Solving for Ex Read Online Free PDF

mask the sudden concern in my voice. I’d seen Brendan in intense moods, when he was concentrating on math or one of the old westerns he loved. When he was waiting for his favorite lines to come up in Tombstone. But that intensity was excited. This was completely different.
    Like I’d flipped a switch, his face changed. With a grin, he pushed himself off the wall and came toward me. “Ash! Hey! What are you doing here?”
    “Well, I was trying to sleep in. But Hamlet had other plans.”
    “Are you kidding me? I’m so sorry. But at least you got breakfast out of it,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the crinkly wrapper in my hand.
    “Yeah. Breakfast and a wet shirt. And muddy shorts.”
    “Oh, geez. Did he…”
    “Steal Bruce’s tennis balls? And make me throw them? And then tackle me on return? Yeah,” I laughed. “But it’s really no big deal. I’ll just borrow some of your mom’s stuff and…”
    I headed for the door of her room, but Brendan darted out in front of me. “No, don’t…I mean, it’s not the best time to….I mean, she had a late night. Haven’t you unpacked your own clothes yet?”
    “Um…no, not really. But also, I locked myself out.” I suddenly felt embarrassed, and stared down at my muddied feet. At least I’d given myself a pedicure before I rolled into town. “It was…I went for a run and…the key…”
    “Oh, geez.” He rolled his eyes and smiled at me. “C’mon, slugger. I’ll get you one of my old shirts.”
    A few minutes later, I’d changed into Brendan’s Mathletes shirt from his sophomore year—the one from two years ago, when the back said “member” where it now read “captain”—and a pair of his darkest boxers that I’d fished from one of the drawers at the back of his huge walk-in closet. I think they actually must have been before his latest growth spurt, because no way would they fit him now. But that only got me thinking about Brendan and his boxers, and exactly what parts of Brendan were up against which parts of the boxers, and…
    I blew out a breath. I had to get a hold of myself. This would be a very long year if I didn’t.
    I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted to do about this year. I wasn’t clueless—a summer full of five-day stretches where I felt like I’d die if I didn’t talk to Brendan soon was enough to tell me that I was crushing on him pretty hard. I also knew that he was the worst person in the world for me to be head over heels in love with. Because he was my best friend.
    Brendan was the first and strongest tie I had to this place, and I wasn’t about to do anything to screw that up.
    When I first came here, everything had felt so empty. I didn’t know my way around town. I didn’t want to leave my room, I was so depressed. So Brendan had brought photos of the town and tacked them on my wall. He told me stories of things he had done there.
    Soon, his Pittsburgh became my Pittsburgh.
    Including Pamela’s café. The first time we’d walked through the heavy glass door that rang a tinny bell, and stepped into the cramped diner whose air filled with the servers’ shouts and the smell of staling coffee, it was like I could breathe again. Between the cramped space, the board games everywhere, the trivia cards randomly slung on the tables, the raised voices and the bustle and browning butter underneath pancake batter, it was just like my house. Just like home.
    There was plenty wrong with having three little triplet siblings underfoot and a mom who was too exhausted from keeping up with them for the past six years to spend much time with me. They were always breaking something of mine and I hardly ever spent any time with Mom. But when we would cuddle up on the couch together for movie night—when I would always pick the movie and she would always fall asleep—something about the particular clutter and chaos and soft side of my mom was home.
    No matter how much I loved home, though, nothing could make me stay there