Heart Bones - Colleen Hoover Page 0,15

kitchen island. They’re kissing. When they break apart, I suck in a quiet gasp.

Samson is Douchebag Blue Eyes. Samson is the same guy who just tried to pay me twenty bucks to join him in a ferry bathroom.

Gross.

But slightly impressive. He works fast. He was on the same ferry I was on, which means he just got home ten minutes ago. I wonder if he offered that girl twenty bucks.

“That’s the guy you want to set me up with?” I ask as we watch his tongue explore another girl’s neck.

“Yeah,” Sara says, matter-of-fact.

“Looks like he’s taken.”

Sara laughs. “No, he’s not. She’ll be gone soon. Samson only makes out with the girls who are here for a weekend.”

“He sounds terrible.”

“He’s your typical spoiled rich kid.”

I look at her, confused. “But you want to set me up with him?”

“He’s cute,” Sara says with a shrug. “And he’s friends with my boyfriend. It would be cool if we all coupled up. Did stuff together. Sometimes Samson feels like a third wheel.”

I shake my head and walk away from the window. “Not interested.”

“Yeah, he said the same thing when I told him you might be here for the summer. But you could change your mind after you meet him.”

I have met him. And I’m still not interested. “The last thing I need right now is a boyfriend.”

“Oh, God. No,” Sara says. “I wasn’t saying you should date him like that. I just mean…you know. Summer fling, but whatever. I get it.” She sighs, like that saddens her.

I’m just waiting for her to leave so I can have some privacy. She stares at me a moment, and I can see her mind trying to come up with another question, or anything else to say. “My mom and your dad won’t be very strict since we’re out of high school. They just want to know where we are at all times, which is basically in the front yard, at the beach. We make a fire every night and hang out.”

It just occurred to me that this girl knows my father’s parenting style better than I do. I hadn’t thought about that before this moment. I know his name is Brian, his leg isn’t broken and he’s a financial planner. That’s about it.

“Where do you want to go shopping for new stuff tomorrow? We’ll have to go to Houston, all they really have here is a Walmart.”

“Walmart is fine.”

Sara laughs, but when she sees I’m not laughing, she bites her lip to stop her smile. “Oh. You were serious.” Sara clears her throat, looking hella uncomfortable now, and this might be the moment she realizes we’re nothing alike.

I don’t know how I’m going to last an entire summer with a girl who thinks Walmart is laughable. I’ve shopped at thrift stores and garage sales my whole life. Walmart is a step up for me.

I feel like I’m about to cry and I don’t know why.

I can sense the tears coming. I suddenly miss my old house and my addict mom and my empty fridge. I even miss the smell of her cigarettes, and I never thought that would happen. At least that smell was authentic.

This room smells rich and sophisticated and comfortable. It smells fraudulent.

I point toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna shower now.”

Sara looks at the bathroom and then at me. She realizes that’s her cue to leave. “Try to hurry because Mom likes to have dinner as a family on the weekends.” She rolls her eyes when she says family, then she closes my bedroom door.

I stand in the center of this unfamiliar room, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alone than I do right now. At least when I was in the house with my mother, it felt like I fit there. We belonged there together, no matter how mismatched we were. We learned to navigate and weave our lives around each other, and in this house, I’m not sure I can invisibly weave around any of these people. They’re like brick walls I’m going to crash into at every turn.

It feels claustrophobic.

I walk over to the balcony doors and I open one of them and step outside. As soon as the breeze hits my face, I start crying. It’s not even a discrete cry. It’s an almost twenty-four-hour-delayed-sob.

I press my elbows onto the railing and cover my face with my hands, trying to suppress it before Sara decides to pop back into my room. Or worse,