Page 180 of Fallout (Crank 3)

And I kiss him back, with every

fiber of me screaming, “Go ahead.

Say okay. You know you want to.

Beg him to—” Except a buzzer

goes off. The turkey’s done. Taters,

too. Gosh darn food fantasies.

TURNS OUT

The buzz isn’t fantasy. It’s my cell,

insisting I’ve got a text message.

Bryce. Wonder if he was reading

my warped mind long-distance.

He’s in San Diego, spending

the holiday with his grandparents.

Hey u. CA wud be prettier if u

wur here. ’S cold w/o u.

Abbreviations irritate me. I text

back without resorting to shortcuts.

“Hey, you. Texas is always warm. But

Thanksgiving would definitely be

a lot more fun if you were here.

I’d even cook for you.” I hit

the send button, fall back into

my kitchen fantasy. But not for long.

My cell buzzes again. Wish u wur

cooking 4 me. Gram’s cooking

mostly suks. Hey, are u a good

cook? Cuz if u r, I think I luv u.

DID HE MEAN

He loves me? Like for real?

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