Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
There’s a long bout of silence, so long I worry she might never speak again. When she does, I’m relieved.
“I wasn’t doing anything with that picture. I’m not… It wasn’t what they said it was. I’m not a freak.”
“We’re all freaks, Lainey. Get over it.”
She finally looks over at me, her green eyes ablaze with fury. “You’re an asshole.”
“Good,” I say with a proud nod. “That’s exactly what I want you to say to Blythe the next time she tries to bully you.”
Her eyes narrow angrily. “You know you could have said something.”
“And how would that have helped you? I’m leaving. In fact, I already have one foot out the door. Soon you’ll be here all on your own.”
“I’m already on my own.”
She watches me roll my eyes, and then I tip my head back to rest it on the shelf behind us, looking out across the aisle. “You think that feeling is unique. You think you’re the only person at St. John’s who’s sad and misunderstood, but in fact it’s just an excuse.”
“I wasn’t aware I signed up to be lectured by someone I don’t even know.”
I smile, but she can’t see it.
“Don’t we know each other? It feels like it, a little.”
I almost tack on a joke about her keeping a picture of me under her pillow, but I bite my tongue before I go that far. She’s so young; I forget sometimes.
It didn’t bother me when I found out about it. Why would it have? As cliché as it is, a god loves to be worshipped.
I do wish I could console her without making her feel awkward about it. Whatever feelings compelled her to cut out and keep my picture, I doubt they’re real. She’ll meet someone someday who will be worthy of having their photograph cherished. It’s a shame she doesn’t realize it.
“Are you happy to be leaving this place?” she asks with a quiet voice.
It feels like a question the guidance counselor asked me a moment ago, and whereas in her office it felt like I was checking boxes, doing my duty so I could leave, sitting with Lainey, it feels like honesty is the only option.
“Yes and no.”
Her brows scrunch with confusion. “But you’re heading off to college. Aren’t you excited?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Is it because you don’t want to leave your friends behind? Your girlfriend?”
I try to think of who she could be referring to. There was a night a few weeks ago when Francesca and I got carried away, but…
“I don’t have a girlfriend, so no. And my friends will all be within arm’s reach, even if I’m halfway across the world. I’m going to school in Paris, and between you and me, I’m ready for a fresh start.”
“Well then what’s holding you back?”
Now I’m the quiet one.
She bumps her shoulder against my arm lightly. “You can tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
I nearly smile at her earnestness.
Instead, I shrug. “It’s not some big thrilling thing. Just…people expect a lot from me. There’s a life plan I need to follow.”
“Or what?”
“Or…nothing. I’ll be unremarkable. A failure.”
She doesn’t reply, and when I turn to look at her, she’s furrowed her brows as if she can’t comprehend that fate for me.
Then she looks down at where her arms have a firm grasp around her legs. “Yeah…well, I envy you getting to leave. I still have so many more years here.”
“It doesn’t have to be miserable.”
“I have no friends,” she says, point-blank.
“You could try to put yourself out there more.”
“The same way you try to be less angry? Less intense? And how does that work out for you?”
What an astute little thing.
“You’re right. People are who they are. But sadness is a heavy thing to carry for so long.”
“I’m allowed to be sad—I’m grieving.”
Right. Her parents both died earlier this year. It was fuel for a lot of the rumors about her. I feel like an asshole for forgetting that.
“Do you want to talk about—”
“No.”
She’s made herself clear, but I still feel bad, so I volunteer something I’ve never shared with anyone else at St. John’s outside of Alexander.
“I had a sister about your age.”
Her eyes widen in alarm. “Is she dead?”
“No. I used to wish, sometimes…” Fuck, that’s cruel. I shake my head. “She’s not at St. John’s. In fact, I barely know her. We have different mothers, but I imagine she’s a lot like you, smart and quiet.”
“How do you know I’m smart?”
“Wild hunch. Are you not?”
“I am,” she says indignantly. “I get As in all my classes.”
“Good.”
She suddenly leans forward and pushes aside some of the books I’ve brought to return so she can read the spines more clearly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this book for months. I was about to just buy it.”
I look down at the copy of East of Eden by John Steinbeck.