Say Anything
By
Madeleine Labitan
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2019 by Madeleine Labitan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
SNEAK PEAK: TRUTH OR DARE
ALSO BY MADELEINE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
“Ohmigod, have you seen this? Laura Ackerman just broke up with Noah Pritchett!” Sabrina exclaims as she scrolls through Facebook, practically bouncing on her heels in excitement.
“Yeah, I heard,” I mumble distractedly, not bothering to lift my eyes away from what I’m doing.
I already know the details, anyway. Their breakup was a hot topic in at least two of my classes today. According to West Shores High gossip central, Laura got tired of Noah for not taking their relationship seriously. And bailing on her cousin’s wedding last weekend was apparently the last straw. Laura saw it as a disrespect to her family, so she dumped him.
Never mind that he apparently had a valid reason for his absence. And that it was also family-related.
I sense an irony there somewhere.
Whatever.
I really don’t care. I have more important matters to attend to at the moment—namely, doodle a particular name in my pink journal for the millionth time.
And, okay, I also need to accommodate customers. But seeing that Happy Serenity is currently lacking those, I’m doing something equally valuable with my time.
Sabrina and I had just gotten off school when Mom called and asked me to look after the shop so she could run some errands. Sabrina had nothing else to do so she came along to keep me company.
Now, she’s entertaining herself by finding gossip on our classmates on Facebook. She keeps filling me in even though I’m not interested to hear any of it.
I’d rather daydream about my future boyfriend.
“Oh, crap.”
What now?
“Don’t freak out. But the love of your life is coming over here right now.”
“What?” I snap my head up to follow her gaze.
And there he is—right outside the shop. Lincoln Evans. A.k.a. my future boyfriend. A.k.a. the cutest boy to ever grace the halls of West Shores High.
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! He’s here!
My heart pounds like crazy as I watch him push open the door of the shop, making the wind chimes go off. Two other boys are with him, but I can’t tear my eyes away to look them over. My attention is on Lincoln alone. He’s laughing, his gorgeous teeth in full display, as he walks through the door.
I literally feel my knees go weak when he runs a hand through his thick blond hair. And when those pale green eyes suddenly find mine, I just about slip into a catatonic state.
I swear, this boy never fails to turn me into a walking cliché of the lead female character in teen movies.
“Hey, guys, what can we do for you?” Sabrina greets them in a cheerful voice, elbowing me discreetly.
But I don’t budge. I just continue staring at Lincoln mutely.
Honestly, it’s all I can ever do whenever I’m around him. No matter how hard I try not to, I always end up freezing on the spot. Like I said, a walking cliché.
It’s annoyingly frustrating, but what can I do?
“You can date me.” One of the boys, Julian Murray, grins at my bestie. It’s no secret that he has the biggest crush on her.
No surprise there. Sabrina Lopez—or Bree as she likes to be called—is very pretty. She has the most beautiful jet black hair, thick and long, almost reaching her waist. Her dark almond eyes are just as striking, and her rich olive skin—courtesy of her Filipino-American genes—only adds to her appeal.
Bree flashes him a sweet smile. “How about never?”
Someone snickers. It’s Noah Pritchett—yes, the very same Noah Bree was just talking about.
Well, Noah happens to be Lincoln’s best friend. He starts to rag on Julian, who’s not even the slightest bit humiliated by Bree’s rejection. He’s used to it by now.
And because he’s the nicest, Lincoln just shakes his head, refusing to join in on the childish bickering of his friends.
Sigh. So mature. I know I’m in love with him for a reason.
“I’m actually looking for a specialty mug for my mom.”
“Oh, it’s her birthday?” Bree asks.
“No, I just want to buy one for her. She collects mugs.” He smiles shyly, as if embarrassed.
I don't know why he would be. He's giving his mom a present, and it's not even her birthday. It's the most thoughtful thing ever.
“Ri, want to show him where the mugs are?” Bree turns to me, her eyes widening a little, urging me to speak.
I swallow hard, my palms starting to sweat. What if I freeze up again? No, I can do this. I have to. It’s my golden opportunity to have an alone moment with Lincoln.
But when I open my mouth to speak, no sound comes out. Cheeks flaming, I clear my throat and try to do it again. Still nothing.
“Are you okay?” Lincoln asks, sounding a little concerned.
Ohmigod. Kill me now!
“Oh, sorry. I just remembered.” Bree slaps her forehead, faking a laugh. “Riley has a bad sore throat. She can’t talk right now. That’s why I’m here. So, uh, let me show you the mugs, okay?” She leads the way while Lincoln and Julian follow after her.
I let out a groan and cover my face with my hands. What an epic fail. I had the perfect chance, and I freaking blew it. Why am I such a dork?
“I gotta say, that was extremely painful to watch,” an amused voice suddenly speaks up, making me stiffen.
