Effortless With You Lizzy Charles 1 page

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products such as: Nikon, MTV, Hallmark, Earl Grey, Coach, Elle, Skippy, BMW, Prosche, Pixy Stix, NPR, Post-it, Daytona 500, Cadillac Crossover, Jeep.

Copyright © 2013 by Lizzy Charles.

EFFORTLESS WITH YOU by Lizzy Charles

Summary: The story of a girl who desperately needs an attitude adjustment, and the boy who gives it to her.

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Books, LLC.

No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Editor: Mandy Schoen

Publisher: Swoon Romance YA

Cover designer: Victoria Faye

HOW TO DATE A NERD sample copyright©: Cassie Mae

THE FUNERAL SINGER sample copyright©: Linda Budzinski

Praise for EFFORTLESS WITH YOU

A definite MUST READ! EFFORTLESS WITH YOU left me smiling like a doofus and hugging my Kindle. – Cassie Mae, bestselling author of REASONS I FELL FOR THE FUNNY FAT FRIEND

To my mother and daughters.

Effortless With You

Lizzy Charles

CHAPTER ONE

I can’t resist the water’s temptation after a sticky hour of tanning under the scorching sun. I slip into the empty pool and sink to its bottom. The water’s cool thrill rolls through my hair. Misshaped forms blur along the pool’s edge, feet dangling in the pool. Large bubbles escape my lips. I watch them float to the surface before I follow.

It’s surreal to be here, hanging out without fear of attack.

I dunk my head in the water one last time, pulling my towel around my shoulders. I’m almost comfortable in a bikini, but don’t want people thinking I’m trying to put myself out there. Snatching a magazine from my bag, I stretch out on my lounger. Fitting in with Marissa’s pool routine is easy.

Marissa stretches out next to me, one leg long, the other bent up. This is her new tanning pose that makes her belly look flatter. I can’t really tell the difference, and she’s a size two anyway. She flips her blond hair and casually adjusts her top. A hot guy must be approaching.

I peer over Cosmo. Correction. It is the guy.

Justin Marshall.

Justin pulls his hands through his dark hair with a smile. He laughs, rubbing his chiseled jawline with its always-there, five o’clock shadow. He’s every girl’s dream. Well, every girl but me.

Everyone stops Justin on his way around the pool. Guys hold up high fives and girls offer giggling waves. It takes him over five minutes to walk forty feet. It looks like a nightmare to me, but he certainly seems to enjoy it. He deals with everyone like a prince, flashing his white smile and chuckling. He pulls his hands through his hair again, an obvious maneuver to make his shoulder muscles pop.

He’s totally into himself. That much is clear.

I try to hide my sour expression as Justin nears. Marissa will kill me if I scare him away. I duck behind my magazine. Although I hate his ego, I’m not immune to his washboard abs. I refuse to let my lingering eyes betray me.

“Justin, hey!” Marissa calls as she tosses her bangs out of her eyes. “How’s your dad’s campaign going? It’s going to be such a gift to Minnesota when he’s our governor.”

Eww. A little too much sugar on that, Marissa.

“Yeah, that’s the hope.” Justin’s signature chuckle rolls from his lips.

Marissa giggles. “So, are you going to Watson’s party tonight?”

His hand returns to his head, fingers tracing through his hair, creating the perfect tousle of curls. God, he just can’t get enough. He leans in, placing his foot onto her lounger. “Hmm, well, it’s the place to be tonight, right?” He offers a crooked smile, pouring charm all over her.

“Of course it is. I’ll be there,” Marissa says in a low, sultry voice. She sucks in her stomach, leaning toward him with perfectly batted eyelashes. She’s skipped to stage three of flirting. We developed the stages this year over winter break while I crashed at her place. There’s no way I could spend that much time at home.

“Well then, you can count me in.” Justin nods at me and I return it slightly as I focus on the magazine’s wrinkled water stains. Move on, dude.

A laugh escapes him as he pulls his leg off of Marissa’s lounger, strutting to his next group of admirers.

Good. Be gone.

Marissa squeals to herself and I hold in my sigh. I feel a bit sorry for her. Justin going to the party has nothing to do with her being there. He’s already dating the most perfect girl in school. Not that that matters to Marissa. If anything, it encourages her.

