Page 105 of Perfectly Grumpy

Finally, I see it: the cabin up ahead with the door wide open, swinging in the wind.

I race up the stairs, stopping when I reach the room. “Someone’s been in here,” I say, my voice hollow. Clothes litter the floor, and the table where my computer was has been tipped over.

My computer is gone.

Years of work. A hundred and twenty thousand words. The story I’ve poured myself into every night after practice, every solitary moment when I needed to escape into a world I could control.Gone.

I do a wide circle through the room searching for it, throwing blankets, pillows, clothes out of my way, frantically hoping that the thief just tossed it to the side.

But the computer is nowhere in sight.

Finally, Lauren steps in my way, her hands catching my forearms, stopping my frenzied search. “Tate, you’re scaring me. What is it? What are you looking for that has you this desperate?”

I glance away, holding back the secret I’ve protected for years. I was waiting until we finished reading the book, not wanting her to find out while we were in the middle of the story. Her honest reactions and uncensored comments have been exactly what I’ve needed to sort out every problem in the book—every plot hole, every inconsistency, even the pacing issues.

Over the past year, I’ve sent it out to a half dozen agents who said the same thing but in general terms (“fix the plot holes!”) and didn’t have time to show me exactly where the problem areas were. But Lauren unknowingly provided me with all the answers because she didn’t know it was my book. Now that I have to tell her, she won’t be able to give me her unfiltered advice. Because she’ll be too afraid of hurting my feelings.

Which is exactly why I haven’t told anyone from the team about this book. Ever since I’ve joined the Crushers, when I’d need time alone to work on my book, I’d just tell them I was heading to my room to read. Nobody challenged that once. And I sure wasn’t going to let Leo tease me about being a fantasy writer after finding out I had a Gandalf costume. That would only take me to full-blown geek status, and I can do without the additional ribbing.

“Tate, just tell me what is missing,” she says, looking intently at me, rain dripping from her hair. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it outtogether.”

Maybe that’s what finally stops me from panicking—the way she says “together” like she means it, like she’s in this with me, whateverthisis.

“My computer,” I say. “I think whoever broke in stole it.”

She checks under the pillows on the couch. “But our family is the only one here. And this is too remote for someone to just stumble upon, unless you think…”

“Yeah, I do think it’s someone here.”

“Who?” she says, but the look she gives tells me she already knows.

“Someone who might have figured out that you’re not sleeping at the house, and they’re jealous.”

“Bart?” She frowns. “But why would he take your computer?”

“Because he wants to be a jerk,” I say, dragging a hand through my wet hair. “I’m guessing he broke in to figure out if you were staying here with me. And then when he figured it out, he decided to get back at me.”

“But you have everything backed up, right?” she asks.

“It’s supposed to back up automatically, but the cabin has no internet,” I explain. “I’ve been working offline all week. All the changes I made this week…those only exist on that computer. And it’s the best work I’ve ever done.”

She turns to me, confused, as the rain pounds against the roof. “What’s the best work you’ve ever done? What was on there that has you looking like you’ve lost something irreplaceable?”

I stare at the floor, unable to meet her quizzical gaze. I remember after our prom date, how I promised myself that if what was between us was real, I’d tell her everything…afterthe reunion. Maybe this isn’t how I planned it, but this is the moment where I need to trust her, to tell her the things I don’t share freely. “You know that book I’ve been reading?” I begin nervously.

“Yeah, the one about Thorne and Kyara? The one we’ve been reading every night.” She looks confused. “What about it?”

“I’m…” I stop, then try again, my voice catching. “It’s my book.”

She stares at me. “You own it?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” I pause, finally meeting her eyes, letting her see this part of me I’ve hidden from everyone. “I wrote it. Every word. It’s mine.”

She blinks several times. “That’s impossible. You told me it was written by an unknown debut author.”

“Yeah, I’m the unknown author. I go by T.S. Foster.”

She shakes her head, dropping to the sofa bed. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out before. You told me you were a fantasy nerd, but this is a whole new level. Why didn’t you tell me?”

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