Read Online The Diary of Lexi Ashford (Lexi Ashford: Part One) by Jessica Sorensen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Sorensen
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He shakes his head before heading to the side of the SUV.
“Not all girls do that!” I yell after him, but he merely chuckles and slips into the driver’s seat.
Grr. Damn him. Why won’t he just tell me? It’s so frustrating, yet at the same time, I find his desire to torture me very sexy.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Emersyn stops by my side, giving me a quizzical look. “You look sexually frustrated, like you’re about to dry hump the car.” She steps back. “Should I give you two a minute or what?”
I tear my gaze off the SUV. “Your brother’s got me frustrated. I can’t figure out who he is. It’s driving me bananas.”
She crosses her arms and cocks a brow. “You still haven’t figured that out?”
“He told you about that, huh?” I ask and she nods. I grimace. “I feel bad about it, but it’s not like I was Miss Popular in high school. I probably wouldn’t recognize a lot of people.” Lie. I’ve remembered everyone I’ve run into so far, but I’m not about to admit that and make myself look more like an ass.
“Yeah, I remember, kangaroo shirt girl.” The hardness in her expression softens as I cringe. “Okay, I’m going to do you a favor as one ex-dork to another. When you’re trying to remember Evan, picture him as your mother’s worst nightmare. He was so Emo back then. I’m serious, like, really mopey, and he used to lock himself in his bedroom and spend hours writing depressing poetry.” She rolls her eyes. “He had really badly dyed black hair, wore eyeliner, spiky collars, bracelets, chains, and had a ton of piercings.”
It clicks. Well, sort of.
“I know the guy you’re talking about, but that guy’s name wasn’t Evan.” And I know I’m thinking of the right person because there was a total of one Emo kid in Fairville. “His name was Silver.”
“Yeah, Silver is Evan’s middle name. But he went by it in high school because he thought it fit his”—she makes air quotes— “ ‘tortured, misunderstood soul.’ ”
I process what she just told me. Silver—or Evan—and I used to talk a lot during chemistry class. Or, well, I did a lot of talking while he worked on our assignment and nodded his head a lot. I was never quite sure if he was listening or if he just had some weird, constant muscle spasm in his neck.
“All right, ladies, who’s ready to party like it’s 1999!” Carrie Lynn cheers as she and her four friends walk out of the house. They’re wearing the same pants as Carrie Lynn, only the butts of theirs say ‘Bridesmaid Bitches Posse.’ And they’re all sporting tiaras. “You girls remember Lexi Ashford, right?” Carrie Lynn says to them when the five of them reach me. “She went to school with us. She’s the one who wore that shirt with a horse on it all the time.”
There’s a chorus of “Oh, yeah,” and one snide, “Oh, you mean the girl who had really short arms. Didn’t we make up a nickname for her, like Lexi T-Rexi or something?” The wind’s blowing, and she’s clutching on to her tiara like her life depends on it. I make a mental note to steal her tiara when I get a chance and make her watch me break it in half before I throw it off a roof.
Emersyn gives me a sympathetic look before hopping into the passenger seat of the car.
As the four of them pile into the back and middle seat of the SUV, Carrie plops a tiara down on my head. When I start to protest, she holds up her hand. “Everyone at the party has to wear one, Lexi, so be a trooper.”
“But Emersyn isn’t wearing one.” I sulk with my arms folded.
“That’s because she’s allergic to cubic zirconium,” Carrie Lynn says, dead serious.
Sure she is. Dammit! Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse like that?
Emersyn catches my eye through the window and puts her finger to her lips, begging me not to say anything.
Carrie Lynn puts her foot on the sidestep, hoists herself into the middle seat, and then pats the spot beside her. “Now,
“Not all girls do that!” I yell after him, but he merely chuckles and slips into the driver’s seat.
Grr. Damn him. Why won’t he just tell me? It’s so frustrating, yet at the same time, I find his desire to torture me very sexy.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Emersyn stops by my side, giving me a quizzical look. “You look sexually frustrated, like you’re about to dry hump the car.” She steps back. “Should I give you two a minute or what?”
I tear my gaze off the SUV. “Your brother’s got me frustrated. I can’t figure out who he is. It’s driving me bananas.”
She crosses her arms and cocks a brow. “You still haven’t figured that out?”
“He told you about that, huh?” I ask and she nods. I grimace. “I feel bad about it, but it’s not like I was Miss Popular in high school. I probably wouldn’t recognize a lot of people.” Lie. I’ve remembered everyone I’ve run into so far, but I’m not about to admit that and make myself look more like an ass.
“Yeah, I remember, kangaroo shirt girl.” The hardness in her expression softens as I cringe. “Okay, I’m going to do you a favor as one ex-dork to another. When you’re trying to remember Evan, picture him as your mother’s worst nightmare. He was so Emo back then. I’m serious, like, really mopey, and he used to lock himself in his bedroom and spend hours writing depressing poetry.” She rolls her eyes. “He had really badly dyed black hair, wore eyeliner, spiky collars, bracelets, chains, and had a ton of piercings.”
It clicks. Well, sort of.
“I know the guy you’re talking about, but that guy’s name wasn’t Evan.” And I know I’m thinking of the right person because there was a total of one Emo kid in Fairville. “His name was Silver.”
“Yeah, Silver is Evan’s middle name. But he went by it in high school because he thought it fit his”—she makes air quotes— “ ‘tortured, misunderstood soul.’ ”
I process what she just told me. Silver—or Evan—and I used to talk a lot during chemistry class. Or, well, I did a lot of talking while he worked on our assignment and nodded his head a lot. I was never quite sure if he was listening or if he just had some weird, constant muscle spasm in his neck.
“All right, ladies, who’s ready to party like it’s 1999!” Carrie Lynn cheers as she and her four friends walk out of the house. They’re wearing the same pants as Carrie Lynn, only the butts of theirs say ‘Bridesmaid Bitches Posse.’ And they’re all sporting tiaras. “You girls remember Lexi Ashford, right?” Carrie Lynn says to them when the five of them reach me. “She went to school with us. She’s the one who wore that shirt with a horse on it all the time.”
There’s a chorus of “Oh, yeah,” and one snide, “Oh, you mean the girl who had really short arms. Didn’t we make up a nickname for her, like Lexi T-Rexi or something?” The wind’s blowing, and she’s clutching on to her tiara like her life depends on it. I make a mental note to steal her tiara when I get a chance and make her watch me break it in half before I throw it off a roof.
Emersyn gives me a sympathetic look before hopping into the passenger seat of the car.
As the four of them pile into the back and middle seat of the SUV, Carrie plops a tiara down on my head. When I start to protest, she holds up her hand. “Everyone at the party has to wear one, Lexi, so be a trooper.”
“But Emersyn isn’t wearing one.” I sulk with my arms folded.
“That’s because she’s allergic to cubic zirconium,” Carrie Lynn says, dead serious.
Sure she is. Dammit! Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse like that?
Emersyn catches my eye through the window and puts her finger to her lips, begging me not to say anything.
Carrie Lynn puts her foot on the sidestep, hoists herself into the middle seat, and then pats the spot beside her. “Now,
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