Our Chemical Hearts by Krystal Sutherland Read Free Book Online

know most teenagers are supposed to hate their parents or at the very least think they’re uncool or whatever, but I was always too in awe of my mom and dad for any of that. My parents had one of those creepy, pre-
Frozen
-Disney-movie-type love-at-first-sight stories. They met at a KFC (okay, so maybe not
quite
Disney) after school when they werebarely tweens. Dad, being the cocky little kid I assume he was, asked for Mom’s hand in marriage on the spot (offering her a piece of fried chicken instead of an engagement ring—definitely, definitely
not
Disney).
    You’ve probably read stories like that before, about old-timey folk proposing marriage on the first date and all. But this is legit. And it worked. They didn’t get married for another eleven years, but they never dated anyone but each other from that day onward. They eloped in India on a Christmas Day when they’d barely finished college, each dressed in swimwear and painted in henna. I had a Polaroid photo of them feeding mangoes to elephants. So theirs was an incredible love. Speaks volumes of Colonel Sanders’ secret recipe.
    But it wasn’t their Nicholas Sparks–esque, so-perfect-it-kind-of-makes-you-sick relationship that I loved most about them. It was the way they were. I’d seen hormonally ravaged teenagers who weren’t as giddily in love as my parents, and—instead of making me dry retch, like it was apparently supposed to—I loved their love.
    They’d been hippies when Suds was a kid, an artist and a carpenter living in an abandoned warehouse. Maybe the hellish experience of raising Sadie to adulthood had stripped any resistance from their systems, but they’d always been nothing but incredibly cool and open toward me.
    So when I said to my mom, Daphne, when she got home from the gallery: “Mother, I’m going out tonight and I’m not sure what time I’ll be home or where I’m going exactly. I’mnot a hundred percent certain, but I may possibly be engaging in illegal activities. Is that okay?”
    She just said: “An adventure, huh? Excellent. I was starting to worry about you. Sadie had been arrested three times by your age, and look how she turned out.”
    â€œThanks, Mom. I knew you’d support me.”
    â€œIn anything except murder and the use of prohibited substances that require injection.”
    â€œOh, good, ’cause I’ve been meaning to see if you wanted to invest in this mobile meth lab business I’ve been working on for the past few months.”
    â€œOf course, darling. Do me up a compelling spreadsheet and I’ll take a gander at the figures. Will you require emergency getaway transportation from your possibly illegal activities this evening?”
    â€œI’m not sure yet. Can I keep you posted? I shouldn’t be out too late. I don’t want to keep you and Dad up.”
    â€œIf I don’t answer my phone, just get the police to drop you home. We’ll pretend to ground you for a month.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    She kissed my forehead. “For real, though. Don’t break any laws. And call me if you need me, okay?”
    â€œWill do.”
    The afternoon passed far too slowly after that and then, in the minutes leading up to sunset, far too quickly. All of a sudden it was dark and I was walking toward the front door, shouting good-bye to my parents, searching my thoughts forconversation starters, questions I could ask Grace to keep the small talk going. I always got stage fright in front of her, my brain turning into a cavernously empty pothole that couldn’t scrounge up useful thoughts to save itself.
    Outside, Grace’s car had disappeared, as it had the two afternoons she’d driven me home last week. I waited by the mailbox, shuddering against the surprisingly chilly evening breeze. Five minutes passed before I caught a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye. A small, dark figure