Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I don’t need that. I’ve got real things going on in my life—things Senator James’s daughter wouldn’t ever comprehend She’s like that handbag my mom looks at on the Internet. You want it bad but can’t ever afford it. Or if you buy it, you end up ruining your life.
I reach down and grab my backpack. “Gonna bounce,” I tell her.
Her head pops up. “I’m not done.”
I shift my gaze to somewhere over her shoulder so I can’t see her beautiful eyes. “You’ve got it.”
“But what if I get stuck?”
There’s an earnest panic in her voice and I can feel myself wavering. If I stay here longer, though, I might never be able to leave. I lean over and snatch the pencil from her hand.
“What—“
And jot down my number. “There.” I toss the pencil on the table. “Text me if you need something.”
“Where are you going? School doesn’t dismiss for two hours.”
I’ve been here for almost five hours? No wonder I’m growing desperate. “Things to do, places to see.”
Her eyes narrow into mean lines. “A girl, isn’t it? Men,” she huffs in disgust. “You only think with one thing.”
“Yeah, my dick is really good at math. You should test it out. Maybe it’ll help you study better.”
“I’d rather die.”
The look of derision she sends my way should’ve wilted my semi but she’s too hot and too beautiful and I would be all too happy to have her on my dick even if she thought I was lower than a worm, which is why I need to get the hell out of here.
“Good thing I’m not into necrophilia then so you’re safe.”
She gives me the finger and the devil inside me has me shrugging off my backpack. “I thought you said you’d rather die than fuck, but I’m down.”
“Would you just leave? I can figure these out on my own.” She picks up the pencil and pretends to ignore me.
I give her one last look and then jet out of there. I roll around killing time for a while until I head across town in the pickup line at Franklin Middle School. My late model Beemer looks out of place amongst all the Land Rovers, Mercedes, and Cadillacs, but my sister, in her pleated tan skirt and navy blazer with the Franklin school crest stitched on it, looks like she fits in and that’s all that matters.
The uniforms for the school set me back five grand but I wasn’t going to let her go to school without having everything her friends had. I didn’t need her to be singled out for being different.
Once she spots me, she speeds over, not even once waving goodbye to her friends. That’s not normal. When she climbs in she has a sour expression on her face. I curl my fingers tight around the wheel. I swear to God, if any of those punks hurt her feelings, I’m gonna destroy them.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” she mutters but her actions suggest differently. She kicks her backpack and folds her arms across her chest, her face is drawn tight. I’ve been in this position before and nothing generally means something but I won’t get it out of her by pushing.
“Good. Then you won’t mind stopping somewhere on the way home.”
“I have homework.”
“You’re in sixth grade. How bad can it be?” What did I even study in middle school? Or did I sleep through those years, too?
“Not everyone is smart like you, Brad. Some of us have normal brains, you know.”
“Sounds terrible but since I know you’ve got a special brain, you’re exempt.”
“Ha. I wish.”
I don’t know what that means. When Belle was younger, it was easier to deal with her. I could give her ice cream to make her happy or read her a book. A cartoon distracted her. Now she gets moody and I don’t know how to bribe her out of her mood. I opt for just shutting up. The silence nets me a result when halfway to the Dairy Queen, she blurts out, “I don’t want to go to Franklin anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate it there. Everyone is so stuck up and snobby and it’s always a competition as to who has the nicest stuff. ‘Candy’s mom got her a Chanel necklace,’” Belle says in a high-pitched voice which I guess is one of her classmates. “‘Well, my mom got me Gucci boots.’ ‘Gucci boots? Everyone has Gucci boots. I have Louboutins.’”
I feel like Belle is talking in a foreign language here but I get the gist. Her classmates have shit that she doesn’t have. “I thought you all wore uniforms.”
“Shoes and jewelry are whatever you want. It’s just this.” She pulls on her blazer. “That has to be the same.” She leans an elbow against the window ledge and props her tired head onto her hand. “I want to go to a normal school where it’s okay to wear tennis shoes and jeans. I’m tired of being around these bitches.”