The only problem is he doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
I’m wearing only a bra and pantyhose, and I take the opportunity to walk over to him in my Louis Vuitton pumps. With those shoes adding inches to my height and him in his bare feet, I am much closer to his height. I tilt my face up to his, and he pecks me on the lips.
I run a finger down his chest. “How about a little birthday present?”
He stiffens. “Now?”
“Sure. Just a quickie.”
“Eve.” He rolls his eyes. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
Right. Why would I be stupid enough to think my husband would want to have sex with me on my birthday?
As always when he rejects me, I get that pang of shame in my chest. At least there’s a man out there who wants me. Maybe it’s not me—it’s him. Maybe he’s asexual. Isn’t that a thing?
Of course, he sure didn’t act asexual when we were first dating. He couldn’t get enough of me back then.
Nate notices the look on my face and quickly adds, “I just took a shower, and we have to be at school soon. Anyway, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.”
He hasn’t mentioned any sort of present, and I’m beginning to think there isn’t one. A few years ago, Nate said something about how presents didn’t make sense when we’re sharing the same money. Sure enough, he has not bought me a present in the last three years. I suppose dinner is my present.
“We’re going to have a great time tonight.” He places his hands on my shoulders and grants me a second kiss, pressing his lips firmly against mine but not making any attempt to slip me some tongue. “Wherever you want to go.”
“Great,” I say, and I think I do a good job of not saying it sarcastically.
As Nate gets dressed, my phone lets out a buzz, signifying a text message. I snatch it off the table, noting that I have a message on Snapflash. I downloaded that app about four months ago—I heard about the kids at school using it, because it has the feature of text messages and images disappearing exactly sixty seconds after you open them. It’s a perfect way for kids to communicate without their parents discovering what they are up to.
It’s also a great way to communicate with the attractive shoe salesman who I’ve been seeing for the last several months.
I hold my breath as I open the app. I told Jay not to message me unless it was important, but I can’t help but smile at the message from him:
Happy birthday! Wish we could spend it together.
I stare at the message for the sixty seconds until it disappears from the screen. My first smile since I woke up this morning spreads across my face. Even though it’s dangerous for him to message me, it’s always the best part of my day. I write back:
So do I.
I stare at the screen for another few seconds, and sure enough, another message appears:
I’ve got something for you.
“Eve?”
I nearly drop my phone. Nate is dressed and looking at me curiously. I suppose that’s fair enough, considering I’m still just wearing a bra and pantyhose. “Yes?” I say.
“We have to get going.” He taps his watch. “You’re going to be late.”
I grab a dress out of my closet and throw it on as quickly as I can while Nate casts pointed looks at his watch. By the time I grab my phone again, the message from Jay has vanished. And there is nothing more on the screen.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Twenty
ADDIE
FOR ONCE, I have worked up a sweat in gym class.
I’ve been running laps, which is my least favorite thing to do. We spent the entire class running, with the requirement of doing fifty laps. I’m almost entirely sure that Kenzie did half of that, but when she told Mrs. Cavanaugh she was done, the teacher just waved her to the bleachers to sit down. But when I tried to tell Mrs. Cavanaugh I was done after forty-eight laps, she shook her head at me and told me to keep running.
So today, I’m grateful to take a shower after class is over. I can’t believe I still have three periods left before I can go home. Except the worst part is that I can’t even just veg out on my sofa for the rest of the evening. Mom has the day off, and she said when I get home, she wants us to visit the cemetery and see my dad. It’s been two months since we’ve been there, she reminded me. As if he’s lying in that grave, looking at the calendar on his watch, and wondering why it’s been so long since we came by.
Whatever. After I turn eighteen, I’m never visiting that grave ever again.
I shower quickly. I’ve been trying to shave my legs more frequently so the girls won’t have a reason to make fun of me, but at the same time, it seems kind of dumb to shave just for gym class. Especially since they make fun of me whether my legs are baby smooth or not. Today, unfortunately, my legs are on the hairier side, so I try to be as quick as possible.
I trudge back to my locker, to retrieve my jeans and oversize sweatshirt. Except when I get there, the lock is hanging open.
I rip the locker open, my stomach sinking. Right away, I see my backpack is still there, so that’s good. And my gym shorts, underwear, and sweaty T-shirt are still lying on top of the backpack. But that’s it. The clothes I came to school with are gone.
That’s when I noticed Kenzie and her friends at the other end of the hallway, watching me and giggling to each other.
I square my shoulders and turn to look at them. “Can you please give me back my clothes?”
Kenzie blinks her big blue eyes at me. She’s already dressed and ready to take off to our next class. “What’s wrong? You’ve got clothes in there. Wasn’t that what you were wearing all day?”
I grit my teeth. “No, it wasn’t. Look, I need my clothing back, okay?”
“I have an idea,” she says. “Why don’t you write a poem about it? Isn’t that what you’re good at?” She taps one of her manicured fingers against her chin. “Woe is me, my clothes were let free, and now everyone will see my hairy knee.”
Kenzie’s friends burst out laughing and then head for the exit. For a moment, I am seized with the almost irrepressible urge to run after Kenzie, grab a handful of her blond hair, and rip it right out of her skull. I bet she’d stop laughing if I did that. And bonus: I’d probably be expelled.
Honestly, the only thing that keeps me from doing it is thinking about how disappointed Mr. Bennett would be.
I look back at my locker, weighing my options. I really, really don’t want to put on my sweaty gym clothes again. But what am I supposed to do? Go to class wearing a terry cloth towel? All the other students have already gone to their next class, and in a second, the next group will be filtering in.
I decide to do a lap around the locker room, figuring that Kenzie likely would not have thrown my clothing away. I check every single aisle, but I don’t see any sign of my jeans or sweatshirt. It isn’t until I get to the showers that I spot a little ball of clothing in the corner. I dart into the shower, and sure enough, it’s my outfit from this morning. Except now absolutely soaked from the shower.
Well, my options have just gotten a little more limited.
The next group of students are coming into the locker room. There’s no way I can put on my sopping wet clothes, so I have no choice but to put my gym shorts and sweaty T-shirt back on. The T-shirt smells terrible, but what can I do?
And the worst part of all? I’ve got Mrs. Bennett’s math class next.