I lower my hands to see Noah’s smirking face. He’s still here? Ugh. And he totally saw my embarrassing display, as if acting like a moron in front of his best friend wasn’t bad enough.
“Listen—” I start, but then my flailing hand accidentally sends my journal flying. Mouth open in a soundless squeak, I watch as it lands on Noah’s feet, propped open.
For a heart-stopping moment, we both stare at it.
Then I’m moving, dashing to the floor and falling to my knees to grab the journal.
But it’s too late. Noah is faster than me. He snatches it before I can even get my hands on it.
“What’s this?” A little frown creases his forehead as he looks it over. Then his eyes widen as he reads the dreaded words. “I heart Lincoln Evans?”
I close my eyes. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s all a dream. It has to be!
“Riley? What are you doing?”
Do you know what’s worse than having your crush’s best friend find out about your real feelings for him? Having said crush find you kneeling in front of said best friend and your feelings in serious danger of being exposed.
“Dude”—Julian is staring wide-eyed between me and Noah—“what’s go
ing on?”
“Nothing.” Noah closes my notebook, making me blow out a sigh of relief. But instead of handing it over to me, he slips it into his bag.
What. The. Heck. That has me scrambling to stand up. “What are you doing?” I whisper-yell. “Give it to me.”
His eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans forward to whisper. "I think I'll hold on to it for a while."
“You can’t do that!”
“I just did.” He shrugs.
“Then give it back!”
“Um, guys?” Bree interrupts our bickering.
“Bree, uh, why don’t you ring them up?” I tell her, not even attempting to look in Lincoln’s direction. “We just have something to discuss.”
I don’t wait for Noah to say something. I grab his arm and drag him a few aisles down where I know they won’t be able to hear us.
Stopping, I whirl around to face him. He’s almost half a head taller than me, so I have to crane my neck up a little bit. “You’re giving back my journal. Now!”
But instead of doing what I told him to do, he gives me a thoughtful look. “You know, I’ve always noticed the way you stare at Linc. You always have this dreamy look on your face whenever he’s around. But I never gave it any thought. Now, seeing your notebook?” His eyes go round. “Whoa.” Then, leaning closer, he drops his voice to a whisper. “So, you’re in love with him or something?”
“No. Of course not!” I deny, crossing my arms over my chest, ignoring the fact that my cheeks are burning hot.
“Then why is your journal full of Linc’s name?”
“Er, maybe someone else wrote it there? I mean, who’s to say that it doesn’t belong to Bree?”
He laughs lightly. “Nice try, Ellison. But you’re already busted.”
“Fine,” I concede, blowing out a defeated breath. “But please don’t tell him.”
“Oh, wow. It’s really true.” He looks amazed now, staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Ugh. This is so humiliating. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Noah Pritchett who found out about my feelings for Lincoln?
I’m screwed. So, so screwed.
He will never keep my secret. They’re best friends, for crying out loud. Noah will probably run his mouth the moment they step outside the shop. And how will I be able to face Lincoln after this?
“My life is ruined,” I whisper in horror.
“Aren’t you being dramatic?” Noah’s amused voice once again cuts to my train of thoughts.
I scowl at him. “That’s because you don’t understand.”
Noah is one of the most popular boys in school. He’s a football player and has been hailed as homecoming prince both sophomore and junior year. Heck, he’ll probably win homecoming king next year, too.
He’s not bad to look at, either. Actually, he’s very good-looking. He has medium brown hair that is curly and a little short on the sides. His rich dark eyes seem to be always smiling, which is probably why people are naturally drawn to him. And his lips, well—let’s just say I’ve heard a few girls in the girls’ bathroom commenting that they look soft and kissable.
So if word gets out that he has a crush on a particular girl, he won’t get any flak from it. No one will make fun of him. Instead, the girl will be popular overnight.
That’s what happened to Laura Ackerman when they started dating. Their relationship catapulted her to instant popularity. It helped that she’s absolutely gorgeous. I doubt her social status will take a nosedive even now that they’re broken up.
But me? I'm not like her. If everybody finds out that I'm hopelessly in love with Lincoln—who is just as popular and good-looking as Noah—they'll think I'm being ambitious.
You see, I’m not popular girl material. For one I’m not very outgoing. I’m not a social butterfly. In fact, aside from Sabrina and my other bestie Morgan Brewster, I have a small social circle.
Plus, I don’t stand out in a crowd. I just blend with them—literally.
It’s hard not to when I only stand five-foot-four with an average build. Plus, I don’t have striking features to set me apart from others.
Although I love my dark blond hair. It falls just around my shoulders, and it’s naturally soft and silky, I can simply use my fingers to comb it through. Oh, and my eyes, too. They're electric blue, which I took after my Dad—the one reminder of him I'll never lose.
My nose is small and perky while my lips are average—not too thick or too thin. I have freckles littering my face. Mom says they’re cute, but I hate them most days.