Justin climbs up the back of the lifeguard stand, planting a kiss on the cheek of a beautiful blond. She laughs as she pretends to shove him off before she climbs down. He steps aside as her replacement climbs up, wrapping his hand around the blond's before finding a table in the shade. “Ugh. What does he see in Jennifer?” Marissa turns over to her stomach, pulling her sunglasses down, watching Justin and Jennifer. Jennifer rises as he tilts his head down. Their foreheads touch and then they exchange a brief kiss.

“Well, she’s the student body president. And there’s that whole head-cheerleader thing …” Sarcasm is safer than honesty.

“But that’s not enough to keep a guy going for a whole year. They just don’t seem right together, you know?”

Jennifer tilts her head back as Justin launches a grape into her mouth. Marissa’s right. They don’t seem right. They’re perfect.

“Gag me now.” Marissa pinches my leg, demanding my attention. “She acts like she owns him. He needs someone less controlling, less high maintenance.”

“Like?” I tease. Marissa claims they kissed once, back in middle school. But I can’t picture them in a dark closet together. Doesn’t compute.

“Me, of course.” She answers too seriously. “This summer, I’m going to show Justin just how much he’s missing. Come August, he’s mine.”

I cringe. Marissa always gets what she wants.

Justin wraps his arms around Jennifer in a bear hug.

My heart twists. Whatever plan Marissa has concocted is sure to ruin them. But really, should I care?

I plaster a smile on my face. “You two would be great together.” Exactly what she wants to hear. I owe her at least that much.

Marissa saved me from social suicide. She fixed everything for me, from teaching me how to make a ponytail fancy with an extra bump to strict instruction on eyebrow shaping.

“Lucy, Lucy!” Marissa pulls the magazine out from under my nose. “I’m gonna wear my new capris with that cute canary tunic. You wear that green sundress I picked out for you. That way we can coordinate in all the photos.” She opens her hobo bag and pulls out her Nikon, taking a quick shot of me before I can protest. Then she hands the camera over. I click away as she pushes out her lips for the shot.

The green sundress? I wasn’t totally in love with the puke color but Marissa insisted it settled perfectly over my hips and butt. Marissa’s a fashion expert. She pulled me out of the janitor’s closet last year. It was easier to eat lunch there than have food thrown at me in the cafeteria. And safer. The seniors never found me there. But Marissa did. She turned my life around. I trusted her. I still do. With Marissa, people actually talk to me. They have no idea I was that freshman girl the seniors hated. I could breathe again.

“You know that green dress will drive Zach totally wild. It makes your butt look hot!”

My stomach flutters and my lips curl into a goofy grin. Zach. My new boyfriend. Okay, true. I’ll totally wear the dress.

Zach’s an outgoing, uncomplicated jock who’s an amazing kisser. My stomach’s still doing flips after my first kiss and however many more we fit in during the last forty-three minutes of the new Scarn movie. The smell of his cologne clings to my shirt at home. I can’t bring myself to wash it.

Marissa pokes me, “Oh, sweet. His name makes you blush.”

A super girly giggle escapes my lips. “Did I tell you we’re going to dinner before the party?” I try to sound mature as I check my phone. Almost time to get ready.

Marissa squeals. “No! Oh my God. How could you keep this from me? Where are you going? What will you talk about?”

“Romano’s.” Zach loves Italian.

“Oh, perfect. Sit in the back corner. That’s where the most romantic lighting is.”

I nod, imagining Zach and me in the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene as I grab my bag from under my lounger.

“Where’re ya going?” she asks, rechecking the time on her phone.

“He’s picking me up here. I’m getting ready in the locker room.”

Marissa nods, picking up on my subtext. “Good plan. Avoid your mom. God that must be so tough …”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The day Mom met Zach she took him on a tour of her therapy garden where she educated him in the art of compost. She actually put garbage and worms in his hands. When we left, he didn’t waste any time saying “Your mom’s a freak.” I can’t argue with that.

