American Girl On Saturn Read Online Free PDF

,” he says.
    Is he really that stupid? A pair of black boxers and a blue T-shirt fly from Aralie’s room into the hall. I keep Emery back and don’t dare venture forth myself. Jules is on his own. The wrath of Aralie is a force not to be messed with.
    She screams about his laundry, the smell of his cigarettes, the fact that he clearly dyes his hair black to look like a badass because his eyebrows aren’t as dark, and there’s mention of his tattoos before Mom and Godfrey make it upstairs.
    Even through Aralie’s protests, Mom continues saying, “I’m sure this was just a big misunderstanding.”
    Godfrey gathers Jules’ s clothes while Tate does his best to calm Jules down. Emery was right – Tate laughs at everything. He’ll learn quickly enough not to laugh when Aralie is pissed or he’ll be on the receiving end of her verbal slaughter, just like Deacon and Jules. She’s two for two today. Tate shouldn’t push it.
    I slip away from Emery, disappear into my own bedroom, lock the door, and tuck my headphones into my ears so I can drown out the world with the screams of Sebastian’s Shadow.
     
    My bedroom light blinds me when I open my eyes. I bury my face into my pillow and feel around for my phone. 12:37 AM.
    One message from Aralie : You missed supper. Jules is an ass.
    One message from Emery : U miss food. Aralie hates Jools.
    I’m surprised my parents let her keep her phone. Then again, the only numbers she has are ours and Godfrey’s. That phone isn’t much of a threat. Aralie and I have to tell her how to spell everything anyway, so we know what she’s texting.
    One message from Mom. It’s the longest of them all. And it’s disheartening.
    I decided not to wake you. I’m sorry your summer hasn’t turned out as planned. Don’t let Deacon and those other guys get to you. You’re a beautiful girl with so much ahead of you. I don’t want to see you slip into a depression over a boy. Things will get better. Food is in the fridge if you wake up.
    I’m officially starving, and Mom thinks I’m depressed. Great. I’m far from depressed over Deacon. Humiliated, yes. Pissed off, yes. But depressed? No. That boy isn’t getting any more of my tears. I push myself off of the bed, shake my hair around until it looks half-decent, smear my eyeliner around evenly under my eyes, and then venture downstairs. Hopefully everyone else is asleep and no one will see this zombie-ish makeup job I have going on.
    The fluorescent light above the kitchen sink hums when I flip it on. I dig through the fridge, but nothing sounds good. Nothing but milk and Oreos. I open the cabinet, grab the cookies, and settle in alone at the adjoining dining room’s table. Benji’s tattoo magazine stares up at me, so I flip through the pages looking for cute, easy designs that I could draw later.
    Between the sleeve of Oreos and the flipping of the pages, I never even hear footsteps until he’s in the dining room, standing across the table from me.
    “Well, good evening , Ms. Branson,” Milo says. “Is this a private party or may I join you?”

CHAPTER 4
    Be witty. Be cute. Be something but don’t just sit here with your jaw dropped!
    “Are you always so formal, Mr. Grayson?” I ask.
    I amaze myself with how steady my voice is. I was certain I’d stammer through that.
    He scrunches his mouth to one side, glances down at his T-shirt and sweatpants, and looks back at me.
    “If I were wearing khakis, I’d say yes, but in this case, eh, not so much,” he says.
    This boy is so beautiful that I’d take him to a five-star formal restaurant in swim trunks and flip flops. He’s modest, though, which makes him even more likable. Damn him.
    “Well, this isn’t much of a party, but you’re definitely welcome to join,” I say.
    I look down at the clover tattoo staring up at me from Benji’s magazine. I hope Milo doesn’t plan on staying down here for too long because I’m not sure my pounding heart can hold out. It might