Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 997(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Then knowing damn well Noah doesn’t have any good music in his car, I grab the emergency CD I stole from my Range Rover and slide it into its new home before trying to figure out how to make it play. I could always connect my phone to Bluetooth, but then how the hell would I irritate the shit out of Noah when I finally take pity on him and allow him to have his car back?
Music blasts through the speakers as I cruise through the streets of East View, and it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. His car smells so much like him. It’s intoxicating.
I get halfway home before thinking better of it and turning around, heading back toward the park that Noah and I once called our spot. It’s going to be a long walk home—a walk I never considered to be long whenever I was walking it with Noah—but it’s worth every second of it. Though with my Range Rover stuck at school, I’ll have to bug Mom or Dad for a lift back there tomorrow. Maybe even Tarni, but then . . . maybe I won’t bother asking her because that’s only going to bring questions that I’m not ready to answer.
Reaching the park, I bring the Camaro to a stop right in the middle of the small parking lot, and I sit there staring out at the familiar terrain for far longer than I should. My mind takes me back to all the memories this place once held. So many amazing times filled with laughter and teasing. It was another world back then, back when Linc was still here, and we didn’t understand the true meaning of hurt.
Realizing Mom and Dad will be coming home from work soon, I initiate the second portion of my grand plan as I flip through the songs on the CD, trying to figure out which one would be most appropriate to burst his eardrums when he gets back in the car. I try to find something upbeat, something with plenty of bass and drums just to add an extra punch, but when I pass something completely different, something that holds a message within its lyrics, my finger pauses on the skip button, and I know this is the perfect song.
Nerves settle in my chest, the message in the song far too deep for me to be able to speak the words out loud, but I know he will understand. He’s always known that when I can’t find the words, I communicate through the music I listen to, something not many people have been able to pick up about me. But Noah did. He was always so observant.
Not wanting to linger on it or give myself a chance to change my mind, I go about screwing with his car, being as inconveniently irritating as humanly possible. I turn on the hazard lights, put the windshield wipers on full blast, and crank the volume to the max. Then just to be extra, I change the angles of the side mirrors and adjust the rearview one. Leaving the center console and glove box open, I start the song right from the beginning and cut the engine with a sigh. I wish there was some way to record his reaction when he finally gets back in his car.
I squeeze my way out of the car, leaving the seat as far forward as it can possibly go. Then before locking the doors behind me, my fingers trace the lines of my Z keyring as if holding on to something he coveted could somehow make me closer to him.
I begin my journey home with my head a mess of emotions, but what else should I have expected? Wild, unruly emotions seem to be my new normal at the moment. It’s almost been twenty minutes before I grace Hazel with my presence, and I barely even get a hello before she promptly ignores me and goes back to practicing her winged eyeliner in the bathroom mirror.
Trudging into my room, I drop Noah’s keys on my desk, and as I go to walk away, I think better of it. Scooping the keys up again, I steal my Z keyring back, grinning at the smug pride that swells in my chest.
Settling on the end of my bed, I get stuck into my homework until I hear Mom and Dad coming home from work. I make my way back downstairs to find Dad struggling with an armful of groceries. “What’s going on?” I ask, striding into the kitchen and eyeing Dad as he dumps the bags on the island counter, taken aback by the amount he managed to carry in one load. “What’s with all the groceries?”
“Aunt Maya is coming for dinner,” Mom tells me as she unloads the wine—because we all know that’s the most important part.