Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
But anything’s better than letting them win.
Time to make sure my Pantry Girl gets an offer she can’t refuse.
The tires spit gravel as I finally peel out of Sterling Grove, the Jeep’s engine roaring in protest. In my rearview mirror, Mother stands in the doorway, one hand pressed to her throat.
Sorry, Mother. Your son’s about to disappoint you one more time.
Maybe it’ll be worth it this time.
FIVE
salem
One week later, I find myself between a rock and a hard spot. I should’ve known Bel would make good on her word of hanging out again. I guess I had assumed she only said it to be nice. Surprise. She wasn’t lying.
That’s why I’ve been staring at her text for the past twenty-three minutes, riding an endless roller coaster of emotions. I don’t know if I’m ready to do this again.
My fingers tap against my desk, one, two, three, pause, repeat. The soothing motion gives me something to focus on besides the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.
Bel: Small get-together at my place tonight. Eight p.m. Just a few friends. I would love to see you there.
Just a few friends. That could mean anything. Ten people? Twenty? What constitutes “small” to someone like Bel? Does she even have fewer than ten friends? My breath hitches, and I start gathering all the supplies I’ll need before I can talk myself out of going.
I’ve already talked myself out of it three times.
Clean gloves—three pairs, neatly sealed in individual ziplock bags.
Travel-size hand sanitizer—two bottles, unopened.
Wet wipes—one package, fresh.
Phone—fully charged.
Keys—checked three times they’re actually in my bag.
“Salem?” Noah’s voice carries through my bedroom door, followed by his signature three-knock pattern, something he started doing after I came home from the hospital. “Mom wants to know if you’re eating dinner with us?”
I’m not really hungry, but it’s probably a good idea to eat something since I know my nerves will be too shot to eat at the party.
“Yeah, just … give me a minute.”
“Are you okay in there?” The door is partially open so of course my seventeen-year-old brother, Noah, peers in, all protective concern wrapped in a hockey player’s frame. His eyes catch on my party preparation spread.
Lifting a brow, he asks, “Going somewhere?”
“Yes. I think. I haven’t officially decided yet.” I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my sweater until it hangs exactly right. The soft gray material is clean and fresh from the package. I ordered three of the same ones last week, making it much easier to decide what to wear. “Bel invited me to her place. Just a small thing. I want to go, but I also don’t, so the verdict is still out on whether I’m actually going somewhere or not.”
Noah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Bel Thompson?”
“Yes, and before you start—I know. I’m probably going to hate it. But Dr. Martinez says exposure is important, and Mom’s been worried I’m not being social enough and—”
“Hey.” Noah cuts me off mid-ramble, his gaze softening. “There’s no need to justify what you’re doing. I’ll support you no matter what, so long as it doesn’t involve anything illegal or candy corn.”
“What if I’m doing illegal stuff with candy corn?” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.
Noah smirks. “Then I have no idea who you are. And I disavow any knowledge of you as my sibling.”
“Rude.” I grin back at him.
“Oh, stop. You know I’m always here for you. Just … text me if you need an escape plan, okay?”
The anxiety I was feeling before Noah entered the room has disappeared. I can do this. I can be normal.
“I know, I know. All it takes is one message, and you’ll swoop in with some tragic story about our pet chipmunk dying.” I pause and press my lips together. “And I love you for that, but I have to try, have to make an effort. I’m terrified, but I’m even more frightened of being this way for the rest of my life.”
“Children!” Mom’s voice floats up the stairs. “Dinner’s getting cold!”
“Coming!” Noah shouts back, then gives me a pointed look. “Got it. You’re going to try to conquer your fears. Now what about Mom? Do you want to deal with her excited hovering or do you want me to tell her?”
I tip my head back and groan.
“I take that as my cue to tell her.” Noah laughs.
Looking back at him, I nod. “Yes, you do the dirty work. I’ll be down in a minute. Just need to …”
“Check everything three times?” His smile is gentle. “Take your time. I’ll save you from Dad’s meatloaf and any lingering questions.”
Noah is a true hero. The best brother ever.
After he leaves, I find myself staring at my reflection again. My chest is hollow as I force a ragged breath into my lungs. The girl staring back at me is half the person she used to be, her perfect edges now cracked with sharp, jagged pieces sticking out, threatening to slice anyone who might get too close. Tears sting the back of my eyes. Sometimes I wish I was still the girl I used to be—carefree, bright, open—but then I remember that night and the reason that girl is dead and buried. Maybe this is what I deserve.