“Hold on a sec.” Marissa opens her bag, digging around and pulling out her new Coach clutch. She empties the contents and tosses me the clutch. “You’ve got to use this. It needs to go on a hot date.”

“Thanks. This will be awesome.” I lean down and give her a hug. Sweet!

“No problem. This is actually great. Now I have time to set my hair in curlers before the party. Tonight’s going to be amazing.” She stands and glances at Justin, lifting her eyebrows mischievously. “Watch out, Justin Marshall. Here I come.”

I say nothing. She waves her hands while pushing me forward. “Get moving, woman. We’ve got men to impress. See you tonight,” she says in a cute voice that carries well over water. She walks with a precise sway, a light bounce which sets every part of her bikini into hypnotic motion. Guys’ heads follow her the entire way.

Marissa, a master in the art of attraction.

***

The country club’s locker room makes me nervous. I shimmy off the wet-suit bottoms over my hips. My hand automatically avoids the dark purple scar that rests below. The locker handles mock me. It’s like they share secrets with the gym ones back at school. I was never safe after basketball practice.

I slip on some blue lace underwear and take my time getting ready, avoiding the locker handles with each move. I focus on adhering to Marissa’s sparkle makeup advice as I think about Zach’s biceps and his laugh. My tummy flips and I feel queasy, but I’ve heard that’s normal for a first, fancy dinner date. Right? Right.

I fight to get into my skin-tight dark jeans, which I pair with a white, racer back tank with random clear sequin embellishments. The color pop? My red, open-toed heels. God bless Marissa for making me buy them.

My fingers twirl my auburn hair. Hopefully, it’ll dry in waves. I tug on my tank top, adjusting it over my curves. My shape’s not perfect but, like Marissa says, I have “something to work with.”

With the right jeans, my butt’s not awful but my boobs are too big. I hate them. Marissa’s certain I’d look thinner without them. She convinced me to ask my parents for a breast reduction as a sweet-sixteen present. Mom nearly died when I asked. In fact, she yelled so much I thought she would.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory. That was not a fun fight. Mom will never understand that being curvy is no longer fashionable. Instead, she rants about culture and societal flaws. When I asked about the reduction, she started in on the MTV Music Awards and I foolishly rolled my eyes. All of my magazines ended up in the fireplace that night. They were “poisoning my body image.” So I rebelled, buying three-year subscriptions of People and US Weekly.

Take that, Mom.

I adjust my jeans and add a black belt, hoping Zach will like it. My cell phone flashes five past six. Fashionably five minutes late, as recommended in the latest Elle magazine. The Minnesota humidity makes my hair frizz the moment I step out of the locker room. Why do I even try? I search for Zach’s truck, hoping he won’t notice my funky hair.

But it’s not there. He must be caught in traffic. I sit on the bench and wait.

And I wait.

A long time.

My cell displays six thirty-seven. Maybe work is keeping him? The Fireside Bowling Alley often has a dinner rush. I check my phone, but no calls. I text him.

Me: I’m sure Fireside is busy. Take your time.

I really can wait. I have nowhere to go until the party.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, enjoying the cooler evening sun on my face and praying it will calm my frizz. I hold my cell, waiting for it to vibrate with his response. As the minutes pass, I toy with the idea that maybe he forgot …

But he planned this. He wouldn’t do that.

A light laugh interrupts me. My eyes jolt open and I gasp. I hate how easily I startle.

“Sorry, Lady,” says a deep, smooth voice behind me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You just look so funny all dressed up but relaxing in the sun.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Great. I pull at the bottom of my white tank. I look funny.

He clears his throat, waiting for me to do the social thing. Interact.

Not in the mood. Not now. The dent in my phone demands study. If I turn the phone upside down, the dent looks like a cow. I shift, making sure my back faces the voice. Maybe the guy’ll take a hint? My bench creaks with newly added weight.

Nope.

“So?” he says.

I force myself to glance up. My throat closes. Marissa would freak.

Justin stares back with that fake smile. “Who are you waiting for?”

“My boyfriend, Zach Filman.” Confidence, yes.

Justin nods. “Oh, Zach.” He looks at his watch and snickers. “I bet he’s late, huh?” His eyebrow flicks up with his smile.

