Read Online How We Deal With Gravity by Ginger Scott - Free Book Online
Authors: Ginger Scott
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really ready to
lay my failures out for her.
“Uh huh,” she says, her smile just dripping with
condescension.
“I’m not with the label any more, so it’s a good time for me
to take a break,” I keep going. Fuck! Why do I feel the need to justify myself
to this chick?
She just keeps going about her business, dropping off
napkins for one table and bussing another, and I keep following her, like some
new kid who doesn’t fit in. That’s me—somehow, I’m the new kid! I used to
kick my feet up at the corner booth, and skip school until it was time to go
on—college chicks lining up just to sit on my lap. And now here I am,
begging for approval from a waitress, who clearly couldn’t give a shit who I
am.
I finally drop the menus I’ve been carrying around into the
bin at the hostess desk and sit at one of the nearby stools, pulling out my
phone so I can look busy and find a way out of this sudden feeling of
inadequacy. Then I hear the stool drag closer, and seconds later Claire is
sitting right next to me, leaning on one elbow—staring. I squint at her
and grimace, probably a little rudely, but I’m done trying to impress her. So
what if she’s Avery’s friend.
“Avery told me you blew it,” she says, completely deflating
me and annoying the fuck out of me at the same time.
“Yeah, well, what does Avery know,” I say, flipping through
my ESPN app just trying to find something else to occupy my attention. Funny how many times I’ve asked myself what Avery
knows over the last 48 hours. Turns out she might just know me better than
anyone.
“My god, Mason. Are you really that clueless?” Claire asks.
“Apparently,” I sigh, continuing to flip through some story
on human growth hormone lawsuits and baseball. Claire’s not taking the hint
though, so I close the app and push my phone back in my pocket to give her my
reluctant attention.
“You, like…really have no idea, do you?” she says, with this
faint, cocky smirk. I’m starting to hate this chick.
“Nope,” I say, folding my arms up a little defensively now.
Claire’s smile gets a little bigger, and now she’s scooting
closer. She starts looking around, making that face chicks make when they’re
gossiping. For some reason, it’s starting to make me nervous as hell, so I
start looking around, too. Finally satisfied that we’re alone, she props her
chin up on her hand, cupping it a little for even more privacy. I’m starting to
think she’s about to tell me that she’s a transvestite, she’s acting so
strange—when she drops an even bigger bomb.
“Avery was totally in love with you,” she says, a
half-whisper. She says a few other things after, about how Avery used to write
my name on her notebook and shit, but all I keep hearing—over and
over—is that Avery Abbot loved me. Avery Abbot… loved me? Where the fuck was I?
“Wait…wait. What? Avery can’t stand my ass! And in high
school, she barely talked to me. Even when I stayed at her house, she’d always
run away, hide in her room. That’s why I called her Birdie, because she was so
chirpy and mousy all the time,” I say. I’m pretty sure Claire is full of shit
on this one.
“True. And she never liked it when you called her that. In
fact, the first time you did, she came over to my house after school and cried
her fucking eyes out,” Claire says, instantly sticking a knife through my gut.
“Damn, I never knew that. I thought she always liked it when
we called her that. She never said anything…” I say, looking down, a little
embarrassed that I now have ASSHOLE stamped across my forehead.
Claire laughs lightly and nudges me to get my attention.
“Don’t beat yourself up over that. She had pretty low self-esteem back then.
Not the same girl that will tell you where to stick it today,” she says, with a
wink.
She’s right, too—my first few days with Avery since
I’ve been back in town have been nothing but her telling me exactly what she thinks of me,
lay my failures out for her.
“Uh huh,” she says, her smile just dripping with
condescension.
“I’m not with the label any more, so it’s a good time for me
to take a break,” I keep going. Fuck! Why do I feel the need to justify myself
to this chick?
She just keeps going about her business, dropping off
napkins for one table and bussing another, and I keep following her, like some
new kid who doesn’t fit in. That’s me—somehow, I’m the new kid! I used to
kick my feet up at the corner booth, and skip school until it was time to go
on—college chicks lining up just to sit on my lap. And now here I am,
begging for approval from a waitress, who clearly couldn’t give a shit who I
am.
I finally drop the menus I’ve been carrying around into the
bin at the hostess desk and sit at one of the nearby stools, pulling out my
phone so I can look busy and find a way out of this sudden feeling of
inadequacy. Then I hear the stool drag closer, and seconds later Claire is
sitting right next to me, leaning on one elbow—staring. I squint at her
and grimace, probably a little rudely, but I’m done trying to impress her. So
what if she’s Avery’s friend.
“Avery told me you blew it,” she says, completely deflating
me and annoying the fuck out of me at the same time.
“Yeah, well, what does Avery know,” I say, flipping through
my ESPN app just trying to find something else to occupy my attention. Funny how many times I’ve asked myself what Avery
knows over the last 48 hours. Turns out she might just know me better than
anyone.
“My god, Mason. Are you really that clueless?” Claire asks.
“Apparently,” I sigh, continuing to flip through some story
on human growth hormone lawsuits and baseball. Claire’s not taking the hint
though, so I close the app and push my phone back in my pocket to give her my
reluctant attention.
“You, like…really have no idea, do you?” she says, with this
faint, cocky smirk. I’m starting to hate this chick.
“Nope,” I say, folding my arms up a little defensively now.
Claire’s smile gets a little bigger, and now she’s scooting
closer. She starts looking around, making that face chicks make when they’re
gossiping. For some reason, it’s starting to make me nervous as hell, so I
start looking around, too. Finally satisfied that we’re alone, she props her
chin up on her hand, cupping it a little for even more privacy. I’m starting to
think she’s about to tell me that she’s a transvestite, she’s acting so
strange—when she drops an even bigger bomb.
“Avery was totally in love with you,” she says, a
half-whisper. She says a few other things after, about how Avery used to write
my name on her notebook and shit, but all I keep hearing—over and
over—is that Avery Abbot loved me. Avery Abbot… loved me? Where the fuck was I?
“Wait…wait. What? Avery can’t stand my ass! And in high
school, she barely talked to me. Even when I stayed at her house, she’d always
run away, hide in her room. That’s why I called her Birdie, because she was so
chirpy and mousy all the time,” I say. I’m pretty sure Claire is full of shit
on this one.
“True. And she never liked it when you called her that. In
fact, the first time you did, she came over to my house after school and cried
her fucking eyes out,” Claire says, instantly sticking a knife through my gut.
“Damn, I never knew that. I thought she always liked it when
we called her that. She never said anything…” I say, looking down, a little
embarrassed that I now have ASSHOLE stamped across my forehead.
Claire laughs lightly and nudges me to get my attention.
“Don’t beat yourself up over that. She had pretty low self-esteem back then.
Not the same girl that will tell you where to stick it today,” she says, with a
wink.
She’s right, too—my first few days with Avery since
I’ve been back in town have been nothing but her telling me exactly what she thinks of me,
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