Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- 2 Months Later
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Kasie West
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
Had I figured something out? Had he offered some sort of truth at the museum with that mask on? That he liked to paint? Who in our school liked to paint? I copied and pasted his quote into the search engine on my computer and it showed it was from Oscar Wilde. Who wrote it probably wasn’t significant—the quote itself was what fit his situation perfectly—but it was nice to know who had originally said it.
A quiet knock sounded at my door.
“Yes?”
It creaked open, revealing my dad. “I thought I heard you up in here. It’s late.”
“Yeah, I was just about to go to sleep.”
“Mom told me you might not come to the charity dinner this year.”
My mom and dad were different. If a person heard about my brother’s death from my dad, they would probably assume he had died years ago. If they heard about it from my mom, they would most likely assume he’d died months ago. So it was much easier for me to talk to my dad about things like this. “It’s the same night as my awards banquet for swim.”
“That’s a hard choice.”
The problem was that if there were nobody else’s feelings involved but my own, there would be no choice. But that wasn’t the case. “I think I should support my swim team.”
“I understand why you’d want to. That’s a big part of your life.”
“But I want to be there for you guys too.”
He smiled. “Like I said, it’s a hard choice. You’ll make the right one.” With that, he nodded his head at my phone and added, “Lights out in five.”
“Okay.”
He shut the door and I sighed. I wasn’t so sure I would make the right decision because as of now I was leaning toward the awards banquet and I had a feeling that even my dad assumed I’d go to the dinner. After all, it was family . . . and seventeen years of tradition.
I turned my attention back to my phone. You want to know a truth? Choices suck.
What choices?
What was I doing? I didn’t even know this person. My frustration at my situation almost made me vent about my personal life to a complete stranger. Not just any stranger but someone who was in the habit of selfishly disrupting other people’s lives.
Nothing. Good night.
He answered: You should always make the choice that’s best for you.