Misadventures of a Curvy Girl by Sierra Simone

Author:Sierra Simone
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642630787
Publisher: Waterhouse Press

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in my Prius, bumping toward the interstate. In my rearview, I still see Caleb’s truck and him standing outside it. He refuses to leave until he sees me safely on my way. I know that’s what he’s doing, and it’s the final straw.

I finally let the tears flow now. Now, when it won’t be awkward. Now, when I can save my pride.

Everywhere there are signs of the storm and the destruction it scattered around the countryside. Branches down, big green road signs crumpled as if by a giant fist. Leaves and twigs everywhere, along with a scattering of things that are far, far from their homes. An Easy Bake oven lodged in a tree. A mattress blown against a fence.

And yet nothing the storm has left even comes close to matching how messy and broken I feel right now.

I think I fell in love. I think I fell in love in a single night. I think I fell in love with two people instead of one, and all of it is ridiculous, so fucking ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop it from being true.

Doesn’t stop it one bit.

Soon, Caleb’s truck is out of sight, and I’m turning onto the paved county road that will take me back to the highway. Across the junction is a grassy field, but through the plot of knee-high grass waving in the sunny breeze is a meandering swath of flattened stalks, bent and speckled with flung mud. It’s a near perfect depiction of the path of the tornado, and there’s something singularly striking about it.

Possibly the lonely destruction matches my mood.

I reach automatically for my camera in the bag on the passenger seat, shoving my hand through my clothes in search of its reassuring shape, its familiar heft. But even as I riffle through the bag, a vision suddenly comes to me of my camera on the bed in the farmhouse’s guest room. I put it there while Caleb was telling me about Ben and him, and I got so caught up in the story that I completely forgot to shove it into the bag before I left.

Which means it’s still at the farmhouse.

Fuck.

I pointlessly and stupidly smack the steering wheel with my palm, which only hurts my hand and makes me feel childish. And childish is not something I can afford to feel right now—not when I’m already the awkward sausage who couldn’t take a hint and had to be told to leave.

Humiliation and anger burn at me as I yank on the wheel of the car to make a vicious U-turn back to the farm. The humiliation is for obvious reasons, I suppose, but even I don’t entirely understand the anger. I’m not an angry person normally; in fact, I’m always the first to say sorry, the first to make peace. I usually do everything I can to avoid conflict, to keep people liking me.

You’re done with that now. No more apologizing just because you’re scared of people walking away.

I

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