Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Just wait, pearls,” I whisper, ignoring the snickering and laughter around us and focusing only on her. “You don’t know what you just did. I’m going to make it my mission to show you every day from now on.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” She must be suicidal. That is the only reason she would look at me the way she is now, before walking past. And here I am, with my shirt plastered to my chest and all eyes on me. There’s no choice but to let her go.
“Fuck it,” Easton decides. “You should try to rinse off or something.”
Like that will help. Like I give a shit about my clothes, anyway. She thinks we’re a joke. Like all we can do is make threats.
She’ll learn. And I’m starting to think I’ll enjoy teaching her.
We’re barely through the front door after school when Dad barks at us from his office on the other side of the first floor. He must have heard my truck pull in—we have our first and last classes around the same times on Wednesdays, so it makes sense to drive in together.
We both stop in our tracks in the middle of the front hall before he shouts again, loud enough that his voice echoes until it fills my skull and makes me wish we kept driving instead of coming home. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“No, we can’t keep the king waiting,” Easton whispers before we walk in the direction of Dad’s voice.
“Whatever it is, don’t give him a lot of shit about it or it will only get worse.”
“I’m starting to think you have no faith in me,” he replies before we round the doorframe. Just like last night, Dad’s sitting behind a desk, though this time we’re in a room filled with family photos.
His elbows rest on the arms of his chair, so he can tent his fingers under his chin like he’s some villain in an old movie. “I talked things over with your mother, and she agrees with me.”
There’s the first lie. No way he talked this over with Mom. She’s probably in a pill induced haze right now, upstairs in bed. Maybe if we were ten years younger, it would be easier to accept the way Dad glosses over the whole thing, like she just gets tired out easily and is clumsy and shit like that.
Taking a deep breath, he says, “The hospital volunteer program is always looking for participants. The two of you will spend three afternoons a week there for the foreseeable future.”
Motherfucker. Something tells me this isn’t going to be, like, reading books to patients, either. “How long is the foreseeable future?” I ask once I remember how to speak.
“As long as I say it is.”
“We have classes most afternoons,” Easton reminds him.
When Dad’s eyes light up, I know exactly what he’s going to say. “Last I checked, you have no class Saturday or Sunday.” All we can do is sputter in shock while he keeps talking. “You will do this, and you will do a damn good job and earn glowing reports, or you will both find yourselves paying for your own phones, your own cars, and your own recreation.”
A nasty smile twists his lips before he adds, “Considering neither of you has ever given thought to getting a job and earning your own cash, it looks like you don’t have a choice.”
I need to get out of this room. My head is going to explode all over the leather-bound books lining the walls—either that, or we’ll end up getting our asses kicked out of the house for saying something we shouldn’t. A few days a week at the hospital will look like a treat compared to that.
“This is bullshit!” Easton can barely form words by the time we reach the kitchen; his teeth are clenched so hard. The room is empty, quiet—at least, quiet except for when my twin kicks one of the cabinet doors under the sink. “Weekends, gone. And for what? Anybody would do what we did!”
“Yeah, and we wouldn’t be catching hell for it if it wasn’t for pearls.” My clothes are still sticky thanks to her. I didn’t even get the chance to change before Dad handed me my ass. “All we tried to do was the right thing, and she couldn’t be bothered to listen!”
“We’ve got to find a way to get her back for this.” The rage simmering in my chest boils in his eyes when they meet mine. “She needs to pay.”
“Don’t worry,” I vow with the first genuine smile I’ve worn all day. “She will.”
4
EMMA
“You know you need to try to eat something.”
Grandma’s gentle but firm reminder lands heavy no matter how soft-spoken she is. Like lead weights against my skull. “You know I try. But if I force it, that just makes things worse.” To make her happy, I lift a piece of toast to my lips. Of course, she insists on watching until I take a tiny bite.