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A disaster? I mean, I never thought it would be a good idea, but disaster is a pretty strong word.
“It would be bad for him and bad for you,” she goes on. “And perhaps bad for Eddie and me too. I just . . . look, it’s not really any of my business, but I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.”
“Of course,” I tell her. The same page being it would be a disaster. Well, if I wasn’t on it before, I am now. No one likes to be told that.
So much for my motherfucking feelings. And to think I thought he was going to kiss me. Thank god he didn’t.
“Want another glass of wine?” Monica asks as she gets up, and it’s then that I notice I’ve finished mine. “The TV in here gets Netflix. We could watch something. Have you seen that new rom com with Keanu Reeves? You can never go wrong with Keanu, am I right?”
I nod yes to the wine and yes to Keanu Reeves. The girls’ night is continuing.
But inside I’m focusing on that very big and final no to Harrison and me.
Fourteen
It’s Wednesday, and I’m in hiding.
My mother is still not talking to me, though she’s out of her room more often. As a result, I’ve started hanging out in my bedroom. Trying to avoid looking at the internet and social media, because I know people are talking about me in some way. The other night, after Monica told me she saw my picture, I spent hours going through every single article or post there was about me online.
Yeah, my name is out there. Local schoolteacher Piper Evans. I’m pretty sure someone, aka Amy, tipped them all off to who I am. Luckily, none of the posts seem to focus on the fact that it looked like a date; they are more concerned with what happened next, when Harrison grabbed Joey’s thumb. A lot of the comments are about how Harrison is hotter than ever (I told you that he had a huge online following), and that the jerk Joey deserved it. Then again, a lot of people despise Monica and everyone associated with her, so all the comments from those people say that Harrison should be charged with assault and that everything Monica does is a disaster (Eddie’s name is rarely mentioned).
Anyway, none of that was good for my mental health. I’m just glad I destroyed the newspaper before my mother could see it and that she’s not one for being on the internet. In her paranoid, vulnerable state, this would really set her back.
Alas, I’m starting to realize that hiding out isn’t doing me any favors either. Part of me wants to hide out for the rest of the summer and not emerge again until the school year starts in September. The other part of me doesn’t want to be intimidated any longer. Why should my fear of what people will say about me control what I do with my life? Why give people that power over me? After all, they’re going to think what they want whether I’m inside the house or not.
So I decide it’s a good day to go into town. I’m going to go grocery shopping, get a coffee, go have lunch alone at the Treehouse restaurant (I mean, I’m not dumb enough to go back to the Blowhole). I’m going to do the things that scare me because I don’t want to be afraid anymore. If someone recognizes me and takes my picture, I’ll deal with it. I don’t need Harrison to protect me (not that I’ve seen him since he was patrolling in that boat, and even then it was from a distance).
It’s . . . not so bad.
I take the Garbage Pail to the grocery store and do a big shop for the week. It’s packed, a lot of tourists and seniors, our two competing industries here, and people are nice and friendly. I know I should go to some of the other coffee shops in town, but the idea of a cinnamon bun is too enticing, and as much as it would suck to see Amy again, I know I can’t avoid her forever.
As it goes, Amy is working.
I get in line, and she doesn’t see me until I’m right there.
I give her a sugary-sweet smile. “Hi, Amy. Cinnamon bun and a large lavender oat-milk latte, please.”
She stares at me for a moment and then looks over my shoulder, as if expecting Harrison.
I continue to smile, though it’s turning more wicked than sweet as she slowly puts in my order.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Amy says after she yells the order to the barista in the back.
“Oh? How so?”
“I thought you would be too embarrassed to show your face. Making the front page of the local paper, not a good look.”
