Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Though my mom knows something happened two years ago, she isn’t aware of all the dirty details. After I was done vomiting in the bushes, Courtney and I debated what to do. She told me, at the very least, I needed to see a doctor. But after she drove me into town and parked the car in front of the clinic, I chickened out.
I just couldn’t do it.
I was humiliated and ashamed. I couldn’t remember what I’d done, and somehow, it seemed like my fault. That’s when the texts started flooding in, and it didn’t take me long to realize everyone at BMA blamed me too. They said I was down for anything. A total freak. Guys were sending me dick pics. Girls were calling me every name they could come up with. And Landon went radio silent.
I shut down after that. I didn’t even want to show my face at school. So, yeah, I ran away. I went back to Hawaii to live with my grandmother, where I stewed in my anger and pain. The time away was necessary, and it gave me room to grow stronger, but I regret that it tore my mother and me apart. I feel terrible for keeping secrets from her, especially when it’s killing her not to know what hurt me so much. But my mom is such a good person, so I don’t think she could even wrap her head around how vicious my classmates are.
Since I’ve returned, we’ve been awkwardly dancing around the subject while she tries her best to make me happy. Part of that plan consisted of huge shopping sprees and a brand-new wardrobe, courtesy of my stepdad. I still feel a little weird about accepting things from him, but I figure it can only help. If I’m going to take back my dignity, I might as well do it wearing nice clothes.
I find my mom in the kitchen with a spatula in hand, eyes twinkling as she glazes a fresh batch of poi mochi. Alana Hale-Grant is dynamite packed into five feet, five inches of sunshine. She still maintains a dancer’s body even though she’s retired from the sport. She competed at the professional level for most of her career and snagged some of the most prestigious titles at Hawaii’s biggest festivals. But her knees are shot, so now her dancing is confined to the kitchen while she cooks.
My features are a carbon copy of hers, right down to the freckles on our noses. The only difference between us is her taller, slimmer frame and a smile that could finally achieve world peace, given the opportunity.
She passed down her thirst for dancing, but I missed out on her confidence gene. The woman is unapologetically in love with herself, flaws and all. She’s always instilled in me that women should celebrate their unique beauty, regardless of their wrinkles, scars, or body shapes. Her philosophy is wearing what makes you feel good and eating what makes you happy, dessert included. But then again, she can afford to. Her figure is more forgiving. I inherited my father’s build, and I’m a lot curvier for it.
On that note, my stomach rumbles, and the old me is reaching out to grab one of the treats my mom made before I think better of it.
Goals.
I have them this year, and I can’t give my haters any more ammunition to use against me. If I gain back even so much as a pound, every girl at BMA will throw it in my face.
“Hi, honey.” My mom smiles when she sees me, her face lighting up the whole room.
“Hey, Mama.” I smile back, nearly cracking open when she wraps her arms around me and squeezes.
“Have I mentioned how happy I am to have you home?”
“Only like a thousand times.” I close my eyes and force down the emotions threatening to spill out. I missed her so much.
She releases me from the hug and holds me at arm’s length while she studies me. “Are you doing okay? How was the first day back?”
She looks worried, and I want to put her at ease.
“Everything was fine,” I lie. “Most of the students don’t even remember who I am.”
“Well, I want you to tell me if you have any more issues,” she says firmly. “I will march right down there and handle them myself.”
“Okay, Mama.” I laugh. “It’s gonna be fine, though.”
“I made your favorite.” She wiggles the tray of carbs in front of me. “You want one?”
“I’ll take one to go.” I grab one and wrap it in a paper towel, so I don’t upset her, but there’s no way I’m actually eating it. “I have some homework to do before dinner.”
“Homework on the first day?” She frowns. “I was hoping we’d have some girl time before Theo comes home.”