Page 23 of Escaping Our Reality

Ignoring Lulu’s gaze and the seductive way she nibbles on her lower lip, I open my laptop, connect to the Wi-Fi, and try my best to do my homework.

***

Hours. It feels like damn hours.

How can anyone get any work done in here? People are constantly ordering coffee, the blender is constantly blending, and I feel like these strangers are watching my every move.

She places her bookmark in her book, closes her notebook, and puts the cap on her ink pen. “If you sigh or grunt one more time, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

I glance up from my screen. “What are you talking about?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that this has been the worst thirty minutes of your life.”

Shit. It’s only been thirty minutes?

She rubs the back of her neck again. “You’re miserable here. Let’s go back to the homestead. You can use my hotspot.”

I lift my eyebrows.

“Myphonehotspot. You know what I mean.”

I take the last drink of my coffee. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad. I actually liked it. “The homestead?”

“Makes sense to call it that. It aligns with your long-term goals.”

I have to be dreaming. It almost sounded like pride in her words. Pride and confidence that I can make something of mylife. Be something better. The only ones who have ever spoken to me that way were my grandparents and Harlan.

“But I can call it a campsite, if you prefer? Tent in the woods? Hideout from the FBI manhunt? Your call.”

How did she get to be such a hard ass? My voice catches in my throat. “Homestead sounds nice.”

Her whisper floats across the table, carried from her pink lips. “Homestead, it is. Let’s go.”

Chapter 10

ELLA

I think I’m mentally unstable.

Like the purple-wigged old lady I see in the grocery store, wearing a nightgown, and pushing a Cabbage Patch doll in a baby stroller. Last week, she opened up a jar of sardines on aisle four and tossed one in my face when I tried to squeeze past her. I’m talking that level of derangement, if not more.

That can be the only answer for why I offered to come back to Ry’s homestead and let him use my hotspot.

I take a staggered breath and slide out of my SUV, dragging my backpack behind me. Ry wanted to drive me out to his place and then drive me back into town when we were finished with our homework. It made no sense. He started to argue about my safety, so I locked myself in my SUV and pulled up beside his truck, idling the engine, until he climbed in his vehicle and led the way.

He quickly places battery-operated lanterns on all of the side tables on the patio and lights a fire. I settle into one of the Adirondack chairs, deciding it would be more comfortable for reading than the chair I sat in last night. Plus, there’s a lantern right beside it, shining brightly. By the time Ry sits down in the seat next to me, I’ve already turned my hotspot on. He must see it right away on his laptop wireless options because he softly says thank you for no other apparent reason.

We work in silence for a while; the only noise is the crackling of the fire and the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard of his computer. I’m handwriting the outline of my theme paper asI read. I hate those things. Despise them. It shouldn’t even be classified as writing.

“I think symbolism is a bunch of crap. Don’t you think that sometimes the author chooses to make the person’s shirt red simply because it’s the first color that pops in their head, and not because red symbolizes that this character represents the red devil that lives in all of us?”

He looks up from his keyboard. “Yep. I take it you’re having to write a paper on the book’s symbolism?”

“Yes, and it infuriates me.”

“I felt the same way in high school.”

“Ry, how old are you?”

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