Read Online Ember X by Jessica Sorensen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Sorensen
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“It’s okay.” I give her a soft pat, desperate for her to let me go. “It was just a car… Raven, can you let me go please?”
“Oh, sorry.” She steps back, freeing me from the burden of her death. “Is the car fixable?”
“Not unless we can get it out of the lake.” My tone is sunny, but my heart is charred .
“Wait a minute. You drove it into the lake?” She swats my arm and I flinch. “Why didn’t you tell me last night when I made that comment about your clothes?”
“You were upset.” I scuff the toe of my boot against the rocks in the driveway. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I’m sorry.” She frowns. “I’m a terrible friend.”
“You’re not a terrible friend,” I assure her. “You were just distracted by your own problems.”
She nods in agreement as we wander down the sidewalk toward her townhouse right next door. The street is quiet and the air is gentle against my skin. Crisp leaves flurry from the branches of the trees and cover the lawns with pink and orange. It’s late October and the lawns are ornamented with Halloween decoration: witches, fake tombstones, and plastic skeletons.
“Em, how did you get out of the lake?” She pauses to readjust a loose strap on her sandal. “Alive?”
“All those survival tips my dad always crammed into my head finally came in handy.”
“You got out by yourself? How? And how are you walking around completely okay?”
“I guess I’m just really lucky.” I don’t know why I lie. It’s like there’s this part of me that doesn’t want her to know.
“Lucky? More like a freaking, walking miracle.” She moves to the side and steps in front of me, looking me in the eyes. “I can’t believe I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry.” She pauses, considering something, and then shifts the subject, stepping out of my way. “Come on. You and I are going shopping because you need some cheering up and I need a sexy new outfit for school tomorrow.” She skips up her driveway.
I follow her and wait by her Corolla while she runs inside the house and gets the keys. That’s the thing I love about Raven. She hardly asks questions. She didn’t ask how I got home. What I was going to do about my dad’s car. Why I didn’t go to the hospital. But as much as I love not being grilled, I wonder if there is something wrong with our friendship, if she should have asked those questions. I once read a quote by William Shakespeare about friendship: “A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.” If I told Raven the wrong thing—something she didn’t want to hear—would our friendship end?
“Okay, so we have to stop and put some gas in because it’s low.” She swings the keys around her finger as she exits her house.
“I think I might stay home,” I tell her, leaning against the car door. “I’m feeling kind of sick.”
She points a finger at me as she trots down the front steps. “No way. You have to come be my fashion advisor.” She eyes my clothes over as she stops in front of me. “Or at least keep me company.”
I surrender and climb into the car. “Can we at least stop and pick up a new cell phone? Mine is somewhere at the bottom of the lake.”
“Sure.” She climbs into the car, then backs down the driveway, but slams on the brakes as a U-Haul drives up the road, followed by a red Jeep Wrangler. The U-Haul parks in the driveway of the house across the street and two doors down, and the Jeep parks out front. It’s one of the larger brick houses on the street, two stories with an upper deck and flourishing rose bushes in the yard.
“It looks like someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey’s home,” she says with inquiring eyes.
Two guys climb out of the moving truck, dressed in grey coveralls; movers, I assume.
We’re pulling onto the street when long legs stretch out of the Jeep, a guy hops out, and Raven slows down the car again. His blonde hair glimmers in the sunlight and
“Oh, sorry.” She steps back, freeing me from the burden of her death. “Is the car fixable?”
“Not unless we can get it out of the lake.” My tone is sunny, but my heart is charred .
“Wait a minute. You drove it into the lake?” She swats my arm and I flinch. “Why didn’t you tell me last night when I made that comment about your clothes?”
“You were upset.” I scuff the toe of my boot against the rocks in the driveway. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I’m sorry.” She frowns. “I’m a terrible friend.”
“You’re not a terrible friend,” I assure her. “You were just distracted by your own problems.”
She nods in agreement as we wander down the sidewalk toward her townhouse right next door. The street is quiet and the air is gentle against my skin. Crisp leaves flurry from the branches of the trees and cover the lawns with pink and orange. It’s late October and the lawns are ornamented with Halloween decoration: witches, fake tombstones, and plastic skeletons.
“Em, how did you get out of the lake?” She pauses to readjust a loose strap on her sandal. “Alive?”
“All those survival tips my dad always crammed into my head finally came in handy.”
“You got out by yourself? How? And how are you walking around completely okay?”
“I guess I’m just really lucky.” I don’t know why I lie. It’s like there’s this part of me that doesn’t want her to know.
“Lucky? More like a freaking, walking miracle.” She moves to the side and steps in front of me, looking me in the eyes. “I can’t believe I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry.” She pauses, considering something, and then shifts the subject, stepping out of my way. “Come on. You and I are going shopping because you need some cheering up and I need a sexy new outfit for school tomorrow.” She skips up her driveway.
I follow her and wait by her Corolla while she runs inside the house and gets the keys. That’s the thing I love about Raven. She hardly asks questions. She didn’t ask how I got home. What I was going to do about my dad’s car. Why I didn’t go to the hospital. But as much as I love not being grilled, I wonder if there is something wrong with our friendship, if she should have asked those questions. I once read a quote by William Shakespeare about friendship: “A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.” If I told Raven the wrong thing—something she didn’t want to hear—would our friendship end?
“Okay, so we have to stop and put some gas in because it’s low.” She swings the keys around her finger as she exits her house.
“I think I might stay home,” I tell her, leaning against the car door. “I’m feeling kind of sick.”
She points a finger at me as she trots down the front steps. “No way. You have to come be my fashion advisor.” She eyes my clothes over as she stops in front of me. “Or at least keep me company.”
I surrender and climb into the car. “Can we at least stop and pick up a new cell phone? Mine is somewhere at the bottom of the lake.”
“Sure.” She climbs into the car, then backs down the driveway, but slams on the brakes as a U-Haul drives up the road, followed by a red Jeep Wrangler. The U-Haul parks in the driveway of the house across the street and two doors down, and the Jeep parks out front. It’s one of the larger brick houses on the street, two stories with an upper deck and flourishing rose bushes in the yard.
“It looks like someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey’s home,” she says with inquiring eyes.
Two guys climb out of the moving truck, dressed in grey coveralls; movers, I assume.
We’re pulling onto the street when long legs stretch out of the Jeep, a guy hops out, and Raven slows down the car again. His blonde hair glimmers in the sunlight and
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