- Him: I know. Okay? Your mom? Your brother? Your dad told me everything.
(I'd buried that past so deep around those therapy kids, but he'd managed to unearth it. And what he said next?)
- Him: I'm not your brother.
- Him: I can't just be that for you.
(Dad must've told him. Not sure what took so long.)
His figure disappearing behind his mansion door for the last time.
Then me. Sitting there in the driver's seat of my car like an idiot, frozen in the street, watching the perky sky, letting Chord Overstreet sing over my speaker. My thoughts wouldn't drown. They had thumped louder, added salt into my eyes, and the clear spokes of grass in the yard grew as blurry as the street signs in the distance. Eventually, I put my crappy car in drive and didn't stop until I was snug in my garage and the rest of Delcoph, New York was safely out of sight.
I'd drive by the place a solid twenty over the speed limit. I didn't call. He didn't text. I hope he forgot about me, because I couldn't forget about him.
YOU ARE READING
Me, Myself, and I
Teen FictionGraduating from high school was supposed to be Julia's fresh start: a way to become more than just a famous therapist's daughter and a dead kid's sister. But when a mysterious letter shows up with her mother's name on it, Julia's unreadable history...
