Stealing Parker by Miranda Kenneally Read Free Book Online

doesn’t seem pleased about that either. I get that his mom wants to protect him. But Rachel’s a sweet girl.
    I used to be a sweet girl.
    Tate and Rachel didn’t turn on me post Mom-gate. They go to Woodbury High, with Aaron, so it’s not like we’re great friends or anything, but they’re good company. We giggle a lot. Especially when Brother John does PowerPoint presentations of common devil worshipping signs.
    But Aaron’s new here. That’s the only reason his parents haven’t told him to steer clear of me, Parker Shelton, Sinner Extraordinaire.
    I should have business cards made.
    •••
    They say you give us gifts. You made Drew great at football, but he’s no Jordan Woods. He’ll never play in college. You made Dad an architect, but he’s not designing skyscrapers in New York or opera houses in Paris. You made me into a killer softball player. Good enough to make the all-conference team sophomore year. But more than that, you gave me something I loved.
    But didn’t you realize that when you took Mom from me, that you were also taking something we shared? Mom was there the first time I picked up a tee-ball bat. Mom bought me my first glove. She showed me how to put a ball in my glove, wrap it up in a rubber band and put it under my pillow at night, so I could break it in. So I could dream about it.
    But you took away that dream, and now I don’t know what’s left.
    Written during services on February 14. Burned.
    •••
    Brian never showed at Big Church.
    But before I left, I lifted a copy of the church directory from the main office, so I could stalk Brian in the comfort of my home.
    “Is that them, you think?” Drew asks, pointing at a picture of an older couple. The caption reads Mr. and Mrs. William Hoffman. Where Brian’s sexiness came from is not evident in this picture. But they’re the only Hoffmans at Forrest Sanctuary.
    I close the directory, go over to my vanity, and drag a hand through my drawer o’nail polishes. I pick out Bodacious Boysenberry and carry it to my bed, where I plop down next to Drew and start removing Passion Peach.
    “Let’s Google him!” he says, opening my laptop, going into reporter mode.
    I groan. If I do that, I’ll be a bona fide stalker. My business card should actually read “Parker Shelton, Slutty Sinner Sleuth Extraordinaire.”
    Drew’s already typing his name into the search bar. Right then Ryan pokes his head in my room.
    “Are you hungry?” he asks. Dark circles ring his eyes.
    “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll start cooking,” I say, holding up my nails. Ryan nods and the door clicks shut. I love, love, love cooking, but it’s the only chore I really like. I love taste testing. Mom never worked. She was a housewife, and when she left, I had to take on chores like laundry and ironing after Dad turned his T-shirts pink and burned his thumb while pressing his pants. I wish Mom and Dad were still together. I wish her dog Annie was here. All I really want in life is a big furry dog that slobbers a lot.
    “Here he is!” Drew says. Brian’s Facebook page pops up. The profile picture is of him in a Georgia Tech baseball uniform, holding a bat. He’s smiling. He’s younger than he is now. The rest of the profile is locked down, so I can’t get any juicy details like his favorite books and movies, to see what we have in common.
    “You should friend request him,” Drew says, moving the cursor to click the button.
    “No way!” I slap his hand and log out of my account before he does something drastic.
    I make a split-second decision to repaint my nails with Passion Peach.
    When I asked if he played ball, Brian replied, “Something like that.” He played college ball but won’t admit it?! I start to Google his name, then shut the laptop. I will not be a psycho, no matter how much I want to know him. No matter how much I want to feel that link again. He understands what it’s like to miss someone. He treated me like I’m somebody worth