Wicked Sweet by Mar'ce Merrell Read Free Book Online

uncomplicated. We don’t have that in common. I wish I hadn’t asked.

Chantal
    Fallout .
    Y ou do what you have to for friends, but sometimes it’s too much.
    Inside of fifteen minutes of Jillian leaving, the Hat Trick and Double Minor masticated through two dozen of my secret weapon cookies. Then they devised a plan to find their favorite toys—which turned out to be at the back of every closet in the house.
    Around then, the chocolate high crashed. Any ideas of playing duck, duck, goose or tic-tac-toe or having family fun time quickly disappeared. I had to confiscate every electronic gaming device the Hat Trick owned before they realized I was serious when I said they could not use Stevie as a rock in their made-up game of “boulder toss.” Things were beginning to calm down until I found them using Josh as a human shield. Eventually I ordered them to brush their teeth and get into bed. It’s only 7 P.M., an hour earlier than their usual bedtime.
    Now, baby Ollie is heavy on my lap and my right leg has fallen asleep, but his eyes are drooping. He’s drunk on the fourth bottle of formula or exhausted from my inadequate care. I need to wait it out. My whole life. Wait it out.
    Twenty minutes pass with me lost in my thoughts of revenge against Parker for taking Jillian away. I memorize the scratches on the table, the whorls in Ollie’s hair.
    “More crackers?” Stevie tugs on my arm. He’s out of bed. I look down. His pajama pants are soaked.
    But he’s wearing a nighttime diaper.
    I want to say, “Change your own pants,” but I’m not a mean babysitter.
    “Wait,” I say. “I’ll put Ollie to bed and then we’ll clean you up.” I scoot back from the table. Ollie’s eyelids flutter. I slide on my socks toward the stairs. Until I hit a puddle.
    My sock is soaked. Who peed this much? No. The puddle is a lake. And the lake is at the end of a river that slides down the stairs. It must start in the bathroom where a tap is open and a sink is stoppered.
    I hear it then, laughter, the Hat Trick doubled over and high-fiving each other. Josh and Stevie slosh through the puddle. Ollie squirms, his peaceful face scrunches.
    This is what happens when I don’t pay attention. I simply go along until some catastrophe hits. Crud. I am not a disaster specialist; I freak out when I stub my toe and it bleeds. Here, I’ve got six kids, one flood. This is too much. Far too much.
    I want to leave baby Ollie in his crib. Leave a package of crackers on the table and walk out the door. I am an only child.

Jillian
    Competition .
    I f there is one thing I am not, it’s a girl like Annelise. I’m not going to ditz around with the whole how-much-do-you-like-me cutesy talk. I’m not going to write his name on the inside of my notebooks. I’m not going to imagine getting married in the first month that we’re going out. I am definitely not, ever, going to give him my locker combination so that he can store his things in my locker. That is only one step below letting him keep his toothbrush in your bathroom! And, although I’ve never had a conversation with a guy about his intentions, I’m not above imagining it. After all, with a mother like mine plus the imminent departure of Dad 3, I am the only one who will be looking out for my virginity.
    I get out of the car before he can slide over the stick shift and kiss away my resolve to figure him out. He follows my lead and we lean against the trunk drinking our bottles of water. I wonder if he’s calculating his next move. I wonder which one of us will speak next, what we’ll say, how I can determine if Parker is playing me. Normally I am stuck trying to negotiate around six brothers, or preparing to score points in a debate. Both skills, Chantal says, require serious strategic thinking. And thinking is one of the things I do best. That, and running.
    “Let’s race.” I set my empty water bottle on the hood of the car.
“Race? As in run?”
    “Yeah. To the first pine tree