The Story of You and Me by Pamela DuMond Read Free Book Online Page B

here.”
    “That kind of statement sets a bad intention. You might want to eat one of those cookies with a glass of milk before you decide the state of your luck. Night.” He picked up Gidget, tucked her under his arm and headed back inside his place. “Snack time for Gidget before we watch TV?” The dog yipped and wagged her tail.  
    “You’re right.” I plunked down on my front step, unwrapped the tin foil, pulled out a cookie and sunk my teeth into a chocolate chip morsel with some kind of secret ingredient that tickled my taste buds. A postcard was stuck in the basket, a “DRIVEN” logo printed on the front. The same email and phone number were on the back. Along with a note:
     
    Dear Sophie:
     
    Summer session doesn’t even start for two days. And you’re recovering from a truly crappy first night in a new town. I’m sorry if I was a bit pushy. I volunteer to show you around L.A., which is kind of a weird place to be, even if you’re raised here—like me. So call or email me, or track me down at the Grill where I tend to hang out.

    I nibbled on another cookie. This was the best part of my day so far. Except for the daisies. Filling out reams of paperwork, being pushed down a hospital corridor on a gurney, having my spine injected with stem cells, taking ass-numbingly long bus rides and being accosted by a skin-head were not in the running for the top ten best things about today. But this cookie was delicious. What was Alex’s secret ingredient? I turned my eyes back to his letter.

    And, by the way? I made these cookies from scratch. And that wasn’t easy, because I suck at baking. I hope you like them.
     
    Best,  
    Alejandro Maxwell Levine  

    Because you didn’t know my last name and kind of accused me of being a stalker. Which I’m not.
    P.S. After I dropped off the basket, I was driving down your street and witnessed your next-door neighbor stealing one of my cookies. You might want to double bolt your doors. I’m not sure I trust him. Or his dog.

    I started giggling and then thought about my day. I remembered how scared I was counting from ten backward in a cold, sterile room before I blacked out and woke up shivering on a cot with a thin blanket pulled over me in recovery. I flashed to what it felt like to have my newly healing face shoved into a chain-link fence while some asshole restrained and tried to assault me. I touched my back where it ached. Put a hand to my face and saw a touch of blood on my finger.
    Floodgates from someplace deep inside me broke open, and suddenly I felt lonely and furious and sad. Cole slid his kitchen window open. Gidget hopped in it, gazed at me and barked. I got up, grabbed the cookies, walked a few steps and knocked on Cole’s door. He opened it, a questioning look on his face. “Got milk?” I asked. ’Cause I’ve got killer cookies.”
      He smiled. “Come inside, mystery girl.”
    What the hell? Cookies and milk might be the perfect way to end today.

Chapter Six

    I called my mom from Cole’s place and gave her the update on the stem cell procedure. I skipped the bit about getting assaulted and promised that I’d pick up a new phone tomorrow.  
    Cole might have been a cookie-thief, but he was a sweet host. The milk was low fat, tasted farm fresh and I washed down another antibiotic pill. Gidget even allowed me to play tug-a-war with her and her favorite stuffed toy. I left after a half hour and went back to my place. I was exhausted and one-hundred-and-ten percent ready for bed.
    Which is why I was confused that I tossed and turned the entire night. I stared at the two framed photos on my dresser that I’d brought with me from home. The first was a posed shot of my mom, my grandmother and me. The second was a selfie of my best friend and   me mugging it up at a football game. I wondered how everyone was. I probably fell asleep around five a.m. and didn’t even blink my eyes open until around three p.m. that day. I woke up feeling like a