Remind Me to Hate You Later by Lizzy Mason

Author:Lizzy Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781547610716
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2023-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

16

Carter drops me off at home on Sunday before noon. Trey rode shotgun again, but I didn’t mind this time. I put in my earbuds and stared out the window the whole trip.

Carter tried to act normal over breakfast. Everyone was hungover and quiet as we ate cold Pop-Tarts around the firepit that was now just ashes, so it didn’t seem so unusual that we weren’t talking. But I saw Adriana’s eyes flick between us, back and forth like she was waiting for one of us to apologize or crack a joke.

Aside from asking if I wanted to stop for coffee on the way, though, we barely spoke.

And now that I’m home, and Dad and Cordie are both out, a whole silent day stretches ahead of me. A day to think about how I screwed everything up between me and Carter. A day to think about what a terrible friend I am, to him and to Jules. A day to think about all the ways I could have tried to help Jules. To save her.

But instead of wallowing, I know what I’m going to do to fill it: revenge.

I pull my laptop onto my bed and open a Word document; then I open Britt’s most recent column from the Washington Herald. Jules’s obituary. And I catalog every lie in it.

Like how Jules had a “spirit that could light up a room, even if she was standing in the corner.” Jules was usually in a corner, sure. But she didn’t light up a room. She darkened those corners with smirks and snark. And she wasn’t “kind to everyone she met.” She hated being around people and avoided conversation at all costs. But she hated no one more than she hated herself.

I move onto the next column, and the next, and the next. I get so caught up in the lies that I forget to eat lunch, so by five, my stomach is growling an angry protest.

I put a sweatshirt over my tank top and pad out into the hallway. I haven’t heard Dad or Cordie come home, but they must be around somewhere. But Dad’s room is quiet and there’s no sound from the living room. The kitchen is empty as I pour myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes and sit at the table to scroll through Instagram.

An hour later, the front door finally opens. I know from the heavy footsteps that it’s Dad. When I talked to him that morning before we drove home, he apologized for missing my call, but he didn’t say where he was.

When he steps through the door to the kitchen, he seems surprised to see me.

“Hey, Bug!” He sounds almost guilty, like I caught him at something.

“Hey. Where have you been?” I say, with a hint of suspicion.

Just as he says, “How was camping?”

We both wait for the other to answer, but he holds out longer. He’s had more practice.

“It was fine,” I say finally. “A little cold last night. Thanks for the sock tip.”

He nods.

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