“No. I’m a bit early.”

“You’re lying.” He moves closer to me.

Shaking my head, I focus on the lined pavement. The lines aren’t parallel at all. I really suck at lying, but the most popular guy in school doesn’t need to know my boyfriend’s late.

“Well, then,” he continues. “I’ll just wait here with you. You don’t mind.”

I do.

He taps his finger on the bench’s armrest. “Shouldn’t be long now.” His voice is thick with sarcasm which he pairs with his flashy, stupid smile. Justin may be gorgeous, but he is super annoying. He clears his throat. “Might as well get to know one another. I’m Justin Marshall.”

No kidding.

“I’m Lucy.” He doesn’t need to know my last name.

“Well, Lucy.” He pulls out his phone. “It’s six fifty-two. When’re you going on that date?”

“For real?” The heat from the sun must’ve fried my brain-to-mouth filter.

He claps his hands together, leaning back, enjoying my outburst. “Well, I’m bored. Jennifer doesn’t get off for another twenty minutes. I need a little fun.”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to entertain you.” Sarcasm rolls thick off my tongue.

“Wonderful.” His hands fold behind his head and his muscles twitch. But I’m steady, not a flinch and not even close to his regularly received swoon.

“So, where’re you love birds going?” he continues.

“Romano’s.”

“Right, Italian food. How romantic. Very original, Zach.”

Blood rushes to my face. I don’t care if it is the typical place. This is my first fancy, romantic date and it’s going to be perfect. I glare back, replying with silence.

“Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up. “It’s a good place. Great food, actually.”

I ignore him, glancing back at my phone. An hour late. Maybe he got in an accident?

“Can I ask you two questions?” Justin prods.

“No.” My filter’s gone now. He’s beyond irritating. Just because everyone worships him doesn’t mean he gets to know everyone’s business. Of course, he ignores my answer.

“First, why are you being picked up for a date here?”

I answer without thinking. “Zach thinks my mom’s weird.” My tongue thickens, making it hard to speak. Crap, shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh? Should that matter if he’s dating you? I mean, shouldn’t he want to get to know her if he’s dating you?”

He looks at me with a soft expression, like the ones people use on injured puppies on those emergency vet shows.

I press my lips together. He doesn’t know my mom. This time he accepts my silence.

“Secondly, don’t you think you deserve someone who respects you enough to either show up on time or at least call and let you know why he’s late?”

Whoa, who is he to give me relationship advice?

“You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“No. I’m dead serious. You deserve better.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, but I know Zach.”

“So do I. He’s my boyfriend.” I refuse to look at him, instead watching a group of ants pour out of a crack in the pavement. “You know you’re a real jerk, right?” I add.

Justin lets out a long whistle. “Wow. I haven’t been called a jerk since I was, like, eight?”

I don’t care how hot he is. Why Marissa wants him blows my mind.

He pulls out his phone. “Let me show you something.” He dials and flashes me his outgoing call: Zach F.

No. This is not happening.

I launch at his phone but he’s too quick. He jumps off the bench and I eat pavement.

“It doesn’t matter. He isn’t going to answ—” I say as I scramble up off the ground.

“Hello?” a familiar voice booms. Speaker phone. Crap.

“Hey, Zach! It’s Justin.”

“Hey, man. What’s up?” My gut relaxes. Zach’s okay.

“Not much. Just waiting to pick up Jennifer.” Justin paces, circling the bench and me.

“Right on, man!” Zach is always so positive. His attitude is contagious. I can’t help but smile when I’m around him.

“What are you up to?”

“Disc golf with Tater.”

My chest squeezes. How can Zach be playing a game with his cousin Tater? An I-Told-You-So expression sits in triumph on Justin’s face.

Stupid face.

“Sweet. Awesome day for a game.”

“I know, huh?”

Justin drags his shoe through some sand.

“Will I see you at the party tonight?”

“Hell, yeah!”

Maybe he didn’t forget? He knows we’re going to the party together. He must have gotten the times mixed up. Assumed he had time to play disc first.

“Sweet. I’ll see you there. Got to run, Jen’s done. We’ve got a great date night planned before the party and all …”

No, Justin, don’t do this. I want to die.

