Sealed with a Lie Read Online Free PDF

don’t need it from my girlfriend, too. It gets really old.”
    “You’re just going on the attack because you know you’re in the wrong, Luke.”
    “I’m not attacking you, and I’m not in the wrong! I was only trying to be nice to the girl.”
    “Right. Just how nice are you planning to be?”
    “I resent the implications of that.”
    “Yeah? Well, I resent the fact that you’re going out with another girl, Luke. I thought you and I were together . As in, exclusive. As in, not taking other people to formals !”
    “You’re overreacting.”
    “I’m not! How would you feel if I told you I was going to some fancy thing with—with—” I search blindly for a name. “With Evan Kincaid?”
    There’s a long pause. When he finally answers, his tone is arctic. “You’ve always liked him. Wanna date him? Then go for it.”
    “I have not always liked him! I can’t stand him. I just used his name as an example.”
    “Did you, now. Interesting. You know what, Kari, I’m tired of this conversation.”
    “Oh, my God. You don’t get to be tired of the conversation—you started this fight! It’s your fault.”
    “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go.”
    “You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. You’re tired of dating someone who lives in Paris? Fine. If you’re so unhappy with me—and since you’re going out with other girls anyway—then maybe we should just end it between us!”
    And with that insanely stupid, emotional statement, I hang up on Luke.
    Oh. My. God.
    I didn’t really mean to do it. It’s like my brain watched in horror as my finger—without permission—punched the end button.
    I broke up with Luke Carson.
    And right before Christmas.
    I am truly the most miserable person on the planet.
    After this awful, beyond-sucky, catastrophic day, I can’t even cry. Dry sobs emerge from my throat, butmy tears have already been spent or fought off or . . . I don’t know. I feel only a yawning emptiness.
    I roll over on my bed and mash my face into the pillow. What idiot breaks up with Luke Carson?!
    Me.

Chapter Four
    Here’s the thing—I can’t even stay in my room for a big sulk or soul-searching session, because it’s my turn to make dinner tonight. Agent Morrow doesn’t cook, though she can probably kill a man with a pair of salad tongs.
    Rebecca Morrow is one of the top dogs—if not THE top dog—at Interpol, so even if she can probably shoot an acorn off a sparrow’s head at 800 yards, she’s not the type to make muffins from scratch. And Stefan, her Greek linguistics professor husband, can translate a recipe from just about any language in the world but is pretty much barred from the kitchen for his own protection. He once injured himself while attempting to make coffee.
    This means that Abby, Evan, and I rotate responsibility for grocery shopping, cooking, and laundry. We’re allsupposed to pitch in and clean, not that this happens with any regularity.
    Tonight I’m supposed to make pasta with a white sauce and throw together a salad. I start with the salad because I’m in the mood to use a knife. I guillotine a head of lettuce and then rip the rest of it apart with my bare hands. . . .
    As I’m rinsing some tomatoes and a cucumber, I glance through the window to the backyard and realize that Charlie’s no longer out there. Maybe he’s gone around to the front. I return to my gloomy thoughts and self-recriminations while I slice up the vegetables and toss everything into a bowl.
    Then I wipe my hands on a dish towel and go to find my little brother. I haven’t heard him come back into the house, and it shouldn’t be taking him this long to get a few soil samples, even if the ground is hard and partially frozen. I open the front door and stick my head out, but there’s no sign of him. “Charlie!” I call.
    No answer.
    “Chaaaarliiiiiie!”
    Nothing.
    Frowning, I trudge around to the left side of the house, then the right. But Charlie is nowhere in sight. In the backyard an