Total pages in book: 11
Estimated words: 9924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 50(@200wpm)___ 40(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 9924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 50(@200wpm)___ 40(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
“Are you insane? We don’t even know each other.”
“Why does that matter? It’s only a natural chemical reaction between healthy adults.”
“Are you a fucking animal?”
“Monster, to be more specific.” The way he emphasizes the word ‘monster’ sends a chill down my spine and it’s with effort that I manage to hold on to my agitation.
I slap my hands on his chest to push him away, but I barely manage to move the rock-hard muscles. “Get off me.”
“Shhh. I’m not done.”
“Done with what?”
“With you.”
My toes curl and it takes everything in me not to knee him or something. I’ve always been bad at handling these types of advances, but especially if they’re coming from someone like Sebastian.
I guess the rumors are correct after all. He’d really sleep with anyone, wouldn’t he?
“Weaver!” a male voice yells and Sebastian begrudgingly gets off of me, the loss of his body rattling me more than I care to admit.
I jump to my feet, gathering my headphones and bag, thankful nothing was broken, and my attention shifts to the guy headed our way. It’s Sebastian’s friend, Owen, another buff football player, with darker skin and a shaved head.
Sebastian, however, doesn’t make a move to leave, his feral gaze zeroed in on me. Embarrassment and a feeling I can’t identify grab hold of me and I want to kick my leg in the air and run in an open field so I can breathe clean air and get rid of it.
“Want an autograph?” I snap, then regret it. I really need to learn how to control my temper and not throw a tantrum at everything. But I guess I constantly have this feeling that everyone is out to get me, and the star quarterback is no exception.
Especially with the taunting way he observes me.
He smiles again in that hollow way that might be a sign his soul was recruited by the devil. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”
“Think about what?” Owen wraps a hand around Sebastian’s shoulder when he reaches us. “What’s up with you and the Asian chick?”
I place a hand on my hip. “The Asian chick has a name, doucheface, and it’s Naomi. Tell Siri to spell it out for you.”
And with that, I turn and leave, the echo of Sebastian’s laughter following me long after he’s out of earshot.
By the time I get home, I think I’ve analyzed what happened back at the field a hundred times over.
Okay, that’s a lie. It’s been at least double that.
Despite being a cheerleader, I don’t actually talk to Sebastian or play house with the rest of the football team.
Sure, Reina, Brianna, and the rest of the squad do, but I don’t for the simple reason that…well, they expect sex. It’s not rocket science and I’m not a whore.
So why the hell did I make myself look like one when I looped my leg around his?
Desperate much, Nao?
I text Luce to ask her to call me as soon as she’s done with whatever satanic rituals for shape and beauty Reina makes them do. But I know she’ll be too busy for me today.
Or ever, for that matter.
She practically sold her soul to the devil, and Reina will make sure to keep her occupied.
Our house, or Mom’s pride and joy, as she likes to remind me, sits on a large piece of land in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. We even have a huge-ass garage that we barely use and a fancy pool that Mom can show to her friends when she invites them over.
She always plays the game of ‘accept me!’ and it’s kind of frustrating. I’m way younger than her and I already understand that we, as minorities, just don’t get accepted. At least, not by most of the racists plaguing this godforsaken town.
If I had a penny for every time someone’s called me ‘exotic’ or said I have such ‘strange’ eyes or that my soft black hair is so ‘unique,’ I’d be as rich as my mama.
She knows all that, but she just refuses to stop trying, which is both courageous and sad, I guess.
Instead of going inside, I rummage through the mailbox, searching for a very familiar black envelope…
Yes!
I get out Akira’s letter and smile as I open it. I even pause my core metal playlist. What? It means the letter is that important.
Juggling the rest of the mail in one hand and my bag on my shoulder, I open the letter from my pen pal.
And yeah, that sounds outdated, but his first letter got me smiling, and I needed to smile that day, so I wrote back.
True, I still know next to nothing about Akira, but it’s not like I’m telling him my deepest secrets or anything. It’s just something that I look forward to every week.
And maybe that’s because I’m pathetic and he’s one of just two people I have as friends.