One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1) Read Online Free PDF

points out.
    “I need my own room. You snore.” He does, but that’s not the reason why. He grumbles, pulls out his credit card to pay for both rooms.
    Once I’m inside mine, I lock my door. I run over to the bathroom, put the shower on. Then I sit on one of the beds. My stomach is churning. It’s been four hours since we had dinner and I didn’t eat much. My tummy has a gnawing hungry feeling, but I’m too tense for food.
    I pull out my phone, tap in a message with my thumbs for Ryan.
Miss u already.
I hit send.
    I guess I’m not going to have to deal with some nightmare confrontation with my stepfather. Maybe we can just have a normal drive across the country, like a normal father and normal daughter as she goes away to college.
    A freaking Hallmark commercial, my life is not.
    Then I go to the bathroom, kneel in front of the toilet and throw up.
    Someday I’m going to have to tell Ryan the truth. How can I explain who I really am, and why I’m really so nuts, if I don’t?
    ***
     
     
    I wake up at five a.m. with a pounding head. Flopping from side to side, I close my eyes and try to get comfortable in my huge bed. At five thirty, I give up, kick off the heavy comforter that hotels use—it feels like it’s going to crush me—and get out of bed.
    Ryan will be leaving early this morning. That was his plan.
    I pick up my phone, so tempted to send him a message. But somehow I can’t. I’m too tense, my throat hurts too much and I can’t write with a swollen up throat.
    Instead I tackle the coffeemaker in the room. I end up with something strong, dark and bitter in a Styrofoam cup. Drink this and I’m committed to staying awake.
    I drain it fast, shuddering.
    Then I send a message to Ryan:
Drive carefully. Text me when you get there. I still have hours to go. Take pictures of yourself along with way and send them to me. I miss your smile. I miss all of you.
    I know all the nagging will make him laugh. I can’t help it. Ryan is good with it—his mother is dead, his father’s dead drunk most of the time and Ryan has to worry about him. There’s no one else to worry about Ryan. I can tell my fretting about him doesn’t bother him. He actually likes it.
    Strong coffee makes my stomach growl. A Denny’s is across the way, and I guess I’ll get breakfast. Something to kill the time. I realize Dad and I made no plans on when to get up or when we would get back on the road. I feel so awkward around him I forget everything but the tension.
    It must be too early to knock on his door. He’ll understand that. I pull off my oversized t-shirt I use for sleeping—one of Ryan’s old t-shirts. Almost reverently, I fold it and lay it on the top of my suitcase. I’m not forgetting it and losing it. Then I throw on one of my t-shirts and jeans, brush out my long hair as fast as I can. Wearing sneakers, no socks, I tuck my room key in a back pocket and head out of the motel. The fall air is brisk as I run across the parking lot, arms folded over my chest.
    The inside of Denny’s is warm and smells like coffee and bacon. Really hungry now, I slide in a booth. There’s a guy wearing a ball cap and plaid lumber jacket who looks like a truck driver. A young family with kids that seem awfully excited for six o’clock in the morning. They sit at the booth across from me. The mother is cupping and drinking her coffee like it’s elixir of life, and the father cuts up food on the boys’ plates.
    That sense of family captivates me for a moment. I’ve never known that.
    “What do you want, honey?”
    The waitress asks it, and for a moment I feel transported into a seventies movie with a diner setting and a tough waitress, shot in black-and-white. I pick out the largest breakfast on the menu—I’m starving now—and ask for coffee.
    She brings me a cup right away. I sip it and close my eyes. I hear footsteps and I lift my lids.
    My stepfather gets into the seat opposite me, waves his hand impatiently to summon the waitress.