Connor and I were born nineteen months apart. I turn seventeen in December. It’s the middle of July now, so I have, at most, five months.
“Write it all down,” Matt says, pointing to the paper and pen. “Everything is stored electronically nowadays. An autopsy report goes somewhere; I just have follow its path. See where it went, and you’ll have your man. If I were you”—he takes a sip of coffee—“I’d enjoy what’s left of summer. Spend some time with this pretty girl here.” He winks at Cami, and I feel for the guy.
He’s good-looking. He could probably get just about any woman he wants, until he tells them the bit about missing a leg and . . . his manhood.
“So,” Cami says, “should Kyle consider that an order?”
I look at her and roll my eyes, like I really need to be ordered to hang out with her. Hell, who else would I hang out with?
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Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
School starts in one month, and it’s not like I want to spend it hidden away in the basement playing video games. Last year that’s exactly what I did. But it’s different now. I think of Amber and the way she kissed me. I think of how emotions have a taste to them and how treasuring a moment and being desperate at the same time can create the most exquisite, unbearable taste.
She only had a few days to deal with the possibility of death, of never growing up or falling in love or any of it. Stiles had had no time to contemplate his death. He was fit and healthy and running one minute and then he was dead. I guess when it comes down to it, nobody knows how much time they’ll get.
I do know I’m ready to hand this over to Matt, to let him look for Dr. Mueller for a while.
I’m ready to get a sunburn and a snow cone brain freeze. I’m ready to step on hot cement in bare, damp feet, and I’m ready to forget, for just a while, that this may be my last summer.
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Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
never realized how the gravitational pull of the Earth impacts water, specifically water soaked into swimming suits. Bikini bottoms and baggy guy trunks reach toward the pavement, and their wearers seem oblivious to the various amounts of ass being exposed. Of course, judging by the bikinis most of the girls are wearing, being exposed is the goal. Crescent-shaped butt cheeks are everywhere, and the old saying that if you don’t see the nipple it doesn’t count should really be revised.
I’ve seen more tits in two hours at the water park than a dairy farmer sees in a lifetime and, occasionally, nipples included. Not that I want to see them, but . . . it’s not like you can help it. I wish the lifeguard where Josh is playing would stop turning around to look at Cami. At least she’s not hanging out of her suit. She has the good sense to leave some things to mystery, but they’re mysteries I’m pretty sure he’d like to solve.
“Who is that guy?” I ask as he supervises little kids trying to make it across a path of lily pads in water that’s probably about three feet deep. He’s tall and muscular and bronzed.
“That’s Ryan Jameson.”
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Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.
FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE
“Does he go to our school?” I ask. I feel something bubbling up in my stomach, and it’s not the plate of nachos Josh and I shared an hour ago.
“No. Josh took swim lessons this spring at the rec center, and Ryan was his teacher. He was always hitting on me.”
Jealousy. No, that’s not what it is. But then again, my dreams have morphed away from images of Emma to glimpses of Amber to Cami. But that’s just because I spend so much time with her. I mean, that’s what dreams are—your brain filing away the day’s events into certain categories. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Cami. She’s helping distract me while Matt works his hacking magic. We watch movies together, take Josh to the park, and play endless hands of Uno. Of course I dream about her.
Cami picks up the towel she’s been lying on, rolls it up, and shoves it into an oversized bag. She looks at me with her sunglasses lifted