Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Jack: Tour.
Me: She showed you my room?
Jack: Yup. Your other roommate’s, too—with the boring room. Looks like no one lives there.
Me: Yeah, Lilly wants to be an architect. She’s very serious and regimented.
Jack: You’re not though.
No, I’m not. I’m definitely the creative type, and the ironic part is I didn’t bring half of my room decorations to school with me this year—it’s way too much work taking that stuff down at the end of each year and storing it. A lot of my posters and drawings are still at my parents’ house.
Me: No, I’m totally right-brained. Creative.
Jack: What’s your major?
Me: Eh, business. I’m not in love with it, but it’ll pay the bills *fingers crossed* What about you?
Jack: I studied finance at Uni back home—or that was always my plan because that’s what my father does, and what my brother does, so that’s what I will do. But here, for now, I am undecided.
Jack: I’m certain at some point it will be business, too. Seems inevitable—I can still collect comic shite on the side and have fun doing it.
Me: You collect comic shit?
Jack: Have always done. Since I was a lad. Kept me busy while I was at school and made me less homesick.
Me: I got into cartooning and comic books in middle school. I went to art camp once with my best friend Larsa and we took a cartooning class, and my art was so different than everyone else’s, but I still won an award.
Me: That’s when my parents first started taking my art seriously—after I won that award on the last day.
Jack: What else do you like doing?
Me: Writing. Stories. Watching movies, of course.
Me: You?
Jack: NOT rugby. I like cricket, but zero people play that here. Car boot sales.
Me: What’s a car boot sale?
Jack: I think you call them flea markets? I fancy those, they’re fun. Great place to search for old memorabilia and vintage.
Me: Oh you’re right, that is a great place to look. Is it weird that I’ve never been?
Jack: You really should. They’re loads of fun. I like to go really early and then eat a hot dog or hamburger for breakfast at around dawn as the vendors are setting up. Just walk around when it’s cold and still damp because it’s so early.
That sounds so idyllic it actually makes my heart pitter-patter—the thought of doing something like that, especially with him. I imagine us walking around holding hands while we look in each booth for treasures.
Stop it, Eliza.
You shouldn’t even be chatting with him right now. Kaylee would absolutely have a heart attack if she knew—the poor thing has been trying to contact him all evening, totally blowing up his phone.
I watch as another notification from her comes through. She needs to stop.
Her messages are becoming slightly excessive—I am embarrassed for her on her behalf.
She seems desperate, and I know for a fact she is not—she’s simply not used to guys who do not pursue her.
Another message from her comes through—this is number twelve in a matter of hours—and I will myself not to open it up, but the curiosity is killing me.
Don’t look at what it says.
DO NOT look at what it says.
Don’t do it, Eliza.
This isn’t your phone—these texts are private, and Jack has no desire to know what they say.
I busy myself by fluttering around my room, pulling back my bed sheets to prepare it for sleep. Give my pillows a fluff. Spray a little lavender where I lay my head. Check to see if I have a bottle of water for my nightstand.
I don’t.
I’ll have to go to the kitchen and grab one so if I wake up in the middle of the night, thirsty, I have something to drink.
Please let me be the only one in the kitchen, I pray as I crack open my door and sneak down the hallway. The lights in the house are off, and only soft whispers can be heard throughout—Kyle and Lilly in her bedroom, and the television from Kaylee’s room.
When I get back to my own sanctuary, I ease the door closed slowly and cringe when it clicks noisily back into place. I feel like I’m creeping around—as if I’m going to be caught in some lie when all I’m doing is texting a guy whose phone I ended up with accidentally.
Don’t be naïve, Eliza—this isn’t just any guy. This is the guy your roommate has a crush on.
Does she though? Or is she just trying to control him?
There’s no way I’m going to know because there is no way I have the courage to ask her—not to her face anyway. Maybe I could ask Lilly, but she’s so wrapped up in Kyle I doubt she knows what’s going on either.
Jack’s phone dings.
Jack: You still there?
Me: I am—I went to get some water from the kitchen. Shouldn’t you be in bed?