Losing Me, Finding You Read Online Free PDF Page A

stand there, wrapped up in our own screwed up thoughts.
    The long, hot afternoon stretches out before me as I squint my eyes and listen to the sound of cicadas in the distance, cigarette smoke trailing in lazy curls around my fingers. I coulda stayed there all damn day if Melissa fucking Diamond hadn't appeared from out of friggin' nowhere and reminded me of who I am and what I've gotta do.
    “Sparks, we're ready for you,” she says, tilting her head to the side and flicking her eyes up and down Gaine like she'd sure like to see him naked and willing. Gaine glances away and pretends he doesn't notice. After all, it's best not to mess with the Pres' wife, not if you don't want your face smashed in with an iron.
    I take another drag of my cigarette, flick it to the cement and sniff.
    “Alright, Diamond,” I say, giving the blond bombshell my meanest look. “But this time, try not to fuck things up.”

The bridal shop is silent.
    No, it's worse than silent. In this room, there is the very absence of sound, the distinct impression that speech or noise is no longer a possibility. My family is too busy gawking at me and thinking all sorts of horrible things to remember how to form words with their quivering lips.
    “Mom,” I begin, and she cringes, the bubble of quiet broken jarringly as the bells on the front door jingle and Mrs. Hall, the bridal shop's owner, steps in. She wipes her feet on the dirty welcome mat with a scowl and shakes her head like she just cannot believe the audacity of those fucking Yanks. I wish I could tell her that I cannot believe the audacity of someone who leaves their own shop in the middle of the day whilst they have customers and runs over to the bakery for a dozen doughnuts. Not to sound rude or anything, but she most certainly does not need them.
    “Stop it, Amy,” my mother says as she tries to smile at Mrs. Hall. Ever the procurator for peace and normalcy, she doesn't let on that anything has happened and picks a piece of lint off the top of my dress. Behind her eyes, a storm brews and I know immediately that she's going to be telling my father all sorts of stories when we get home. “Mrs. Hall?” my mother inquires as the shop owner settles herself behind the front counter with a maple bar and a plastic, orange cup filled with instant coffee. The woman blots the edges of her mouth with a napkin and looks up like she's just realized we're there.
    “Hmm?”
    My mother's lips purse almost imperceptibly and then her fake smile blossoms like a flower in spring.
    “We'll take this dress, please, but we're going to need the waist taken in about an inch.” Mama pinches the fabric above my hips just a little too hard and grabs some of my skin in the process, making me wince. Jodie scowls at me and spins away muttering horrible things under her breath. I distinctly hear the word slut. My cousin just can't handle it when she's not the center of attention. My aunt tsk-tsks and steps over to the rack to continue scanning for dresses for the poor, fat, pregnant Jodie Stipe.
    Nobody mentions Austin.
    I drop the brochure to the floor and slide it surreptitiously underneath one of the plastic chairs with my foot. I'll pick it up later, on my way out. For now, I've resigned myself to the rough ministrations of Mrs. Hall and my mother as they poke and spin me, prod me with needles, and start to spread town gossip. Soon after, Jodie begins to whine again and everything goes back to normal.
    At least outwardly.
    Inside, my blood is flushed with endorphins and my heart won't stop pounding out a harsh, staccato rhythm. The small spot on my hand where Austin's fingers grazed mine tingles terribly and I touch it to my lips as the satin fabric at my feet is rolled up and pinned. As soon as my mouth meets skin, I shiver, imagining Austin's hot breath on me and how his kisses might feel if they pressed against my knuckles in greeting. I read a lot of books, so I imagine it might go something like this.
    “ So