of me, attempting to workout. Part of me wanted to laugh at the ridiculous show she was putting on, but the larger part was still raging mad and hugely offended. And so, when she jerked her arm backward and the weight slipped out of her hand, flying over her shoulder and sailing off the edge of the loft, I let out a bark of laughter that died a quick death as the sound of breaking glass exploded from below.
Oh God.
The Thunderbird.
Emily yelped, and we both moved quickly to the edge, going down on our knees and peering over to where the weight had landed, smack-dab in the middle of the Thunderbird’s windshield, shattering it and landing in a pile of shards on what had been the unblemished white interior.
Her father’s pride and joy. The one he’d spent three years restoring to pristine condition.
Emily’s sudden wail pierced the silence and she crawled to the ladder, turning around and descending in a blur of blue sundress and bouncing blond ponytail. I followed, my body still rigid with disbelief, and a fair amount of horror.