The Truth About Jack (Entangled Crush) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the whole beach from up here, all the way down to where the Russian River gushes into the ocean. The water’s choppy and chaotic there, where the sinewy river currents slam into the raw, angry waves. Another wave smashes against the shore, making the sand tremble under its force. That one must have been twenty feet high. I feel so grateful for the violence of the sea today. It matches my mood precisely. Under my breath I whisper a little thank you to Poseidon for being as pissed off as I am.
    I walk until I find an inviting nest in the pampas grass. Then I sit and pull my journal from my bag. The smooth leather cover feels soothing and familiar in my hands. Uncapping my favorite blue pen, I begin to scribble a furious, punctuation-free diatribe, a patchwork quilt of memories and questions and rants. Soon the whole side of my hand is blue with smeared ink and tears are streaming down my face again, but I don’t care.
    I write about the first time Cody kissed me on the swings at Ives Park, how I told River all about it afterward and how she said we were perfect together—me with my sculptures made of old bedsprings and broken TVs, him with his silkscreen designs of bicycle gears and typewriter keys. She said we had matching vibes, artistic souls that complemented each other perfectly. I wonder what she’d say about that now. Does she think she’s perfect for him? She’s not creative at all—she’s a sociology major. How does she justify coming between two perfectly matched “artistic souls”?
    I picture her bright pink hair and her dark eyes, try to imagine myself yelling at her, screaming at her. I try to imagine the shape her mouth would make, the look in her eyes as she withstands my abuse. I can’t do it, though. The picture goes blurry, fuzzes out like an old TV with bad reception. She’s my best friend, always has been. The thought of me turning against her is laughable. She’s always been the brave one, the brassy one, the one in the lead. Growing up, she was my default older sister, the one who made up the games when we were little, informed me in no uncertain terms about which music was cool, which clothes were lame. After Mom and Dad got divorced five years ago, River became my best friend, my older sister, and my mom rolled into one. The very idea of me yelling at her goes against nature, like a butterfly hissing at a snake.
    I think of the letter from RISD sitting on my bed at home, all innocent and happy. I am delighted to inform you it keeps crying to the empty room, perky and clueless as a cheerleader. I am delighted to inform you! What am I going to do with that offer now? Can I seriously go to heartbreak central and expect to get an education? RISD has been reduced to rubble by one sentence: Cody and I started seeing each other.
    Thanks for the nuclear bomb, River. Thanks for completely destroying the entire eastern seaboard for me.
    Okay, yes, I’m being a little dramatic, but that’s what you do when your best friend hooks up with your boyfriend. This is no time to be reasonable.
    River’s email opens old wounds. Mom sitting me down when I was twelve, her normally pretty face splotchy with crying, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. You know I love you very much, but your father’s making me crazy. The wild gleam in her eye, like a caged animal. The way her nostrils flared, her dark hair standing up in hectic disarray. She made it painfully obvious how much she hated her life. She couldn’t be in the same room with Dad and not pick a fight. Everything between them had gotten twisted into knots, a pile of ropes too hopelessly tangled to ever come loose. Mom came to despise Luna Cove and everything in it. The tree houses were unstable, she said, the yurts ugly and ungainly. The garden had no rhyme or reason, the residents were all crazy hippies. Nobody there understood her, she complained. We all had our little compounds, living like animals in our dens.
    She packed a few boxes and left one day