Page 19 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

FROM: Emily Walker

TO: Jack Bennett

DATE: Tue, Sep 20 6:35 AM

SUBJECT: Field trip presentation

Fine. Three weeks. But don’t do a damn thing to my presentation, Jackson!

FROM: Jack Bennett

TO: Emily Walker

DATE: Tue, Sep 20 6:30 PM

SUBJECT: Field trip presentation

Oops—didn’t see the email before spicing it up. Your presentation won thanks to me. You’re welcome.

Chapter Six

Emily

This morning started out tough. Without having anywhere to go or any pressing needs, I struggled to get out of bed. It’s been happening more and more lately and if I’m being honest, it scares me a little. During those moments I just feel so…heavy. Sad. Dark.

I lay there for a while just staring at nothing until I got a text from Madison saying she’s coming home next weekend. The news was enough to get me out of bed and power the most productive day of my year. I cleaned my house from top to bottom. I officially put away all of my winter clothes and traded them out for my summer stash. I washed my truck. I went thrifting for new classroom décor and found the cutest little tufted stools that will go perfectly in my reading corner. But most of all, I managed to somehow avoid all contact with Jack.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to avoid thinking of him every time I glanced at the sad pod out front housing his stuff. In his email, he told me it was so small because he wanted a clean slate.Why?What could have happened between him and Zoe that would make himwant to give up nearly everything he owned? She told him she already had someone in mind to take his place; does that mean she was cheating? And why does that thought bother me so much?

This is the same guy who joined the Scholastic Book Fair planning committee only after he found out I was the one leading it, just so he could suggest the opposite of everything I’d already suggested—and since Jack is eight times better at getting people to like him than me, he had those teachers eating out of his hand. I was outvoted on every damn suggestion.

So why would I care that Zoe cheated on the world’s most annoying man?I do, though.

It’s the end of the day now, and with each step of my bedtime routine I complete, a knot in my shoulders loosens. I turn on music so the house isn’t so quiet, read in the bath (hello, Scottish historical romance), apply skin care products, brush teeth, put on my PJs, and snuggle Ducky eighteen thousand times in between each step, wondering how I got through my days before her. Everything goes back in its exact place when I finish using it, because even if everything around me is swirling into chaos, at least I have this: My house. My routine. My cat.

I linger in the hallway, missing the hell out of my sisters, for only two minutes tonight before that slimy, dark pain starts creeping in and I have to force myself to move on.

“Okay…little fluffball, you know the drill,” I say to Ducky, who is rubbing against my ankles.

I pat the mattress and she promptly jumps up onto my bed. I cozy up under the covers and pull my laptop in front of me as Ducky curls up next to my legs.

Technically, my book is finished—but it’s also a long way from done. I’m not confident enough to call myself a real writer yet, but I’ve read enough books to know that maybe it has potential? It’s just messy as hell. The plot is all over the place. The characters’motivations somehow changed halfway through the book without my consent, and one character disappeared entirely. But I also haven’t a clue how to fix any of it. Or if I should even bother.

I suppose I could ask my sisters to read it, butgah…no.Every time I consider it my stomach knots up. Right now, whenever I open the document and work on it, I’m happy. My fear is if someone reads it and confirms my worst nightmare (that it’s actually horrendous garbage), this joy I’ve needed so badly will pop like a soap bubble. I want to balance it on my finger as long as possible.

I tinker with the first few chapters for a bit and then when my eyes are heavy, I put my laptop away and give in to the part of the night I dread: cutting off my light. When there’s nothing but gaping darkness, the wordaloneseems to pulse around me. It’s a salivating monster in every corner.

But tonight, I don’t get a chance to listen to the darkness because a dense banging sound thunders through the air. I fly up ramrod straight, my bangs impale my eyeballs, and Ducky shoots from the bed—only a ghost of her fur left behind.

What. The. Hell.

I listen for a minute, squinting into the dark, and then realize it’s…hammering.And it’s coming from the direction of my new next-door neighbor. My mouth curves in a distinctly villainous smile because I’ve been waiting for his retaliation to my petty attempts at ostracizing him from the town. To be honest, I was starting to feel disappointed he wouldn’t do anything.

But now I go to my window and open it. Yep, that sound floating on the wind at ninep.m.reeks of retribution.What a soulless goblin,I think with a hand over my stomach to quiet the excited hum.

I shut my window and pace my room wondering how I’m going to go about this. Do I put on headphones and white noise, so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing he’s successfully annoyed me? (Not as fun.)

I’m reaching for my oversized jean jacket before I even have a chance to think twice about my decision. And yes, it is a million degrees outside, but I’m too tired to fully change my clothes, and this satin PJ tank and shorts set is too magnificently thin for Jackson’s eyes. I pause at the front door just long enough to hop into my worn old red cowboy boots and instruct Ducky to call the sheriff if I’m not back in thirty minutes.

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