“Oh shit, dude. I was supposed to pick up that Lucy chick for a date too.” Zach laughs.

Three skipped heartbeats.

Zach forgot.

He forgot about me.

My nose begins to itch. Tears are inevitable. But I won’t cry in front of Justin. I focus on my cuticles, trying to hold off tears while Zach’s voice continues to boom from the phone. Justin finishes circling the bench, now standing next to me. So I can hear everything Zach says.

“Eh, she’ll understand. It’s a gorgeous day. I mean, who can remember a date when disc golf calls?”

“Well, good luck with that.” Justin taps my shoulder. I want to break his fingers.

“Right on, man.” Beep.

My eyes are heavy, probably now red and puffy too. I take a deep breath, trying to hold off the emotional impact of the moment. Justin’s moved in front of me, waiting for my reaction. He’s so rude. I glare daggers into his green eyes. Hate him.

My phone finally vibrates.

Zach: hey sorry work’s crazy. Meet u at party L8R.

My gut twists inside out. Zach lied. He forgot about me and lied. Why did he ask me out if he didn’t like me? I grab my bag. I need to get away from Justin before I break down.

“Let me guess,” Justin says, “he lied?”

Prying ass.

A ruthless fire burns inside me, made especially for him.

“Can I ask you something?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Why are you so unbearably rude?”

“Listen,” he begins, “you deserved to know.”

“No. That wasn’t your place. Do you think you’re like a god or something? ‘You deserved to know.’ Total bull. Don’t I deserve to be treated with respect?” I pause for effect. His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t have a word to deliver. “Right. You dish out Hallmark wisdom but don’t follow it yourself. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

The tears are rolling down my cheeks but I don’t care anymore. Now I want him to see it. Staring into his green eyes, I search to see if he understands what he’s done. But his eyes are blank. Not even a hint of remorse. The pool gate jingles and Jennifer steps out. I quickly distance myself from the bench and start the walk of rejection back home.

I don’t look back. I never want to see Justin Marshall again.

CHAPTER TWO

I am forgettable.

Of course I am. I’m not actually popular. At most, thanks to Marissa, I am someone who blends into the crowd. No. After that hellish year on the basketball court, I’m lucky to even be in the crowd. Of course Zach forgot about our date. Who can really blame him? He acts larger than life. Why would he remember a girl who barely has a life?

I fling myself onto my bed, pulling my purple pillow over my face. Marissa does a good job of helping me disguise my worthlessness but Zach saw through me, whether it was a conscious decision or not.

I am forgettable.

My phone vibrates.

Marissa: How’s the hot date? Kissing yet?

My stomach falls through my feet. What do I tell her? I type “Didn’t happen.” No. Too pathetic. I delete it but my phone vibrates again.

Marissa: NM. Just texted Zach. Sucks about his work. Too bad.

Me: Yup. Oh well … next time.

Marissa: Yup, like tonight! See you L8R. Remember: green dress.

The party. I forgot. There’s no way I’m going now. I can’t fake happy around Marissa and Zach tonight. And, worse, pretend I have dignity around Justin. I reach under my bed and pull out a granola bar, a jar of peanut butter, and some crackers. My stash for when I want to avoid eating dinner with my family. I’d quit the family dinner when each meal became a lecture about “The choices you are making in life.” It’s nice to have Marissa to talk to. She totally understands how overbearing Mom is.

I dip a granola bar into the Skippy. There’s no way I can stand being around Mom and Dad tonight. And even my little brother Eric, I can’t handle my toes being obstacles in his car races. I’ve been through enough already.

Knock, knock. My door. I bang my head against the wall. “What?” I drag myself across the room to flip the lock, not even bothering to open the door for them.

Creak. Mom and Dad stand as an undivided front. Shit. They must’ve mailed the report cards a day early. This isn’t going to be pretty. Faking indifference, I sit on my bed and gnaw on the granola bar. Mom and Dad file in, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. I’d removed my desk chair when I realized it was an invitation to sit. They’ve learned to stop trying to make themselves comfortable.

Dad starts the confrontation. “What is this?” He holds out my report card.

