Cupcake Girl by Catherine White Read Free Book Online Page A

a rocky bluff overlooking the marina to read it. The sun had already set, but there was enough light at twilight to read the note.
    Lexie’s writing looked rushed, and I was disappointed that the whole note fit on that little square of paper.
    Hi, Max. I'm so, so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I will write and explain everything as soon as we get on the road. Miss you already.
    Lexie.
    I couldn’t believe she was gone. She said she could go any day, but it all happened so fast it didn’t seem real. I waited for a few minutes before jogging down to her house. It was dark outside by the time I got there, and the house itself felt foreboding.
    Tonight I would have been glad to see the floodlight pouring onto the front porch, but everything was dark. Knowing no one was home, I knocked on the door about eight times, and then walked around the house to check for any sign of life. It looked so empty I wondered if Lexie wasn’t teasing when she said her mom might disconnect the power to save money.
    That made me remember her phone, and I felt a small surge of hope that I could at least call her emergency number. I scrolled down to her name, but there was only one number. Why didn’t I ask for the new one? Oh, right—it was because that stupid phone couldn’t even receive calls.
    Knowing it was as hopeless as knocking on the door had been, I clicked on the number for Lexie’s old phone. Again, I got that maddening recorded message about the number being disconnected. I stood there for a while, wishing Lexie would spend eighty-six seconds to call and say goodbye, because having her leave so suddenly and completely felt like an emergency to me.
    Then I read the note again.
    Hi, Max. I'm so, so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I will write and explain everything as soon as we get on the road. Miss you already.
    Lexie.
    I guess I got my three-sentence emergency notification after all.

9
    Empty
    I checked our mailbox religiously for the next few weeks, but the only letters addressed to Max Rogers came from about seven different colleges. I was slightly tempted to open the two from some university in Houston, but they all just reminded me of Lexie and brought back that dull ache in my chest, so I threw them in the ever-growing heap in the shoebox under my desk.
    I also started checking my email daily, which is a little unusual for me. But still nothing. Every few days I sent a short message to Lexie, hoping someday she would see them and respond. They went something like this:
June 2:
I can’t believe you’re gone, and that I didn’t even get to say goodbye! How is Houston? Sorry I missed you on the day you left—I had a boatful of the most determined tourists you’ve ever met. Or at least they were the stingiest, because they wanted to use every single minute they paid for. Hope you’re okay and that your grandma gets better quickly.
June 5:
Do they have a lake in Houston? The water was perfect today, but it was no fun swimming out to our island without you. And there’s a jet ski with your name on it, just waiting for you to come home.
June 9:
How are you? Things are so boring here without you. I don’t even have Jake around to keep things interesting. We text a lot and talk every couple of days, but I’m still hoping to hear from you. Seriously—feel free to call or write any day.
June 14:
A few guys from the cross-country team came waterskiing on Friday, and every one of them gave me a blank stare when I quoted
What About Bob?
Then Alec spent the rest of the day tormenting me about watching lame movies from the nineties.
    At least I was smart enough to turn off my dad’s CD in his truck before I started it. I would never live it down if they heard John Denver blasting through the truck. I know
What About Bob?
is out in the open now, but maybe you can help me keep John Denver as our little secret, okay?
I miss hanging out with someone who gets my jokes. It’s never funny when you have to explain.
June