Total pages in book: 436
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 415303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 2077(@200wpm)___ 1661(@250wpm)___ 1384(@300wpm)
I made a face at her. “That’s not why I—”
“Liar! You wigged out, so you wigged out.” She motioned to my hair. “Your hair is like a mood ring. Do you know how he feels?”
I inspected my cuticles. “Not really. I mean, I think I do, but I’m not sure.”
“So talk to him, Pen. Be a grown up and call him and talk to him.”
“Maybe I’ve already screwed it up.”
“Or maybe you’ll call him and everything will be fine. Because he’s into you. I have a feeling he’s wigging out too. Hopefully he didn’t shave his head or something.”
I laughed and ran a hand over my hair, feeling insecure about it now that I’d been called out. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”
“I really do. I mean, even if he doesn’t want to be with you, that would be better than this, right? Because then you could just try to get over it.”
I sighed. “Yeah.” And then I thought about calling him. I thought about seeing him smile. I thought about just being with him, like it had been before Peggy came around, blowing cigarette smoke in my face. “I don’t know how to get back to the happy place, Ramona.”
“Tell him how you feel, and let him tell you how he feels. Once you talk about that, you’ll both feel better. And instead of having to text Ronnie BEAR TRAP, you can talk to him about it.”
“Traitor!” I shouted at Veronica, who shrugged.
Ramona leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Just call him. It’s the only way to stop the crazy. I know you’re afraid, but not talking to him is what made you crazy in the first place. The only power anyone has over you is what you give them.”
I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”
She watched me for a second. “Okay?”
I nodded and smiled, reaching for my phone. “Okay.” But before I could even unlock the screen, it rang in my hand.
The number was from Santa Cruz. It was a number I recognized. It was the first number I programmed into my Razr when I was sixteen and the number I’d dialed from my mom’s cordless phone.
Rodney fucking Parker was calling me.
I stared at my phone stupidly for a second before snapping out of it to answer. “Hello?”
“Pen?” His voice was familiar and velvety and full of swagger and ease.
My eyes were big and round, and my mouth was sticky and dry. “Rodney?”
Ramona’s mouth popped open
He laughed. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you kept the same number.”
“What the hell, man?” I said lightly, shooting for breezy, which wasn’t easy considering every nerve in my body fired in warning. “How are you?”
“Good, good. Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”
I mouthed Oh my God at Ramona, who blinked at me. “You too. What’s up?”
“You’re in New York, right? I caught your show on TV. Couldn’t believe it. You’re just as hot as you always were.”
I stood and paced out of the shop and into the steaming hot afternoon. “Uh, thanks.”
“So I called my agent, and she called your agent to get your number. If I’d known it was the same, I would have called you yesterday,” he said, smiling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m in town with the band — we’re playing at Lucky’s tonight, and I’ve got a couple of tickets for you. Tell me you’ll come see me.”
I felt sweaty and a little nauseous. “Yeah, okay,” I said a little sarcastically. I had literally no intention of going to see that asshole anywhere.
“Good. I was prepared to beg.”
Rodney. Begging me. For anything.
It was the stuff of my wildest dreams and my worst nightmares.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I had to be dreaming or having a full psychotic break or a stroke or something.
“You okay?” he asked as I laughed like a hyena.
I pressed my fingers to my lips and tried to stop, succeeding after a second and a few heavy breaths. “Yeah. Yep. I’m good.”
He chuckled, and I remembered all the nights with him, all the kisses at my locker, all the hours listening to the band practice. All the good. All the bad. All of it rushed back over me like a tsunami.
“All right,” he said. “The tickets will be at Will Call under your name. And bring a friend.”
“Sure, sure,” I answered as I swallowed my laughter.
“Doors open at seven. Man, I can’t wait to see you. It’s been too long, babe.”
“Oh, yeah. Cool. For sure.”
I hung up without waiting for him to respond. And then I sat down on the dirty fucking curb and burst into hysterical laughter.
Rodney had called me. And invited me to a show. And asked me to bring a friend. And called me babe.
The universe had to be fucking with me.