“Report card.” I shrug.

“No.” Mom takes the report card and hands it to me. “What is this?”

“An A, two B’s, and three C’s. So what?”

“C’s?” Mom stares back at me, her face red.

“Yes, C’s.” I dip the granola bar back in the Skippy. “No big deal, Mom. C’s get degrees.”

Mom grabs a stack of papers off the top of the desk. The drawers are askew, not the way I’d left them. “Lucinda, this C will never get you a degree. What happened to your beautiful writing?” She tosses me the paper. My final Pride and Prejudice essay glares back at me with a large “C-” circled in the upper-right corner.

“It was a boring novel.” Not true; I didn’t read it. “Lots of students get C’s.”

“Lucy,” Dad’s voice is lower than normal, “if you got these C’s by studying and doing your best—”

Mom interrupts. “You didn’t even try. You always have a choice to try.”

“—then we would be proud of a C. But you didn’t,” Dad finishes.

“Great. So you aren’t proud of your own daughter? Wow, I’ve got amazing parents.” I love twisting their words around.

Dad sucks in his breath. “No. That’s not what I said.”

Mom plops down on my bed, her voice more controlled. “What he’s saying is last semester you got all A’s and one B. You’ve never had a C in your life. You can’t expect us to believe that suddenly the academic standards have risen.”

For real? They’re so unrealistic. Some things are more important than grades. Like friends.

“We assumed your homework was done when we didn’t see you doing it,” says Dad. “That was our mistake.”

“The old Lucy would have finished it.” Mom says softly, almost talking to herself … The old Lucy. It’s not like I disappeared or something.

“I tried.” I tried hard to fit what homework I could into my busy schedule with Marissa.

“Lucy, this is unacceptable.” Dad’s voice is as calm as mine. It’s creepy.

“First you quit basketball and now you’re slacking in school. What’s happening to you?” Mom’s voice hits those horrid high notes. An occasional sob sneaks in.

“Mom, you promised never to mention basketball again. Why would you do that? Are you trying to make this worse?”

“No, honey. I just know basketball makes you happy.”

“No, it doesn’t. Trust me.”

She had no idea what I’d been through. What those jealous seniors did to me because I took a starting position on the team as a freshman. Nothing was worth putting up with their torture on and off the court. Not even something I loved. I never told Mom or Dad what was going on because they were so proud. Their freshman daughter, lead point guard and All State Champion. Mom would’ve gone ballistic if she knew all the lockers I’d been slammed into or heard the names they got everyone in school to call me.

No, I couldn’t have told her. I couldn’t risk her snapping and slipping away again, back into her world of depression. It wasn’t worth it then and certainly isn’t worth it now.

Mom reaches out for me, but I refuse her touch. “That’s not true, Lucy. Think of the years you spent dragging your father out to the hoop. And then you hit your sophomore year and suddenly quit? How can I just let that go?” Mom buries her head on Dad’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Dad puts his hands between us, “we’ve had this argument too many times already. We aren’t going to figure this out tonight. Lucy, you’re grounded until we figure out what to do with you.”

Crap.

“What? No way. Not tonight. It’s Watson’s party, the party. I need to be there!” Why am I saying this? I don’t want to go at all.

“I’m sorry. You did this to yourself. You won’t be going.” Dad rests his hand on Mom’s back, leading her from the room. Mom just shakes her head.

I wait for them to start down the stairs before I slam the door shut, the crack above my door inching a bit deeper. Boom, the vents in the house shake. Mom and Dad don’t know who I am, who I’m not and what I’ve been through. I text Marissa.

Me: Got grounded. Report card.

My phone rings immediately. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me. You did explain it was Watson’s party, right?”

“It’s useless. Bad report card,” I mutter.

“Oh please. They’re archaic. My report card came today too. My parents just say try harder next time. No big deal.”

“I know.”

“Well, you’re going to this party, whether they like it or not.” She pauses for a moment. “Sneak out. Seriously. They’ll never know. Sneak out around ten while they watch the news. Put that great tree by your window to use.” Marissa loves the oak tree by my window; the perfect escape route or boyfriend entrance. Not that it’s any use to me now.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 451