In Plain Sight Read Online Free PDF

team. I’m still technically “on” the team since I was at the start of the school year, but I’m benched, there for moral support of my teammates only.
    Honestly? I couldn’t be happier.
    I don’t want to play football. It’s not that the game isn’t fun, it’s that Greg played football. Greg got a scholarship. Greg played college ball. Greg is the greatest son on earth. I get it.
    I don’t want to be Greg.
    My stomach rumbles and I toss the ball into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. All those s’mores for dinner didn’t really do the trick. I need protein. No, I need cheese and pasta—even better.
    Being as quiet as possible because my parents are asleep, I head into the kitchen and set a pot of water on the stove to boil. I dig out some elbow macaroni and begin grating all three of the types of cheese we have in the fridge. I decide to fry up some bacon while I’m at it, working quickly while my stomach growls, begging for me to hurry up.
    The only thing better than homemade mac and cheese is adding chopped up bacon to it.
    I eat what’s probably five servings of pasta while watching Netflix. Though my body is tired, my brain doesn’t feel like sleeping, and that blows. This comfort food really puts me in a better mood though, and I find myself thinking not for the first time that it would be fun to go to culinary school. I love cooking almost as much as I love eating. Maybe I could own a restaurant one day.
    That would really piss off my parents, who’d like to see me become an accountant like them or something they consider better, like a lawyer or even a doctor. But if it’s my future, I should be excited about it, right?
    I’d like to work for myself, I know that much. Having a little bistro or steakhouse in town would be kind of awesome. I could work on signature dishes and have a goal of attracting the attention of one of those Food TV shows that travel around doing stories on awesome restaurants.
    I’m imagining myself on TV when my phone beeps with a new Snapchat alert.
    It’s from Maria. She’s wearing black underwear and a hot pink bra, posing in front of a tall mirror in a way that shows off all her curves.
    The photo caption says, I miss you and I realize one second too late that since I opened the damn thing, she’ll know I’m awake too.
    Two minutes later, another snap comes through and I groan, hating myself for being so stupid. This one is a selfie, up close with her boobs squished together between her arms.
    Talk to me the caption says.
    I debate what to write back. Then I realize I don’t have to write back. Sure, the app tells her I’ve seen her provocative pictures, but it doesn’t force me to reply to her, or to even react at all. I let the snap expire and then toss my phone on the pillow next to me. Maybe ignoring her will finally teach her that I’m not interested. She, and so many girls like her, seem to think that showing off their goods will make guys come running into their arms. I don’t want a girl like that, one who shows off everything she has to any ol’ guy who comes around. My dream girl wouldn’t act like that.
    Unfortunately, just like my restaurant idea, my dream girl exists somewhere only in my imagination.

Chapter 7
     

     
    I wake up on Saturday morning to the scent of lavender bedsheets and the soft glow of sunlight streaming in through the window. Only my window is covered in newspapers to keep out the heat and my room always smells like mold. So what the heck is going on?
    My eyes fling open, staring at an immaculate white ceiling. All of the events of yesterday come back to me, nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs. It almost felt like moving into our new home was some kind of dream, some fantastic illusion that would never actually happen in my lifetime.
    Yet, as I scoot up in my new bed, letting my head rest against the padded headboard, the feather down comforter soft under my fingertips, I realize it did happen. This is my new