Whisper (Novella) Read Free Page B

also kinda . . .” She tapped the side of her head. “Know what I mean?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSlow. As in front row of the special-ed class?”
    I frowned. “You went to high school with him?”
    â€œNah, he lives in the next county. At least I
think
he’s the same guy I’m thinking about.”
    Before I could ask her if it was a good idea to be spreading shit about some guy she didn’t even know, my stepdad came around the corner. With his thick dark hair and business suit, he made for a picture perfect small-town lawyer who would easily catch the eye of any woman on a dating site—like he had with Mom.
    â€œCarley, your mother’s already gone into the art studio to start work and she wanted me to make sure you were up before I left. You filling out those applications today?”
    â€œYes, Toby.”
    He hated when I used his first name, but what else was I supposed to do? Call him Tobs? Or Dad? Not a chance when my real one was alive and well in California.
    He flicked a glance over to Diana and just as easily ignored her. “Get to it, Carley. Don’t waste your life away on the phone.”
    And with that gem of advice, he was out of there, off to do his lawyerly things.
    Diana wasn’t impressed. “He’s such a mean girl.” But she clearly wasn’t any more bothered than that, because she turned off her phone and hopped away from the wall to the ground, twirling in her dress as she raised her hand in good-bye. “Wish me luck tonight? And you know what kind of luck I’m talking about.”
    â€œMake your date work for it,” I said, grinning and disconnecting from my phone, too.
    â€œMaybe, maybe not.”
    As she went into her massive house, I shut the window—it was still too cold to air out my room—and plopped on my bed, waking up my laptop. I tossed my phone on the mattress and it stared at me, daring me to take another gander at the latest TellTale.
    Will she ever really see me?
    For some reason, I thought that Micah Wyatt liked being seen, liked controlling
when
he’d be seen, too, dropping in on parties, remaining slightly cryptic.
    I started tapping on my laptop keyboard, thinking I’d answer a few e-mails from friends I’d left behind at UCLA, but as I read about all the fun they were having at frat parties, I fell into bummerville. Or maybe a better name for it would be the Black Hole of Embarrassment. I hated dancing around the truth with them—none of them knew just how bad my grades had been and how disinterested I’d been in classes. When my mom had told my stepdad about my academic failures, he’d announced that no money of his would go to supporting me in something I obviously didn’t appreciate, and since Mom’s funds had been short, that was that. My real dad sure couldn’t afford college on his own.
    I’d tried to tell them that I’d never gotten the feel for college, that I’d rather sit at home and make the kind of wearable bracelet cardholders I’d been sporting last night at the party. I’d had dreams of selling them online since senior year, and I hadn’t seen how college was going to help me with my goals—not unless quoting Homer and
The Odyssey
and using algebra on my leather materials would magically make them come together, ready to be sold. Even the business classes I’d taken hadn’t seemed rooted in anything that’d applied to what I wanted to get done.
    I grabbed the bracelet I’d had on last night from my nightstand and, just for comfort, slipped it over my wrist.
See, Tobs? I’m not as useless as you think
.
    When my phone made a swishing sound, I focused on the screen instead.
    Someone within ten miles of you has just TellTaled . . .
    My stomach knotted up, and even before I accessed the app, I knew what I would find. No, actually, I hoped I would find it.
    The black-and-white picture