FROM THE AWARD-WINNING AUTHORS OF THE CHEATER.FAKER.TROUBLEMAKER SERIES (WATTY'S 2016, FICTION AWARDS 2016, HACHETTE AUDIO 2017), JENNY ROSEN & KRISTEN MAGLONZO.
After bullies, braces, and brutal heartbreak shatters his faith in love, soon-to-be fre...
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NOTE: Quarantine got you down? Don't miss out on this week's recording of BOY KING by kaelking12! A little comedy + romance goes along way :)!
CHAPTER 28
Elias
Up until about thirty seconds ago, I was okay with the idea of letting my brother live to see his next birthday. I figured that Tanner of all people would have the decency not to socially neuter me in front of the one girl I'm trying to talk to. But apparently, I was wrong.
He knows that I'm into Lacey.
He knows that I was jazzed about this girl before I even met her.
Which is why I trusted him not to say anything stupid.
But here we are. Standing in the middle of the most awkward silence in the history of awkward silences, and no matter how badly I wanna break it, I don't even know where to start.
"Ms. Sanders—?"
Shirley's voice comes screeching across the room like nails on a chalk board, and, for the first time in my life, I'm actually grateful to hear it.
"—I'm sorry to interrupt, but your father's on the line. He'll be here in about fifteen minutes and would like you to have your things packed before he arrives. Do you think you can manage?"
Lacey takes her eyes off me and Tanner and perks up a little too fast at Shirley's question.
"Sure thing. My locker's just down the hall so I—"
"I'll get it. Your s-stu—"
The words come flying out of my mouth faster than I can control them, and my tongue practically gives me the middle finger for it. My "S" gets stuck somewhere between Barcelona and San Diego and for a good couple seconds, all I can manage to do is to hiss-spit at Lacey like a complete loser.
Her eyes shift over and focus on mine and right when I expect to see something like pity in them, the sudden change in her expression throws me. I'm used to people noticing how I speak—I'm used to watching them pick apart the mixed bits and pieces of my accent or wincing when I get stuck. They always shoot me the same look, one that judges and pretends to feel sorry for me at the same time. But Lacey's not looking at me like I'm a disappointment. She's waiting for me. Listening. Letting me finish when most people don't even give me the chance.
"—your stuff, I mean. And if y-you need anything else—like stuff from school if you're not back by t-tomorrow or whatever, you can call me."
The rest of the sentence comes out in a tangled mess, and I'm so mortified by the whole situation that I decide to put 100% of my energy into anything else but talking. Before Lacey can say anything, I start scrambling to find a piece of paper to write my number on to distract myself and her from what just happened. My hands are shaking so badly that I barely manage to open the zipper of my backpack. Eventually, I grab hold of a half-chewed pencil, scrawl my number on it, and hand it to Lacey without making eye contact.
