Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Her mother sighs. “Yes?”
“Remember the legend of the Wanting Tree that Grandma used to tell?”
“How could I forget?” A drawn-out pause. “She loved that old eyesore.”
Without seeing Shiloh’s face, I know she’s bothered by that comment, but she lets it pass. “I think I’m forgetting part of the legend, but I can’t remember what it is…something about the time traveled returning home. How it happens.”
“A time traveler’s time runs out if he comes across someone from his own time,” recites Shiloh’s mother with a yawn. “Just a bunch of nonsense, Shi.”
“Hmm. Right.”
They continue to speak for a few minutes, planning meals for the week, and I tune out, going back to turning the pages of the yearbook until I get to the autograph section.
And I don’t like what I find. At all.
Chapter
Seven
Shiloh
I open the door of my closet to find a very angry, very naked rancher.
“Who the fuck wrote this?” he asks, stabbing the glossy page of a book.
Oh God, it’s my yearbook? He’s looking at my yearbook?
As if the passive-aggressive conversation with my mother wasn’t enough, now I’m being dragged through a dung pile of embarrassment. I try and snatch the book out of Blaste’s huge hands, but he holds on tight, keeping it from me with very little effort. “Shiloh, who wrote these things?”
“Nobody.”
“Somebody wrote them,” he insists, shaking the book around.
My face grows hot. “Bullies, okay? Just…you know, the kids who peak in high school. A bunch of clichés. It’s fine.”
“It ain’t fine,” he fumes. “I’m fitting to kill somebody.”
“What?”
“Shiloh,” my mother calls through the bedroom door. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself. Sorry. I’m watching a show on my phone and…yelling at the characters. For making bad decisions.” I bury my face in my hands, before dropping them away. “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”
“Yes, please,” calls my mother on the way to her own bedroom, shutting the door.
“Keep quiet, please,” I whisper. “Look, I just, like…wasn’t very popular in high school. It’s a weird time for everyone, right?”
Blaste’s expression is murderous. “Explain it to me.”
“I bet you were popular.”
“Bet your ass I was. I wasn’t mean to anybody, though. And stop changing the subject.”
I roll my eyes, feeling a flush consume my cheeks. “It all kind of started in freshman year…” Once again, I try to take the yearbook, but he holds it over his head, hitting the light chain and sending it swinging. “I was never one of the cool kids. I just kept to myself, ate lunch in the library with my two friends who also just wanted to blend in. But…oh God, this is so stupid. One of the popular girls, the dance team captain—her name is Pippa—well, her boyfriend took an interest in me. I didn’t encourage him at all, but he started…” I notice Blaste’s jaw starting to clench. “I’m not telling you the rest until you calm down.”
“This is as calm as I’m going to get.”
“You realize that you call me some of the words written in my yearbook, right?”
His chest shudders up and down. “I will never, ever say those words to you again.”
Emotion impacts me in the chest, heat sneaking in behind my eyelids. “Thanks.”
His chest lifts and falls. “Finish the story.”
I slump sideways against the shelf. “Well, he started following me home, asking me out repeatedly. He got my phone number and started calling me. I always said no. I wasn’t interested. One afternoon, he cornered me in the library and…” I shake my head, not wanting to replay the hideous moment out loud.
“And what, Shiloh?” Blaste growls.
“And, um…” My throat is too dry to swallow. “H-he kissed me and tried to put his hand up my skirt. I was fighting him off, but his girlfriend walked around the corner and misinterpreted what was happening. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe what was really happening. But anyway, she told everyone I tried to steal her boyfriend. From then on, all the popular kids called me…those names. Slut, whore, homewrecker.”
“What’s his name and where does he live?”
“Blaste, don’t be ridiculous.” I wave my hands. “Zander doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a part of the past I want to forget.”
“Zander,” he spits. “Did he ever corner you again? Did he…ever touch you again?”
I’m already shaking my head. “No. Just bullied me, along with his friends.”
Again, I try to take the yearbook, but he flips the pages a few times, past all of the messages calling me troll or bitch or slut. And he lands on the message that Zander wrote on the final day of senior year, when he grabbed my yearbook in the hallway and scrawled the message before I could stop him.
“Is that his phone number?”
“As if I would ever call it,” I scoff. “It’s just a taunt.”
Blaste slaps the yearbook shut. He turns to pace, but of course there is nowhere to go, so he faces me again. “I’ll never say those words to you again, Shiloh. I’m sorry. You should have told me why they bothered you so much.”