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)
On the other hand, she would kind of deserve it.
Mom continues rubbing my back in small, circular motions, then brushes the hair off my forehead.
My eyelids grow heavier.
“You know if you want to talk about anything, you can tell me,” her soft voice reminds me. “I’m here.”
I know. But I have a feeling she isn’t ready for the things I’d tell her, especially the trespassing-and-theft-of-a-mascot bit.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Mom pauses some more, hand on my back. “How was school today? I didn’t get the chance to ask.”
No, she didn’t.
As I mentioned, Mom is an attorney and gets home late sometimes, depending on what cases she has. There are evenings I don’t see her at all. Dad is the one who primarily drove me to and from youth hockey—and my sister to her stuff—since his schedule is more flexible. I don’t resent her for being busy; she’s there when it matters.
“School was good.” I bite my bottom lip before deciding to roll to my back so I can see her face. Swallow my nerves for this next part. “So, uh. I was kind of thinking of…asking someone to prom.”
“Wow, Easton.” Mom’s eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open. “You are?”
She’s shocked, which is no surprise—I’ve never gone to a dance before, not even with a group of my friends.
“Do I know her?”
I shake my head. “Her name is Harper.”
I can see my mother racking her brain, moving around puzzle pieces, hoping to click the name Harper into place.
“What’s her last name?”
“Conrad.”
Mom loves this game. She always asks for a last name, goes to the database in her brain, and tries to make a match with anyone she may have also gone to high school with whose child this could be.
“Hmm. I don’t know any Conrads…”
No idea—not that I would tell her if I knew. No fucking way. I don’t need my mother doing a deep dive on Harper’s parents out of sheer nosiness.
“Does Dad know?” Mom asks suddenly.
“No.”
Mom seems amused. “I can help you come up with ideas on how to ask her, if you want me to.”
Guilt churns in my stomach, but I push it aside.
“Nah, it’s fine. I’m not going to make a production out of it.” I clear my throat. “Harper isn’t that kind of girl.”
We fall into a lull, and I know she’s already thinking up more questions, inching closer to the threshold of my patience. I do not normally spill my secrets to my parents—they know I’m close-lipped.
I go to school. Go to practice.
Come home.
Sleep, eat. The usual.
I do not confess my sins—do not pass go. If I told them all the dumb shit I’ve done, my mother the lawyer would haul my ass into the principal’s office so fast my head would spin.
“Should we go tuxedo shopping or do you want to wear a suit?” Mom says at last, pressing the issue of prom like a dog with a bone.
“Dunno.” I’m not in the mood to think about those details.
“Okay.” She pats me on the hand. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, hmm?”
Or not. “Sure.”
“All right. Good.” She is glowing at the thought of taking me shopping for dress clothes, practically beaming as she stands and gives my hand one last squeeze before heading to the door. “Just don’t forget—the dance is exciting, but it is not your priority.”
Who could forget when they are constantly reminding me? I bust my ass in the gym—and on the ice—almost every day of the week. Not to mention practice shots in the driveway, and that rink Dad builds in the side yard every winter.
“I haven’t forgotten.” I can’t escape from it.
She taps the doorframe, lingering. “Love you.”
“Love you.” I watch as she closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts yet again.
The room feels quieter now, the noise in my head slightly dulled by Mom’s brief visit.
I reach over and turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The ceiling is still here, the wall is still here—they’re just invisible now, holding all the thoughts I’ve let marinate. My secrets.
Well. One less secret. Now she knows about prom.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come.
Two faces clash in my mind: Maddie Miller’s and Harper’s. I can still see Harper’s crestfallen expression in the hallway. The whole fucking situation is too complicated for my teenage brain to handle.
Too messy.
Am I the problem? Shit.
I don’t know much, but I do know one thing: Tomorrow is going to be another day of pretending everything is hunky-dory. Another day of trying to keep all my actual thoughts bottled up where they can’t do any damage.
And.
I have a date.
A double date with my best friend—but seriously, how bad could it be? All I have to do is watch a movie and be a gentleman, yeah? Harper is outgoing and talkative, so I won’t have to worry about any awkward moments. Showing up at her house unannounced had the potential to be a disaster and she took it like a champ.