The Reece Malcolm List Read Online Free PDF

room so no one will have to deal with me.
    Which feels a lot like the past three months.
    But I shrug it off and curl up in bed with the pie, Justine’s iPod, and my notebook. Even just last week the thought of being in Reece Malcolm’s house would have sounded like science fiction, so it’s funny how this feels so much like falling asleep any other day.

Chapter Three
    Things I know about Reece Malcolm:
    10. She interrupts a lot.
    11. Her boyfriend’s way nicer than she is.
    I sleep okay in the big, soft bed in Reece Malcolm’s house, and end up awake early thanks to the time difference. I kill most of the morning with a long shower (the bathroom is stocked with some amazing stuff that smells citrusy and lathers up luxuriously like in a commercial) and then a handwritten letter to Justine detailing every reason L.A. is a terrible idea. I end up shredding it into pieces and tossing it, though, because it gives away way too much.
    “Hey there.” My mother leans into the room, wearing a ragged tank top and plaid pajama pants. “You’re not a terrifying morning person, are you?”
    “It’s later in Missouri,” I say. “So not really.”
    “Let me get showered and dressed, and we’ll run errands, all right? You should head downstairs, though; we’ve instituted Pancake Saturdays until we get sick of them.”
    I decide not to ask about errands, and instead walk to the stairs, where the scent of maple syrup hits me about halfway down. Brad is at the stove, flipping pancakes in the air like a fancy chef. “Um, she said I should come down to eat, so . . .”
    “Absolutely.” He flips a pancake with a spatula once more before depositing it on top of a stack and handing me the plate. “I hope you like these; I did some experimenting with leftover berries.”
    “They smell amazing.” I sit down at the table and reach for the butter and syrup. “Are you like a chef or something?”
    He laughs, but not in a way that makes me feel stupid. “Not at all. I just like cooking, especially in this kitchen. In my apartment, I had about this much space.” He holds his arms out at his sides and then in front and back of him to indicate a space maybe a sixth of the room. “I’m not sure why people make such a deal of it. Most cooking is rather easy.”
    “Maybe just to you,” I say, which makes him laugh. I think about adding that I didn’t think British people were supposed to cook very well but it doesn’t seem polite.
    “Reece says the same. Oh, and I feel the need to warn you that I’ve seen the shopping list she’s made, and it’s quite lengthy. You should load up on breakfast; you’ll need the energy.”
    I have no idea what to make of that, but I would have pancake-overloaded regardless, because these are the best I’ve ever had, and I tell him so as my mother walks into the room, wearing almost exactly the same clothes as the day before: T-shirt, jeans, Chuck Taylors.
    “Blackberries?” She leans over Brad’s shoulder to look at his plate. “You’re a genius. Where’s my order?”
    “Coming right up,” he says, jumping to his feet. I wonder if he’s a little scared of her, too. How could he not be? “Devan, more while I’m making them?”
    I’ve somehow cleaned my plate already. “Um, yeah, if you have extra.”
    “Are you going to keep this up, or are you on good behavior since you just moved in?” my mother asks.
    I feel like throwing up until I realize she’s referring to Brad and his chef mode and not me at all.
    By now I’m pretty good at being invisible. That’s all I really was to Tracie, except for when she yelled at me. And even though I used to feel like the brightest part of Dad’s universe, everything kept shifting the older I got, like I betrayed him for not staying a little kid. And, anyway, being invisible was useful. You can’t be a weird new girl or a choir geek if you slip right under everyone’s radar. So if Reece Malcolm and Brad Harper want to speak to each other