Underestimated Read Online Free PDF Page A

little
    teenager.
    I was home by eight, listening to my new radio and
    country music as I chopped the needed ingredients for my
    spaghetti. I wondered what Lauren was doing. I should
    invite her over for spaghetti. I wished I could call her. I
    looked out the front door, and there were no lights on. She
    wasn’t home. I went out to the back deck and gazed out at
    the moon over the ocean. For the first time in an awful
    long time I felt light-hearted and had a new sense of calm.
    I would never again worry about what kind of
    mood Drew was going to be in when he got home. I would
    never again worry about focusing on what I could do to
    improve myself so that I didn’t set him off. I would focus
    on me for the first time in my life. I clasped my hands
    together and pressed them to my lips, almost as if I were
    praying and thanking God for my courage to do what I had
    done, and be where I was standing. I truly was grateful.
    My new sense of being was shattered once again
    when I heard the loud knock on the door. Would I ever get
    used to this? Would I ever be able to breathe and not think
    that it was someone there to get me?
    I looked out and saw Lauren. She pushed herself in
    carrying a bag and busily started talking as she removed
    its contents.
    “So, I figured I might as well get this myself. It
    was pretty obvious that you were not going to,” she said
    handing me the new cellphone. “You have to have a
    phone, Riley,” she assured me.
    “Lauren, I can’t accept this.” I tried to hand it
    back.
    “Hmm, this looks good,” she said, sticking her
    finger in my homemade sauce, ignoring me.
    “Lauren!”
    “Look, Riley. I don’t know what your story is, and
    I am not going to pry. If you ever need to talk I am here,
    and you never have to worry about me saying anything to
    anyone. Even if you never tell me your story, you still need
    a phone. It’s pretty clear that you are afraid of having a
    phone in your name, so I put it on my plan. I am not giving
    you anything. The phone was free to add a line, and you
    can pay me the monthly thirty five dollar payment. Okay?”
    How could I argue with that? Why was she, so hell
    bent on being nice to me? Not that I was complaining, it
    just felt sort of superficial. No. Stop it, Morg, I mean, Ry,
    not everyone has a motive.
    “Thank you, Lauren. Would you like to stay for
    supper?”
    “No, but I want leftovers tomorrow. I kind of have
    a visitor that I need to get back to. I put my number in your
    phone already, in case you need anything. I’m leaving
    before you hug me again.”
    I laughed and watched her walk back to her house.
    There was a guy building a fire off to the side of her
    house. I watched as he wrapped her in his arms and kissed
    her. I wondered who he was and if he was her boyfriend.
    I finally sat down to enjoy my spaghetti and the
    movie ‘Wanderlust with Jennifer Aniston.’ I couldn’t
    contain my nosiness and peeked through the crack in the
    curtains across the yard every now and then. I watched
    Lauren lead her friend into her house by the hand around
    eleven. She probably wouldn’t tell me about him unless I
    asked. I wouldn’t, I mean, it wasn’t like I was sharing any
    part of my life with her.
    I slept like a baby in my new bed but woke a little
    too early, thanks to Lauren. I reached for my new
    cellphone on the nightstand and read the new text.
    “You up?”
    “I am now,” I answered.
    “Make coffee, I’m on my way over.”
    Okay. I said out loud, forcing myself out of bed. I
    didn’t even have time to completely finish peeing before
    she was knocking on my door.
    “Good morning,” she said, way too happy. I
    glanced at the clock, and it was only eight. I wasn’t sure I
    liked her much anymore. She walked past me and started
    the coffee herself.
    “I’m going to brush my teeth,” I said and left her
    alone. When I returned she was in my refrigerator,
    retrieving the leftover spaghetti.
    “Want some?”
    “No. Help