Triangles by Ellen Hopkins Read Free Book Online Page A

evenings of every month at Starbucks in Carson City.
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    All writing levels and genres encouraged.
    Wonder how they feel about erotica.
    BEFORE I GET THE CHANCE
    To call the number listed for more
    information, there’s a firestorm of footsteps in the front hall. Jace crashes in, cursing some client, only to find Mikayla
    on her computer. What the hell are you doing online? Shut that down.
    Here we go again. And once again,
    I rush to Mik’s rescue. “Hang on, okay?
    She’s doing some research for me.”
    At Jace’s dubious look, Mikki explains, Yeah, Dad. I’m helping her search for her birth parents. Facebook is the new—
    No! Not that again, Holly. The last time …
    He shakes his head. I wish you’d just leave it alone. When it all goes to shit, you turn into a basket case. Even if you did find them, what would it prove? That they still don’t want you, or would have come looking themselves?
    God, Holly, what is it with you? You have people right here who love you. Your family is all you need. Why go sniffing elsewhere?
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    His words are bullets. I want to shoot back, but going to war is probably exactly what he wants. I try diversion instead. “Bad day?” Crap day. I don’t know why … and off he goes, ranting about whatever it is his client did that’s going to screw up all his hard work. I could follow, listen.
    Try to soothe him out of this mood, but at the moment I’m wondering why
    it’s always up to me to offer sympathy.
    “You should probably log off,” I tell Mik. “No use irritating your father more.” Fine, she huffs. But it’s so not fair.
    Why does he have to be such a jerk?
    Can I call Dylan? Just to say hello?
    At my hesitation, she pleads, Please, Mom!
    I haven’t talked to him in days. I need to hear his voice. Don’t you remember being in love?
    Some sort of commentary? Most likely unintended, however close to home.
    “Of course I do. But I don’t want your dad to get mad at you.” Her cheeks compress, 124/881
    pinching her mouth into a tiny O, and her eyes threaten tears. “Okay, but no more than two minutes. I’ll keep Dad occupied.” The O becomes a wide U before she mouths Thank you, scurries off into the other room.
    I FOLLOW A TRAIL
    Of Jace’s clothes, left scattered on the floor.
    He’s in the bathroom, so Mikki should be okay for a few minutes. Wordlessly, I pick up the strewn garments, take them to the laundry room, feeling the tiniest bit traitorous.
    As I clean out the pockets of my favorite denim jacket, I find a business card. Grant Sothersby? Oh, yes. Mr. Vanilla—the one who I decided not to call. But suddenly I get the urge to do just that. Suddenly, war sounds good. A covert war—to be more than a little traitorous. My family is all I need? Hardly. I need to be spoiled.
    Spotlighted. I want someone to tell me I’m beautiful. Hot. Kick-fucking-ass.
    I go to the kitchen. Pick up the phone.
    Dial Grant’s number. Change my mind.
    Hang up. What am I doing? Seriously.
    Plotting infidelity at my kitchen counter?
    Flirting, even semi-dangerous flirting, is not the same thing as arranging a shameless roll in the sack. But now the phone rings in my hand. Grant, returning his caller ID, 126/881
    no doubt. I have to answer or someone else will. “Hello? This is Holly, remember …” HE DEFINITELY REMEMBERS
    And now the decision seems to have
    been wrested from me. We plan to meet downtown for drinks. The unvoiced “after, we’ll see” hangs like a lace curtain between us.
    Rather than try to think up a convincing excuse, I say to Mikki, “Tell your dad I prefer not to collect his clothes like he is six.
    I’m going to a movie.” She owes me, nods wordlessly. I am all the way down the driveway before my cell rings. Hey.
    I’m sorry about the clothes. Are you really mad at me? Sharp little teeth of guilt gnaw, but not viciously enough.
    “I’ll get over it. I just need some time to myself.” I hang up and he doesn’t call back. Must be a