Ariella never saw Mike like a brother; she only loved his goofball personality and flair for creativity. Mike never dreamed that bubbly and fierce Ariella would be interested in him. Once she confesses she's crushed on him for years, Mike staunchly...
Author's note: Hello! Thanks for reading with me. You don't have to read the previous books in the series (this is #4), but this might make more sense if you have the background.
Drop me a comment to let me know when you started reading. 💜
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Starved for attention. That's what my therapist told my parents when I was twelve.
Not that they broke the news to me. No, the psychiatrist brought it up casually during a session, and I pretended I knew all about the conversation. I've no doubt he saw through that because I wear my bleeding heart on my sleeve like an unintentional badge of honor.
My report cards throughout middle school included comments like Notliving up to potential and Disruptive in class. Except for my art teachers. They gave me rave reviews for my standout skills, and I went to an art camp two summers in a row after Mr. Bowie sent a brochure home with me.
After downing cocktails of antidepressants and intermittent benzos in middle school, I settled into a routine of daily meds and figuring out what can send me spiraling.
I can go weeks without shedding a tear, silently shouldering regret and self-loathing, until I accidentally splash ink on a sketch I've poured my heart into, or I'm convinced my best friend is annoyed with me.
Luke Garrett and I have been thick as thieves since the seventh grade, when my parents moved to Williamston, and he said what's up to me in a choir class, and asked if I could block him if the choir teacher asked for volunteers.
Challenge accepted. I threw my hand up when the time came, and told the teacher Luke and I wanted to sing in front of everybody. As Luke's face turned scarlet, I laughed my way to the front where I said Luke was out, but any girls who felt brave enough to sing with the new kid could join me. I met seven girls in that class, and we still joke about the event that cemented my friendship with Luke.
And tonight, I really wish he was here instead of visiting his brother this weekend. Because I really want to go home—just not my home. I want to collapse at Luke's house.
Intrusive thoughts swarm my racing mind as I grip the edge of the cold, hard bench of the Westfield Tiger's sky-high bleachers. I love the friends surrounding my spot at the end of the row, but the pit in my stomach is mushrooming into panic I can't ignore.
Dara and Kate sitting in the row below me, about five people down, made eye contact with me, then turned back around and giggled, heads together. Even if they're not talking about me, I can't stop thinking that people might not actually like me. They just tolerate me. And what the heck am I doing here, pretending like I fit in?
Sandeep turns as I nudge him with my elbow. "Um, hey, dude," I blurt out. "Something came up, and I gotta run."
"Alright, dude," he says, with a light smack on my back. "See ya."
The dwindling sun throws shadows of people in the stands over my path as I clomp down the stairs, and I feel a desperate need for fresh air. Even though the sky stretches for miles with fat, cotton-candy tinted clouds, I can't seem to catch my breath. It's like the crowd presses a heavy pillow over my mouth.
