His & Mine | Sequel to Make It Known | DISCONTINUED

Prologue

HIS & MINE

A (Not So) Innocent Love Story

by Ami

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epigraph:

"He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

- From Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

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Prologue

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Boys are so stupid.

Oblivious.

Idiotic.

Distracting.

Ugh.

Well, not boys. He's not a boy anymore. He's... a man. A grown-up. Mature. Experienced.

I frigging hate him.

I hate the way he treats me like I'm his little sister. Like I'm a little girl, like I'm still that kid he grew up with.

I'm turning sixteen this week. I'm not a darn child.

Just because I don't like swearing doesn't mean I'm a child, okay?

Hey Feelz.
I heard it's someone's birthday
on Friday. Tryin to figure out
the best gift for her. Any ideas?

Dang him. Dang that stupid nickname from when I was eight that makes my heart ache so dang hard in my stupid chest. Dang his stupid handsome smile, and those stupid big brown eyes with those stupidly long eyelashes and that stupid, stupid playful look on his face that turns me into a pile of mush every single time.

The only thing I want for my sixteenth birthday is for Luke Wilson Rowley to give me my first kiss.

Like I'd ever tell him that. He'd probably feel sorry for me. He'd look at me like that pathetic little girl with a devastating, colossal crush on him.

I know he's kissed other girls before. Older, prettier girls. When I was in grade nine and he was in grade eleven, I remember seeing him and Jaylene Graysen with their faces attached, sitting on one of those benches beside the field at school.

It made me physically sick to my stupid stomach.

I just... want him to notice me. To see me, Ophelia Kathryn Stone, who's smart and funny and beautiful and grown. Not... Feelz, who used to force him to sit there while I did his make-up when I was seven, or who always beat him in Mario Kart when I was nine because he let me, or who always traded ice-cream with him when I was ten because I liked the flavour he chose better.

He's only two years older than me, for heaven's sake. Dad is four years older than Mom. Same for Aunt Ali and Uncle Zach. And, Uncle Dylan is six years older than Aunt Vicky.

I just want him to love me back.

Not like his little sister.

There's one thing that I want
that you'll never guess in a
million years, Loo