Read Online Meant to Be by Lauren Morrill - Free Book Online

tumble down two steps and land in a pile of arms and legs at the bottom.
    “Nice panties,” I hear, and look up to see Jason offering me his hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
    “My phone!” I shout, pulling myself to my feet. “It was right there.” I point to the top step, but the phone is gone.
    “I’ve got it,” Jason replies, holding up a shiny silver cell phone. “Let’s go. Now.”
    He grasps my hand, and we take off down the sidewalk at a full sprint. House after house whizzes by, and at the end of the block he hangs a sharp left. I have absolutely no idea where we are or where we’re going, and I have no idea if Jason does, either, but I manage to fall into a good stride, keeping pace right with him in four-inch heels. The shouts of the fight fade far into the distance as we run block after block away from the party. I try not to think of the many ways these shoes are ripping my feet to shreds right now or the rest of my belongings, scattered clear across a street that is now surely half a mile away. The purse is cheap, easily replaceable with twenty dollars and a trip to H&M, and I have plenty of extra pencils and tubes of lip gloss. I even have a spare calculator in my suitcase. But my heart sinks into my insensible shoes as I think of my dog-eared, note-filled pocket Shakespeare, probably resting in a puddle underneath that stupid rosebush.

U ok? No public pronouncements of love but Mark has def been acting weird. Talk soon! —P
    B EEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    My eyes flutter open to the rhythm of a foreign sound emanating from somewhere in my room. It takes me a moment to remember that I’m not in my bedroom in Newton. I’m not even in the United States. I’m thousands of miles across the ocean in London. With my classmates. And the new fuzzy friend that seems to have grown on my tongue overnight.
    “Ugh,” I groan, peeling my eyes open from the deep sleep that’s encrusting them. I don’t feel disgusting. I am disgusting. The pure embodiment of grossness.
    BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    My head starts to thud in time with the beeping, and I fling my arm over the mahogany nightstand, giving my travel alarm clock a hard thwack. The sliver of light peeking out from the sliver of space where the roman shades don’t quite meet the floor is cutting straight into my eyeballs like a laser beam.
    BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    Well, it’s not my travel alarm clock, since that’s now in a pile of plastic parts on the floor. What is happening to me? My head pounds even harder, bringing back the memory of the thudding bass from last night. My memories start flowing as if rapped by DJ Rock the Mic himself. The house party. The short skirt. Jason. The beer. The embassy geek. Gabe. Rosalind. The broken glass. The bass. Oh God, the bass. Avery.
    BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    My night is flooding back to me, with that incessant beeping providing the beat. What in the hell is that?
    BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    And then the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. My phone! I manage to extricate myself from the tangle of my sheets, and I realize I’m still wearing the rolled-short skirt from last night. It has migrated practically to my chin. The left strap of my tank top somehow found its way over my head, so both straps are hooked over my right shoulder. One glance in the mirror tells me I look like I tried to get dressed while riding a roller coaster.
    Ugh. I am NEVER. DRINKING. AGAIN.
    BEEP BEEP … BEEP BEEP …
    I need to make the beeping stop, which will hopefully also stop the room from leaning sharply to the left. My bare foot, now covered in angry red blisters, lands on something small and cold. I lift it to find the shiny silver cell phone, still beeping and flashing a nasty red light at me. The old Julia must have remembered to set an alarm.
    I flip it open and press every button I can find on the unfamiliar phone to silence the blasted thing. Thank God