A Real Goode Time - Jasinda Wilder Page 0,4

Max and I never talk about what we do together, physically. It’s always been, like, not secret, but…just…a thing we do that we don’t talk about or reference. And it’s always at his apartment, always at night. And I always come home right after.”

Leighton chuckled. “You need to get laid, girlfriend.”

“I’ve waited this long for it to be right,” I said, “I may as well keep holding out until the right guy comes along.”

“But what’s right, Torie? How will you know? Some magical sensation in your hoo-ha?” Leighton snorted. “And trust me, your first time ain’t something to write home about.”

“I’d be an adult,” I said, approaching this delicately, “and it’d be…voluntary.”

“Not a child and against your will?” she muttered. “Like poor little ol’ me?”

“Not how I meant it, but…yeah, basically.”

She was quiet a long time. “Well, Tor, for your sake, I do hope your first time ends up being worth the wait. I really do.”

“And, for my part,” Jillie added, “I agree with you, Torie—you’ve waited this long, so keep waiting for the right guy at the right time. For it to be worth it. Just don’t give it away cheap.”

I sighed. “That’s the plan.”

“But first,” Leighton said, “get to Alaska without getting raped and murdered.”

“Yeah, that too,” I said.

Friday afternoon, 4:00 p.m., after a midday shift.

Mr. Sokoli, my boss, had given me the okay to take time off—I’d told him I’d be gone something like three weeks, and that I’d call him if I needed more time. I’d worked for him part-time and full-time since I turned fourteen, so I had a guaranteed job at his restaurant pretty much whenever I wanted.

I’d checked the bus times last night, so I knew I had plenty of time to walk to the Greyhound station from the restaurant and buy a ticket as far as half of my cash would take me.

I said goodbye to everyone at the restaurant and I set out. It started out pleasantly enough—cool and overcast, but a good day for walking. I had earbuds for my phone, but I didn’t use them. I wanted to preserve the battery life of my phone, as it was old and prone to dying pretty quickly.

It was six miles to the bus station, and I figured I’d need an hour and a half or two to get there. As I was nearing an hour in—too far to turn back but barely halfway there, the overcast sky began to darken from a slate gray to a heavy, threatening, sullen coal color.

The wind picked up.

The cool day turned almost cold.

I felt a droplet of rain on my head. “No.” I stopped, and stared up at the sullen, blackening sky. “No, don’t you dare.”

Drip-drip. Dripdripdrip.

SPLAT.

SPLATSPLATSPLATSPLAT.

I whimpered. “You bitch,” I said, staring up into the rain, which turned into steady fat drops. “You absolute and utter bitch.”

I was in the middle of suburbia with nowhere to duck in and wait out the rain.

I slogged on, tugging my hood up.

What only moments before had been a steady rain was quickly worsening into a downpour. My boots began to squelch. My hair started to feel damp even under my hood. The wind blew buckets of cold rain sideways, splattering and battering me. Within a hundred yards I was as soaked as could be.

Within half a mile, I couldn’t get any wetter if I jumped into a pool.

I was shivering, angry, and cursing my luck.

Even if I called Lex right now and begged for help, I’d have to turn around and walk back home, and this rain did not look like it was going to let up anytime soon. So, I was screwed. I may as well carry on with the plan, and just get used to being wet.

I still had another couple of miles to go, and then I had a bus ride in wet clothes to look forward to. My backpack was probably soaked, along with everything in it, so I’d have no dry clothes to change into.

What a stellar start to the trip this was turning out to be.

A car flew past, spraying me.

I finally turned onto a main road and every few seconds another car sped past, flinging muddy water onto me. So now I was muddy, dirty, and wet.

Super.

It’s hard to not to be depressed in a situation like this—wet, alone, cold.

I was wallowing in poor-me thoughts, bemoaning my shit luck, my shit life, my shit self.

Splash—another vehicle bashed through a giant puddle; this time it was a semi, and if I’d

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