Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Were you allowed to have fun at my age?” she asks.
Chase starts to respond, most likely to bail me out, but I got this. I answer before he can get a word in.
“Yeah. I was allowed to have fun,” I say. “I wasn’t going to high school dances until I was in high school, though. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if you’re allowed to attend high school events until you’re a student there.”
“Well, at Peachwood High, no one cares about that,” she says like she knows everything. “My friends go all the time.”
“Do you want to know what my friends did at fourteen?” I ask. Not that I had many, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“What?”
“They snuck out to meet boys. They told their parents they were at one place, and they’d stay the night somewhere else. They drank alcohol at parties they weren’t supposed to attend and pierced their belly buttons using rubbing alcohol and needles.”
Chase coughs. “Don’t give her any ideas.”
Kennedy grins, and it’s full of mischief.
“Want to know what happened to them?” I ask.
“Sure,” Kennedy says.
I start to tell her a bunch of baloney to scare her straight. But as I form the stories to share, I realize Maggie probably already did that. I bet Chase has done the same, and it’s not working.
Glancing at Chase, I will him silently to be patient. Then I turn to Kennedy.
“They went on to graduate, get a job, and have families,” I say. “Well, most of them, anyway.”
Kennedy grins smugly. “Shocking.”
“Really, Megan?” Chase asks.
“Kennedy,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “When your dad, or your grandma, gives you rules, it’s not because every single thing you do is going to ruin your life.”
She grins at her dad out of the corner of her eye.
“You might sneak out and not get caught,” I say. “Or you might get in the car with someone you shouldn’t and make it back just fine. But all it takes is for something to go wrong one time. One single time. Your whole life might be over before it’s even begun.”
“But what’s the odds that it happens to me? Like you said, nothing happened to your friends.”
I lift a brow. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you said they went on with their lives like normal.”
“Sure, they did. But one graduated with her baby boy in the crowd. She missed prom because she just gave birth.”
Kennedy’s smile wobbles.
“We took our senior trip,” I say. “And a boy in my class was on probation and missed it. He couldn’t leave the county. There was a car accident on Christmas Eve during my junior year. A bunch of kids from my chemistry class were out having fun in the middle of the night and wrecked the car. Killed one of them. Another still walks with a limp, and a third, the last I heard, was traumatized over being the car's driver that night and watching his friend die. He’s had to live with that every day.”
Her face pales as she listens. Her eyes widen.
“My senior year,” I say, “there was a big party before the last day of school. Each class had done this for decades before us. My mom didn’t let me go.”
“At all?”
I shake my head. “I was so mad at her. Everyone was going, and this was the party of the year. I’d waited for this thing since August. I remember pacing my room and crying, fighting with my mother about how mean and strict she was and why she had to be such a tyrant. It was really easy to hoist all of my anger on her. How could she do this to me, right?”
Kennedy stills.
“A whole bunch of parents had to pick their kids up at the police department that night … but not mine,” I say.
She looks at her dad. Chase crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t say a word.
“You see, Kennedy, I get it,” I say. “I understand how it feels to be the only one not getting to do stuff. I was that girl. I sat at home while everyone was out having fun, and I was the one that had to listen to all the stories on Monday morning about the events of the weekend. It didn’t feel good. I wanted to be a part of that so badly. And trust me when I tell you that I understand how left out it can feel when your classmates are doing things and you can’t.” Because your mom wouldn’t let you … or more often because you weren’t invited.
“Yeah …”
“But I get it now. She was protecting me. Was she overbearing? Sometimes. Did she make all the right choices? Probably not. But she was trying to keep me from the situations where that one thing—that one life-altering event that I couldn’t come back from—might happen. She had to weigh the pros and cons of each situation and make a game-time decision, knowing that if she made the wrong one, it would be her fault. Or she’d feel like it was, anyway.” I smile. “And now? I have a great life. I’ve traveled the world and had important jobs. I get to have experiences now and, I promise you—the experiences as an adult are head and shoulders better than anything you could have as a teenager. I swear it.”