Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Colten Mosley. What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m weird?” She chased after me.
“Yes. You collect dead stuff, and you talk a lot about death. That’s weird.”
“Maybe it’s unique. My mom says I’m unique.”
I shoved my bat into my bag and headed toward our bikes. “She says you’re unique because your skin is not the same color as hers or your dads.” I turned just before reaching our bikes. “My parents told me not to say anything to you in case you didn’t know, but if it were me … I’d want to know.”
“Know what?” She crossed her arms over her chest and flipped out her hip.
“You’re adopted. That’s why your skin and hair are darker than theirs.”
“I’m not adopted, stupid.”
“Um …” My nose wrinkled. “Yes. You are. My mom said it looks as though you have a little Native American in your bloodline. And don’t tell anyone I told you. I don’t want to get into trouble.”
“My mom had sex with someone else. That’s why my skin is darker.”
“What do you know about sex?” I asked. I knew only what my brother had told me. A man pushes his penis between a woman’s legs and pumps his hips. I asked why. He said because it feels good like when I touch myself. But … I hadn’t touched myself in a feel-good way. Not yet. That came (pun intended) the following summer when Josie let me see her tits for three seconds in exchange for half of my Twix bar. I later learned it was frowned upon to trade things for glances at titties. They really needed a handbook for stuff like that. I couldn’t keep track of all the unspoken rules.
“Sex is how two people make a baby, stupid. Why don’t you know that?”
“I do know that.” I ignored her “stupid” label. My mom, the relationship expert, said Josie calling me stupid was actually an endearing term—just a little immature and unrefined. Mom said “silly” might be a better word, but she assured me Josie didn’t really think I was stupid.
“Then why did you ask me?”
I turned away from her and unlocked my bike. “Because my bro—” No. I stopped myself. I wasn’t giving my brother credit for my knowledge of sex. If my mom was wrong and Josie did think I was stupid, I didn’t want to give her anymore ammunition to tease me. “Because I’m pretty sure people have sex for other reasons too.”
“Other reasons?” Josie eyed me as she unlocked her bike.
I didn’t make direct eye contact because my cheeks were catching fire from talking about something that felt taboo. “Yeah. Sex feels good.”
“What do you mean?”
By that point, I couldn’t remember how we got on the conversation of sex, but I would have given my right arm to talk about anything else. “You’ll find out someday.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
We hopped onto our bikes.
“Tell me, Colten.”
“Nope.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m telling my dad you pushed me down.”
I slammed on my brakes, skidding to a stop. My gaze flitted from her scraped knees to her grass-stained hands. Before I could say anything, I think she read my reaction and withdrew her threat. That was the first of what would be many withdrawn threats.
“Fine.” She sighed. “I won’t tell my dad that. Just … tell me. If you don’t tell me, I’m not going to be your friend.”
Again, I gave her a look.
Again, she huffed a breath and withdrew her threat.
“We’ll be friends, but I’m never coming back here with you. And that’s no lie. So if someone tries to kidnap you, tough luck, Mr. Duck.”
After a few more blinks, I laughed. “Tough luck, Mr. Duck?”
She hated it when I laughed at her, but I couldn’t help it. Who said, “tough luck, Mr. Duck?”
Josie. That was who.
I was too young to recognize it, but I started falling in love with Josephine Watts before I had any idea what that really meant. By the time my adult self figured it out, she was gone, and it was my fault.
She frowned at me, a rain cloud ruining her baseball game, and wrinkled her nose while bolting ahead of me, down the street. I easily caught up to her.
“I’m kidding. Are you mad?”
“I’m kidding. Are you mad?” she parroted in a mocking voice.
“You’re mad.”
The second we turned onto our street, Josie kicked it into overdrive, dropped her bike in the front lawn, and ran inside her house.
“Did you and Josie have fun at the batting cages?” my mom asked as I kicked off my high-tops at the front door.
“I don’t know.”
She glanced up from the sofa, folding laundry and sorting it into piles around her. “Did something happen?”
I pulled off my baseball cap and hooked it on the banister before plodding my way to the faded leather recliner next to her.
“Don’t sit on my folded bath towels.”