No One Needs to Know Read Online Free PDF

the last several minutes. Ding ding, another minute of my pathetic life burned up waiting for something to change, to give, but it never does.
    “Ready,” the other guy says, and then pauses when he sees me sitting next to his buddy.
    “Last chance,” he says, standing up. “Unless a gas station is more your thing for Friday nights. I mean, maybe it’s a better option. I can’t promise you Twinkies and disgusting hot dogs.”
    Against every logical fiber of my being, I find myself standing. Following him. Climbing in the truck.
    It’s only when we pull away that I realize I don’t even know his name.

OLIVIA
    I stoop down and pick up my discarded iPod, which was tossed aside in favor of some indie punk song that’s blasting from the surround-sound, vibrating so hard it’s rattling my eardrums. I grit my teeth as my brother’s little skater buddy, Rusty, swings a pool cue around like it’s a baton, circling the table and surveying the few balls left on the felt.
    I didn’t even know they were home until I walked out of my room and saw Rusty pouring himself a drink. Apparently my brother’s in his room or something. Judging by his total lack of urgency to talk to me, he hasn’t even realized he stood me up. Instead, he was hanging out with this slacker doing god knows what.
    Rusty takes a shot, then lets out a big whoop when one of the balls streaks toward the pocket.
    “I’m going to get something to drink,” I announce, even though the idiot probably doesn’t care. I spin on my heel, my shoes clacking as I exit the room. When I’d realized the house was under invasion, I’d promptly changed from my yoga pants and T-shirt to a cute argyle mini and heels, though god knows why. I don’t want to impress Rusty. He probably has the IQ of a monkey.
    I stalk to the kitchen, disappointment and anger and the ever-present tension boiling in my stomach as the music dies down behind me. I’m staring into the fridge, trying to decide between a Diet Coke and another Xanax, when something clatters behind me.
    I straighten my sweater, brush my hair back over my shoulders, and turn around, prepared to take on my brother.
    But it’s not him.
    “Surprise, surprise,” Zoey says, grinning from ear to ear.
    My stomach sinks. She is the last person I want to see right now.
    “I guess I should have put two and two together,” she says. “In my defense, ‘Reynolds’ is a common name. I had no idea you two were related. And, you know, personality wise, he’s kinda your opposite. Less bitchy, and more—”
    I clear my throat and she stops. “And I had no idea you knew my brother.”
    “I don’t,” she says.
    “Then how do you know his last name is Reynolds?”
    “His letterman’s jacket,” she says.
    I turn back to the fridge, reaching for the soda. The ball’s in my court, but I can’t decide what to do next—how to handle the interloper in my kitchen.
    So what if she was almost right with her stupid challenge. She still doesn’t know what was in my fist in the bathroom. Doesn’t know I can barely survive without anti-anxiety pills.
    She doesn’t know me at all.
    “Want a drink?” I hold out the soda.
    “Got something hard to mix it with?”
    “Whiskey,” I say, pointing to a bottle on the counter, presumably something Rusty dug out of our parents’ collection.
    “Perfect.” Zoey plops down on the stool at the other end of the granite island, reaching for the bottle and one of the glasses left out. After dumping the whiskey into the cup, she holds her hand out, awaiting the can.
    I hand it to her, and it takes her only a moment to pour it into the glass and take her first sip. She closes her eyes for a moment, as if savoring it, before looking at me again.
    “Soo … how long have you been Liam’s sister?” And then she giggles, like the joke is hilarious, and I wonder if maybe she’s had a few drinks before this one.
    “Wow, you’re sooooo funny. You should be a comedian.”
    “Nah. I’m