Summer Unplugged Read Online Free PDF Page A

like a mad woman. I am so happy to hear her voice.
    "No, you're never going to believe this shit. Mom took away my phone."
    "No fucking way! That's weak."
    "It gets worse," I say. "She sent me to my grandparent's house for the whole damn summer." There's silence for a minute, she's totally speechless and I don't blame her. This is almost too shitty to believe.
    "Dude," she says. "I'm sorry. I thought you were pissed about Ian and just ignoring the world."
    "Nah, I'm grounded. Wait – what do you mean about Ian?"
    There is an awful, gut-wrenching pain in her voice. "You don't know yet…"
    "I don't know what?" I shout, probably loud enough for Jace to hear. "What don't I know?"
    "Stacia, you know that girl from the party?" she says slowly. Very, very slowly.
    "Yes, I fucking know her, now tell me!" God, I hate being titillated.
    "She updated her Facebook to being in a relationship..."
    "And…?" I say, my heart beating rapidly beneath my chest.
    Her voice is sad. "With Ian."
    "Guuhhat ?" Jace's IPhone weighs a thousand pounds in my hand.
    "I'm sorry, Bay, I really am." Her voice seems far away. Three seconds go by and I take a deep breath. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Of course he wouldn't wait for me to get back. I mumble some kind of goodbye and hang up the phone, using all of my willpower not to throw it across the room.
    The wooden doorframe squeaks and Jace leans against it. "Something wrong?" he asks.
    I turn to face him, my jaw set tightly so I won't cry. "Nope."

Chapter 9
    Grandma notices the extra time I spend in the bathroom the next day. The one and only bathroom has a small mirror so I chose to flat iron my hair in front of a big mirror in the den.
    "Why are you wasting so much time on your hair, child?" She's shopping for clothes from a catalogue designed for old women. I shrug, taking a seat next to her. There's really no need to lie to Grandma like I would to Mom since Grandma doesn't think I have an ulterior motive to everything I do. She asks if I am interested in any of the blouses on page seven. I am definitely not.
    My hair is completely flat. My side bangs perfectly swoop across my forehead. But I keep sliding the flat iron over the locks, as therapy. The Ian thing is bugging me, though the Jace thing is an icing on top of the problem cake. I wish I had my phone and my computer. My ears start to burn as the flat iron gets too close to them.
    "There are some brownies in the kitchen for you. I made a double batch since I know you teenagers can eat a lot."
    "Grandma, there's just one of me," I say, wondering if she's noticed the five pounds I put on last year. Regardless, I unplug my flat iron, find them on the counter and start eating one.
    "Eddie and I can't eat much sugar, so you make sure to eat them all before they go bad."
    Eat them all? There's like two dozen of them and they are roughly the size of my palm. I stuff the rest of my brownie into my mouth, wrap another one in a paper towel and bring it back to the living room.
    Carefully, I think of a way to word it so she doesn't realize who I am talking about. "Grandma, could I take some to my friend next door?"
    She doesn't look up from her catalog. "Sure honey, that would be fine."
    I dive into the kitchen and wrap up most of the brownies. Then I take out a few, because who am I kidding, I will definitely eat them. I had spent most of the night in bed trying to think of a good excuse to go back over to Jace's, and food is the best possible excuse. Boys can't say no to food.
    Back in my room, I get dressed and assess myself in the mirror. My hair and make up are great. My outfit is iffy, but I still can't wear shorts because my legs haven't faded from the burnt orange they turned when Becca talked me into getting a spray tan with her last week. I check out the window for Jace and am delighted to see him on his back porch working on his dirt bike. It's a little past noon, the perfect time for brownies.
    It takes a lot to stop myself from skipping