Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Chapter 15
Easton
I cannot sleep, and I blame Marcus and Macy and the stupid texts they sent me.
Macy: Double date TOMORROW!!! We’re going to the movies and you can’t say no.
Can’t say no? What is this, a dating dictatorship? Who made Macy the boss? As if it weren’t bad enough being told what to do by Harper…
Marcus: Yeah, dude, be ready at 6:30.
Great. He’s cosigning.
This whole situation has seemed to snowball, culminating in a double date with my best friend, orchestrated by his overly involved girlfriend. So here I am, staring at my phone, knowing there’s no backing out.
Another text pops up.
Macy: It’s gonna be so cute omg!
Cute??? I’d rather get hit by a hockey puck at full speed.
I don’t respond to the messages but schedule the date in my brain before plugging my phone in and setting it on my nightstand, dragging the blanket over my head.
It’s so fucking late.
I cannot shut my brain off.
It’s a spinning wheel, bouncing from one conversation from my day to the next, every hour playing on a loop, from Harper to Maddie to Marcus and Macy to my algebra teacher—who chewed me out after I fell asleep in his ninth-hour class. Back to Harper. Back to Maddie.
Like—would you mind if I popped in and did a video for social media? She stood in the hallway, fluorescent lights at her back casting a halo around her head. Or maybe I just imagined that.
Would I mind if she popped in to film a video? Hell no, I don’t mind!
Please do!
It didn’t occur to me in the moment to ask Harper’s opinion—I could feel the tension oozing out of her as she stood beside me, practically seething but determined to act unaffected.
Was Maddie only being nice so she could film content? So she could boost her own social standing and make it look like she was doing prom things? I don’t know shit about that stuff, but I’m sure high school drama is good for ratings.
She was so sweet, though—and Maddie Miller is never polite.
People can change, can’t they? Maybe she changed her mind about how she feels about me.
Bullshit. She didn’t wake up this morning and decide she wants to hang out with you. She didn’t change her mind about going on that date you asked her on.
I’m popular enough, but no one is voting me prom king. I have a six-pack some of the time—but that depends on whether or not it’s hockey season.
Ha.
My brain bounces back to Harper.
It’s not that I don’t like her—I do. She’s fun. And the more time we spend together, the more fun we have. But with Maddie Miller rearing her head, everything suddenly feels complicated. I’ve had a crush on her since middle school.
How am I supposed to focus on anything if she comes around?
And how am I supposed to act around Harper knowing she’s noticed how Maddie affects me?
Jeez, she gets so bent out of shape for no reason.
I shift on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. It’s no use. My thoughts are too loud, too chaotic. I toss and turn some more, staring at the wall now and the ugly plaid wallpaper I’ve had since I was a kid that my parents haven’t taken down and probably never will because my mom is “MAD FOR PLAID!” as she has proclaimed more than once.
The wall gives me the same blank stare the ceiling gave me.
Then.
There’s a knock on the door—two firm raps. No hesitation.
I know it’s my dad before he even steps inside. He never waits for an answer. The door creaks open, and I hear the shuffle of his footsteps against the carpet.
“Easton?” Pause. “Bud?”
I don’t move. Maybe if I fake being asleep, he’ll leave.
No such luck. He knows I’m awake by my loud breathing.
“Still up?” His voice is even, no-nonsense, as usual.
I let out a slow breath and roll to my back, staring at the ceiling. “Yup.”
There’s another pause before the bed dips slightly under his weight as he sits at the edge. Not like Mom would, all soft and comforting, rubbing my back or brushing my hair off my forehead. Dad’s presence is heavier, more expectant.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
A quiet scoff. “Try again.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Just thinking.”
Dad’s sigh is short, sharp. “You seem to be doing that a lot.”
Yeah, no kidding. I have a lot on my mind he has no idea about. Things I can’t share because he’ll be pissed beyond belief.
My dad doesn’t say anything for a few beats, and I know he’s watching me—assessing. This is how he operates: silent, observant, waiting until he has all the facts before weighing in.
Finally, he exhales, fully ready to lecture. “Look, I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you need to sleep. You can’t go through life exhausted.”
Well, no shit!