Shut Out by Kody Keplinger
For the nomadic novelists:
Michelle, Kirsten, Leila, Kate, Lee, Kaitlin,
Amanda, Emilia, Kristin Jr., and Kristin Sr.
So many words I could put here,
but the Beatles said it best.
“I get by with a little help from my friends.”
Thanks for keeping me sane.
chapter one
There is nothing more humiliating than being topless in the backseat of your boyfriend’s car when someone decides to throw an egg at the windshield.
Wait. Scratch that.
Having your boyfriend jump off you, climb out of the car, and chase after the guy, completely forgetting that you’re still half-naked—that trumps it.
And there is one thing even worse than that.
Having it happen repeatedly.
I rolled onto my stomach and reached an arm down to the floorboard, searching for my tank top and praying the windows of Randy’s new Buick Skylark were as tinted as the ones on his old Cougar, the one he’d wrapped around a telephone pole last month. The Buick was older and used, but Randy considered the bigger backseat an improvement over his other car.
Not that it was being used at the moment.
I pulled on my top and climbed into the front seat. This was the third time the car had been vandalized—with us inside—since Randy and I had started dating sixteen months ago. The other two times had happened last fall, when the rivalry was in full swing, and both times I’d been left in the car, humiliated, while Randy chased after the culprit. Not exactly my definition of a good time.
It had been almost a year since then, though, and I’d hoped to avoid the embarrassment this time around, but apparently, I was too optimistic. Here I was again—forgotten, alone, and fighting back tears.
Part of me knew I should be mad, but I was mostly just hurt. After more than a year together, I hoped I came first to Randy. But the fact that he forgot me so easily because of a stupid egg on his car? It stung.
I shut off the sexy R&B CD Randy had been playing and flipped through the presets on his stereo, stopping at a crackling Oldies station to hear the last few seconds of “Night Moves” by Bob Seger while I pulled my messy make-out hair into the elastic band I wore around my wrist.
Thirteen and a half minutes later, Randy returned.
“Soccer fags! I’m gonna kill those *s.”
I shot him a look. He knew I hated it when he talked like that.
“Sorry,” he muttered, falling into the driver’s seat with a thud. He stared at the egg-splattered windshield, grinding his teeth. “I just can’t believe they did that.”
“You can’t?”
“Well, okay, I can, but I’m pissed.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s going to be a pain in the ass to clean off.”
“Probably.”
He turned to face me. “I hate those *s. God, I can’t believe I didn’t catch the guy. Shane and I are going to have to get them back good for this.”
I didn’t say anything. I’d tried to explain the whole “cycle of violence” concept to Randy before, but it just didn’t stick. He didn’t seem to understand that retaliating against the soccer players would lead to them attacking him again. He was giving them what they wanted. Feeding into this stupid rivalry. It would never end if he kept fighting back.
Logic wasn’t Randy’s strong suit, though. He was the spontaneous “act now, think later” type. That was part of the reason I loved him. The whole “opposites attract” thing was way true in our case. But sometimes Randy’s impulsiveness was more stressful than sexy.
He sighed dramatically before turning to me.
“So,” he said, a suggestive grin sliding across his face. He tilted his head forward, letting his sandy blond hair fall into his eyes. “Now that that’s over with… where were we?”
“We,” I said, pushing him away as he leaned in to kiss me, “were at the part where you take me home.”
“What?” Randy sat back, looking wounded. “Lissa, it’s only ten thirty.”
“I’m aware.”
“Look, I know that guy ruined the moment, but we can start over. Please don’t be pissed at me. If anything, be pissed at the guy who threw the egg.”
“I’m not pissed, I’m just… frustrated.”
“It’s not my fault,” he said.
“It’s both of your faults.”
“Come on, Lissa. What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “He egged my car. He ruined our moment. He could have been spying on us—on you. A good boyfriend wouldn’t let some jerk get away with that.”
“He did get away with it,” I reminded him. “They always get away with it. Whether you go chasing them or not, they get away. So what’s the point?”
I wanted to be honest with Randy. To open up and tell him how much it hurt when he left me alone like that. How worthless and cheap it made me feel. We’d been together for so long; we loved each other; it should have been easy to tell him the truth. To let it all out.
But all I could make myself say was, “I’m not cool with coming second to this stupid rivalry all season.”
“You aren’t second, babe.”