Read Online carefully everywhere descending by L.B. Bedford - Free Book Online Page A

features on the ones she likes, pulling the weight of the conversation. My thoughts have been racing the entire time, adding and subtracting the columns of a balance sheet in my mind.
    She keeps giving me sidelong looks, and finally asks at a stop light, “Everything okay?”
    â€œListen,” I say. I’ve never been someone to hold back from attaining what I’ve wanted, so I continue, only a little shaky. “I seem to be… experiencing some… some attraction to you. I would… I have never dated anyone before, but… I would like to date you.”
    â€œIf you would like to,” I add lamely in the dead silence that follows. Scarlett is staring at me and doesn’t move until the car horn behind us blares out a long, angry note. She starts and hits the gas. We jerk forward and she hits the brakes to reduce speed, yanking us nearly to a stop. She gets the speed under control and soon turns down the road to my house.
    â€œI…,” she starts, and then stops. “I—”
    We arrive at my house, but I don’t reach for my seat belt when she stops and pushes the gearshift into park.
    She takes a deep breath, and right away I know this isn’t going to be good.
    â€œAudrey, I-I’m flattered,” she says, and I bury my burning face in my hands.
    â€œOh, no,” I say, not sure if I’m intelligible from behind my palms, but also not particularly caring. “Please, end it quickly.”
    â€œIt’s not you,” she says, and I snort. “Seriously, it’s not. I’m… I’m, uh, kinda committed. To someone. Else.”
    I peer out from between my fingers.
    â€œOh,” I say in a tiny voice.
    â€œCarolina Murphy. Specifically,” she concludes softly, and looks…. Well, she doesn’t look smug, for which I’m infinitely grateful. She looks a little sorry, actually.
    â€œWell,” I say, fumbling for my bag and my dignity, “thank you for the ride. I think you’re certain for an A on those papers, I really do.”
    â€œWait,” she says before I get out. “I have something for you, as a thank-you.”
    â€œYou don’t—” I start in exasperation.
    â€œYeah, I do,” she says, shoving a Walmart bag in my hand. “You kept saying how much you hated your pen, so….”
    I part the top of the white plastic bag and see two sets of beautiful, new Inky pens. One pack is just blue and black; the other has a rainbow of colors. My throat closes up, and I can barely speak to thank her.
    I fumble open the car door, and in short order, the door to my house also, parting me from Scarlett for the last time. The Walmart bag rustles as I walk inside. My mom is standing by the table, showered and dressed. This must be a good day for her. Her short graying, crinkly hair is fluffed out around her head. Her sagging upper arms sway a little under the sleeves of her old T-shirt as she turns around, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
    â€œHello, sweetie,” she says tentatively. She always tiptoes around us after one of her spells. “I’m making chicken casserole for dinner. How are you?”
    Without warning, I burst into tears. I run over to her and throw myself in her arms. She looks alarmed but immediately hugs me tightly.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” she asks, gently lowering me into a chair. She pulls another one close and takes me back into her arms, smoothing a hand down my back.
    â€œI’m such an idiot!” I wail. I pour the whole story out to her, building up to my rejection so she understands just how mortified I am.
    â€œOh, sweetie,” she sighs when I’m done and cried out.
    â€œWhere’s Sam?” I ask, now horrified that I might have had him as an audience for the whole embarrassing ordeal.
    â€œHe’s asleep,” she says. Sam had stayed home sick that day. “I gave him a bunch of NyQuil, and it knocked him out a