52 Reasons to Hate My Father Read Online Free PDF Page A

alone cell reception. I usually don’t know where he is until I get a postcard in the mail.
    And finally there’s me. And I think we all know what my role is in this family.
    If you don’t, just tune in to the press conference that’s being aired on Channel 4 right now.
    I can’t stand to watch it anymore—even on mute—so I grab a pillow and hold it over my face, pulling it down tight around my ears until I can barely breathe. But somehow it’s not enough. I can still feel his face on the screen. Like he’s watching me. As he carefully fields the reporters’ questions, his grayish-blue eyes seem to be staring through the cameras, through the TV screen, right into this room. Those eyes are famous, you know. World-renowned. They’ve graced the cover of every magazine from Time to Fortune to GQ. And although the press have been known to call my father’s eyes “enchanting,” “alluring,” and sometimes even “sexy,” the only thing I see in them is disappointment.
    Not for long though.
    Four more days and I’m free. From all of them. Especially him.
    Because despite our obvious differences, there is one thing we five Larrabee children have in common.
    And that’s the trust fund.
    There’s one set up in each of our names in the amount of twenty-five million dollars. But it’s completely untouchable until the day we turn eighteen. Which, for me, is in four days.
    I remember when Cooper got his two years ago. He was so blasé about the whole thing. Talking about donating it all to charity or some such nonsense. I, on the other hand, have been dreaming about this day for nearly eighteen years.
    Jia, T, and I already have plans to cruise the Mediterranean for the summer. We rented an enormous three-hundred-foot yacht with nine other friends from school to celebrate our graduation. It sets sail in three weeks from Marseilles and I can’t wait to be on it. Three whole months of doing nothing but lounging around during the day, partying at night, and shopping from port to port. Pure heaven. It’s exactly what I need to unwind and decompress from my stressful life. Away from Mendi and my father and everyone. And after that? Who knows? London, Rio, Paris, Fiji … the possibilities are endless. It’s exhilarating to think that soon I’ll be able to pick up and go anywhere. Do anything. I’ll no longer be tied to my father or the empire he controls. My life will finally be mine .
    This is the thought that finally gets me out of bed. I head into the bathroom to take a long, extra-hot shower. It feels incredible.
    By the time I get out, there’s a new cell phone waiting for me on the nightstand, with all my phone numbers and settings already programmed. I check for any missed calls, silently hoping that after having heard about the accident, Mendi might have felt bad about the things he said in the club last night and called to apologize. But the screen is blank.
    I guess it’s really over this time.
    I glance at the TV. It looks like my father is wrapping up his press conference. He bids goodbye to the cameras and is ushered offstage by Caroline. His fake smile has already been wiped clean and he’s muttering something that is evidently so unpleasant it makes his lips droop into a scowl. I’ll give you one guess who he’s talking about.
    I grip my new phone tightly in my hand and call Jia.
    “Hey,” I say brusquely the moment she picks up, “are you still down for shopping today? Because I could really use a new outfit for my birthday.”

 
    MISS INDEPENDENT
    The press packed up and left the main house a few days ago so, fortunately, when the morning of my long-awaited eighteenth birthday finally arrives, I’m able to get ready in my own bedroom. Which is a huge relief because I have some major prep work to do before I’m scheduled to meet Bruce at one o’clock at his office in Century City.
    I bound out of bed at seven-thirty. And for a girl who’s only seen the sunrise on the way home from