Destroying the Wrong Read Free Page B

asked.
    “Yes, I was born here.”
    “Me too. Do you like it here?”
    I hated answering questions about myself. “I don’t mind it but I can’t wait to move to the city someday. I need change.”
    Most people only associate New York with the city, which is full of life and always busy. But the state – the rest of it, anyway – is old-fashioned, full of trees and doesn't change. In the almost seventeen years I have lived here, Rochester in particular seems content to stay exactly the same. At least, that’s my perspective.
    “Are you going to come to a L.S.A.B. meeting sometime?” he asked.
    “I’m not a joiner,” I answered, handing him the cash. He put it in his pocket without counting. I wanted him to just get up and go. I wasn’t asking him questions, which should have made it obvious I wasn’t interested in learning more about him.
    “I noticed that. I heard someone make fun of your last name when I was asking about you. Is that why you don’t like anyone at school?” he asked.
    “No one really notices me at school, which is how I prefer things,” I replied.
    The most attention I got was when someone decided to make fun of my last name. I couldn't go one day without someone giggling. It's pronounced “Horn-eh” not “Horn-ee.” Katherine was a great first name that fit my old-fashioned sensibilities but my last name was more like a curse.
    “Thank you for delivering my food,” I said. I walked to the front door and opened it up for him to leave. He stood up and looked at me, pausing before he left.
    “I’ll see you around,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was definitely something about him that made me uncomfortable. After shutting the door behind him, I did something we never did at our house and turned the deadbolt.
    I went back to the kitchen to put the pizzas in the oven to try and preserve the heat and shuffled back to my room, trying to shake the sense of unease I had from Walt being in my house. When I saw the light from the computer and the last message on the screen before I’d gotten up to answer the door, I couldn’t stop the smile that lifted my lips. My anxiety evaporated.
    I'm not sure if it's possible to be in love with someone you’ve never met but if the movies are right when they describe being in love, then I was. I chatted with Robert Stratton on Facebook for over a month and really, it was the only thing I had to look forward to at the end of the day. My junior year of high school was anything but interesting. I suppose it was my fault since I didn’t go to any school events and I didn’t really care for local community activities either.
    I didn't become “friends” with anyone other than Alissa and some of my favorite authors on Facebook, but there was something about Robert's smile that made me “confirm his request” without any hesitation. He’d been following a post from an author we both liked that I’d made a comment on and he noticed I was from the same area and sent me a quick greeting through the chat feature. The rest was history.
    We chatted about our current reads or how my day was but he had never suggested that I send him dirty pictures or other perverted things I’ve heard people do on TV. Maybe it was naive of me, but I really felt like we connected.
    I heard someone at the front door and felt a momentary stab of alarm until the muffled cursing and jangle of keys drifted to my room from outside through my open bedroom window. The door opened and then slammed closed. That meant my mom had a bad day at work. Her deep sigh heralded the countdown before she let loose on a new rant but I’d been waiting to eat until she got home, so listening to her would be bearable as long as I could chew while she did so. I shut my laptop to avoid any accidental viewings of who I’d been talking to.
    Meeting my mom in the kitchen, I pulled the pizzas out of the oven and brought two paper plates down from a