Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
But it’s fine.
It’s not a big deal.
Do I sometimes wish I looked different? Of course. Everyone does. We all have things about ourselves that we’d change. Mine just happens to be my body. Peyton would never agree with me, but that’s okay. That’s the testament of her loyalty, so I give her a fond smile. “I know.”
“And he’s an asshole for making you feel anything less,” she adds.
I swallow, my heart clenching. “I know that too.”
Peyton studies my features, her brow furrowing in concern. “I mean it, Riri. You’re beautiful. You’re amazing and I love you. And if that convicted criminal asshole can’t see that, then it’s his loss, okay? He doesn’t get to make you feel this way.”
That, I completely agree with.
He absolutely does not.
If I really think about it, I don’t even know him. All we did was write some letters to each other over the course of a few months. And maybe there were thirty-seven letters in total, and maybe I shared things that I’ve never really shared with anyone. But that doesn’t mean I actually know him. I can sit here and write out a list of things I don’t know about him. I mean, I hadn’t even seen him until this morning, and five minutes in his presence was enough to let me know that I never wanted to see him again.
So Peyton is right; he doesn’t get to make me feel this way.
This time my reply is filled with conviction. “I definitely know that.”
She bites her lip before saying, “Although, I can’t help but think it’s my fault.”
“What? Why?”
She sighs. “Because I encouraged you. Right from the start. Because when you came to me and said that you were exchanging letters with a felon who, by the way”—she raises her hand—“you started writing to because of me and my stupid grades, I didn’t stop you. I didn’t caution you like you always caution me. I didn’t say, ‘Think, Riri. He could be an asshole. He’s in prison, for God’s sake.’ No, I said, ‘Go ahead, Riri; live a little. Flirt it up. Be bad.’ Because I said it would be good for you to actually act your age for once and not live like an old woman just because of”—her eyes go big—“you know who.”
I do know who. And again, it’s a testament to her loyalty that she wouldn’t say exactly who because I don’t like to talk about her.
My mother, specifically.
She is right; I do live like an old woman—all cautious with no adventures—because of my mom. Because of all the choices she made in her life and how it affected her. And by extension, me.
Peyton was also right when she said she was the one who encouraged me when I came to her and told her that my letters had somehow become so much more than a mere assignment. In fact, when I told her that he wanted to meet me and that I wasn’t sure about it, it was she who said I had to do it.
I had to or I’d regret it.
But I don’t blame her, no way. What happened to me today was not her fault. She was being a good friend like always. A friend who wants more for me than what I allow myself.
“Hey”—I turn to face her fully now as well—“are you crazy? It’s not your fault.”
“But—”
“No.” I cut her off again. “Absolutely not. I’ve always done your assignments and I will always do your assignments. In fact, I probably should’ve done them all in the first place rather than letting you try to handle some yourself.” She rolls her eyes, but I continue, “So if we really think about it, it’s my fault. Because if I had done your assignments like always, you wouldn’t have been failing your midterms and you wouldn’t have needed to do the extra work.”
She shakes her head. “But I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve said something.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” I tell her.
“But—”
“No, Pey, you couldn’t have. No one could have. I wanted to do it. I wanted to write to him. And I may have been scared in the beginning but I wanted to go see him. God, I wanted that so much. I…” I swallow thickly. “I may have told myself that I wouldn’t go, that I was still making up my mind, but I knew, deep down, that there was no way I wouldn’t go see him today. There was no way I could be anywhere other than at that café at eleven.”
I know that now.
I knew it the moment I walked in and found him sitting there with his trucker’s cap on and his eyes pinned to the door. That’s how he found me so quickly, wasn’t it? Because he was watching the door.
He was waiting for me.