Eleven Things I Promised Read Free Page A

offered to drive us to the ride’s start, and since he had a full-size van and a trailer that could hold our eight bikes, we’d accepted.
    â€œHey. Your hair?” Max asked. “Was it like that before?”
    I wheeled my bike toward Max, declining to answer the question. As of this morning at about one a.m., my hair was bleached blond. Two days before, it had been lightish brown, which went a lot better with my lightish-brown skin.
    Max was a laid-back guy who tended not to keep up on the details. Once our American history class moved classrooms, and he didn’t catch on until halfway through the term. He kept going to the old room, the way a dog will do if you move across town.
    â€œWell, can we have your stuff?” he asked. “Blondie?”
    â€œDon’t call me that,” I told him as I followed him to the bike trailer. I tried to lift the bike into it, but I got it only as far as my shoulders. The trailer was way too tall for me. While I was struggling to lift the bike higher—it really didn’t weigh that much, which made it even more embarrassing that I was about to be crushed—Max lifted it easily out of my hands.
    â€œI’ll take it from here,” Max said.
    â€œThanks,” I said.
    â€œBlondie,” he added again.
    I shook my head, grabbed my duffel and sleeping bag, and stowed them in the back of the van, jamming them in on top of everyone else’s. My bike helmet was attached to the duffel bag’s handles, a shocking neon green that nobody could miss. Kind of like my new hair color.
    Now what?
I’d asked the mirror as I stood there, water dripping onto my shoulders.
Do I have to bleach my eyebrows to match? Or . . . anywhere else?
    I hurried back to say a quick good-bye to my mom. She’dpacked a giant cooler full of snacks for the team. She’d stayed up half the night baking granola bars and brownies and muffins. I knew, because I’d stayed up just as long, packing and repacking. She was so tired she hadn’t even commented on my hair except to say, “Hm, nice, you can do that sort of thing when you’re young.”
    I had to give Mom credit. For someone who really didn’t want me to go on this trip, she was being very supportive.
    â€œHere, I got you something. The girl at the Bike Barn said it’s the one thing every cyclist should have.” She handed me a small paper bag, and I pulled out a complicated gizmo with about a dozen different levers and functions.
    â€œSo what does this do?” I asked, turning the metal tool over and over in my hand.
    â€œIt’s a wrench? I don’t know,” she said. “I really have no idea. I asked for a recommendation.” She laughed and gave me a hug. I had to try really, really hard not to cry. I’m terrible at good-byes, and looking at the tears running down my mother’s cheeks, I had a good idea where I’d inherited that trait.
    â€œMom, it’s going to be fine,” I said, brushing my eyes. “
We’re
fine.”
    â€œI know—but—but—” she stammered as she sobbed.
    â€œYou said butt,” I told her, which got her to laugh. “You said but-but, actually. Which seems like as good a time as anyfor me to leave.” I gave her another quick hug. “Promise me you’ll check in on Stells for me.”
    â€œI will. And you, be safe,” she said as I turned around to climb into the van. I knew what she meant.
Stay on the side of the road. Way, way over. Look out for cars. Don’t let the same thing happen to you that happened to Stella.
    Inside the van, Autumn Daye (yes, that’s her real name) and Alex Nelson were sitting in the very back row, all wrapped around each other, as per usual. Not only were they never apart, they were the typical football player/cheerleader combination. It was like they were following a script.
    Margo Maloney—my archnemesis since we fought over the same