Don’t get me wrong. I like the way I look just fine. And, sure, I’ve been called “cute” or “pretty.” But I’m not a knockout. Not teen model material. Which is a strict requirement to be a part of the popular crowd.
Er, I don’t know. Maybe? I’ve never really cared to ask.
“...understand,” Noah is saying.
I blink at him. “Understand what?”
"You're afraid I'll tell my mom about it, and that she'll tell your mom."
Actually, I haven’t even considered the fact that his mom, Katherine, is practically best friends with my mom. I was so focused on the sure possibility of him outing me to Lincoln that I forgot about that glaring fact.
“Crap,” I mutter. Then narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t tell Lincoln and your mom, okay? Just don’t say anything.”
“I’m not a tattletale, you know.” He gives me a wounded look. “You should know that. We grew up together. We were childhood friends.”
“Um, not really.”
Our moms may be good friends, but growing up, we stayed out of each other’s way. Not that I didn’t try to befriend him when we were little kids. I invited him to my tea party when we were six, but he ended up breaking one of my cups. Then when I tried to play with him at the school playground, he accidentally knocked me over, which bruised my forehead.
Needless to say, that was the end of my attempt at being friends with him.
Now even when his parents invite me and my mom for dinner—or vice versa—we don’t hang out. We just exchange very few words. Come to think of it, this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.
“Hey, Noah. Let’s go!” Julian calls out.
“Don’t worry, Ellison. Your secret is safe with me. I promise.” Noah winks before walking back to his friends.
I stare until he disappears from my sight.
They’re already long gone when it hits me. I never got my journal back.
******
“Honey, you’re not eating.” Mom frowns at my barely eaten plate of chicken and potatoes. “Don’t you like what you’re having for dinner?”
I force a smile. “No, Mom. Dinner is fine.”
But I’m not. I’m still freaking out over the fact that Noah is now in possession of my formerly-deeply-guarded secret. It doesn’t matter that he said my secret is safe with him. I don’t believe that for a second. Lincoln probably already knows.
Ugh. I’m such an idiot.
Why on earth did I let Noah get away with it? Why didn’t I snatch my journal from his hands when I had the chance?
What will I do? What will I do? What will I do?
Bree told me to play cool after I freaked out and told her what happened. That I should pretend that the journal is not a big deal.
What a horrible advice.
Because it is a big deal.
It wouldn’t be so if the only thing I ever wrote there was “I heart Lincoln Evans.” But nooo. That’s not all.
You know those girls who love to make their object of affection’s last name theirs? Yup, I’m one of them. I have multiple pages in that journal that say “Mrs. Riley Evans” over and over. And don’t forget the dedicated pages where I listed the potential names of our future children. It took me days to come up with those.
Now they're all in Noah's hands for him to laugh and mock. How the heck can I play cool? And what if he decides to post the whole thing on Facebook? W
e're Facebook friends, and he's the type who shares everything that entertains him.
My journal definitely entertained him when he saw it.
I’ll be the butt of every joke in school. I’m sure of it.
“Oh my God,” I whisper in horror. “I’ll have to transfer to East Shores.”
I can’t transfer to East Shores High. They’re the biggest rival—well the only rival, really—of West Shores High. And they don’t take kindly to students transferring from our school to theirs. I’ve heard horror stories over the years.
“What?”
My eyes shut tight. “My life is truly over.”
“Riley Ann Ellison, what on earth are you mumbling about?”
I snap my eyes open, widening them at my mom. “Promise me you’d rather homeschool me than put me in East Shores. I can never go to school there.”
Putting her fork down, she asks me in a gentle voice. “Honey, are you stoned?”
I blink. “Wha—”
She raises her hands, cutting me off. “It’s okay if you are. I won’t get mad. You know this is a judgment-free household. As long as you’re happy and at peace with yourself, that’s what matters.”
If Mom said those words a few years ago, I’d be shocked. But after Dad died of brain aneurysm when I was thirteen, she underwent a major transformation.
She quit her accounting job and opened a New Age shop, embracing a spiritual lifestyle. In short, she became a hippie. She used to be uptight and, frankly, a little neurotic. Now, she's all about being at peace with yourself and expressing your individuality regardless of what society dictates you to do.
Oh, and she’s a semi-vegetarian now, too. She wanted to be a vegan at first. But she loves seafood and dairy products too much to commit to the lifestyle. She could only sacrifice chicken and red meat.
Like right now—she’s eating baked salmon in place of chicken. She tried to convert me to her new lifestyle, but I wouldn’t budge. Unlike her, I’m not willing to sacrifice anything.
Life is too short to deprive yourself of delicious food.
“I’m not stoned, Mom. I just did something really stupid.”
“I’m sure it will sort itself out. How about I make you chamomile tea so you can relax and have a good night sleep?”
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