Chapter One
Juliet
“Juliet … Juliet! Wake up!” Layla says as she shakes the crap out of my body. “Tyler will be here in ten minutes if you want a ride.”
“Go. Er … Ah,” I grumble into my pillow at my twin.
“I don’t know what you are saying under there.” She yanks my fluffy shield away from my face. “You gotta get out of bed sleepy head. You can’t go to school in your PJ’s,” she sing-songs in the most chipper voice ever.
Ugh. Morning people suck. I roll over onto my back and shoot my twin a glare. “Watch me.” I wrangle myself out of bed and head to the bathroom.
Before I reach the bathroom, Layla says, “Run a flat iron through that rat’s nest you call hair and be sure to throw on some lip gloss. You don’t wanna look like roadkill returning to school after break.”
Like anyone will really notice, I want to reply. I’m not the popular one. I’m the girl who happened to witness her boyfriend making out with some cheerleader during the winter formal. I’ve got no one to impress anymore. It’s back to square one. Over break, I realized I’d wasted too much time pining over a fairytale ending. For what? There are only a few good chivalrous guys out there, and most of them are already taken.
I stalk into the bathroom and check out my reflection. Okay, my hair is a hot mess, but I don’t care. Usually, I’d grab a brush and fix it but honestly, the only thing that will do is make my hair unruly. But caring about my looks didn’t stop Mark from sticking his tongue down Selena Jensen’s throat, did it? Nope.
I brush my teeth and then wash my face. I walk back to my room, change into a black shirt and some sweat pants. This is probably the most unacceptable type outfit to dress in after my humiliating breakup but again, I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m ready for the day.
I step into the hallway. “Oh, good lord! Juliet, you’re not going out like that are you?” my sister asks.
“I am.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, but you’re sending out ‘I’ll remain single for life’ vibes.”
I shrug and make my way down the stairs. Layla follows. I turn into the kitchen, and Layla touches my shoulder. “Are you … um … sure you’re okay to drive to school? Ty can take us both and he can pick up Addy.”
I wish she’d stop worrying. I’m fine. Besides I’d much rather avoid witnessing them making gah-gah eyes at each other while he calls her ‘beautiful’ every five minutes? Addy might not care but I’ve had my fill of it. No, thank you.
The doorbell chimes and Layla shouts, “Bye, Mom!”
“Okay,” our mom says from the kitchen.
Layla opens the door. Tyler Richardson is there with a stupid smirk on his face. “Hey, babe. Ready?”
“Yep,” my sister answers.
I go to escape this lovefest, but Tyler says, “Hey J, wanna ride with us? We’re getting donuts.”
“No thanks.”
He shrugs. “All right, more glaze for me then.” He whispers to Layla, “Jeez, she’s still moody,” loud enough for me to hear.
Layla pushes him out the door and I weave into the kitchen right as my mother’s business phone sings, “I knew I loved you.” All I can say is and another love-sick fool is about to bite the dust, that sad-sad soul.
I don’t get why people turn to my mom for advice about relationships or how to find their true love. Her phone rings non-stop. It’s like every lonely person comes out of hiding and starts sobbing their entire life story every time they see one of her billboards. They’ve had such crummy luck with love and they need my mom to help them find their soul mate. Yadda-yadda-yadda. It makes me sick.
It only gets worse about six weeks before Valentine’s Day and during what my mom calls ‘wedding season.’
Valentine’s Day is the absolute worst day in the world. Hello people, it’s not even a real holiday. Nobody need should need a date to feel special. Buy some chocolates or a puppy. That should do. Don’t call my mom to help find that one person to make you feel complete. It’s a bunch of bullshit.
Yeah. I’m talking to you, Cupid. Take those arrows and shove them. I’m done with you and this whole love is in the air crap! Even if my last name is, “Angela Valentine, how can Be Mine Valentine help you today?” my mom says into her Bluetooth.
Yes. My last name is Valentine and my mom … she’s a matchmaker. That’s beside the point. I’m not bitter. Okay, maybe I am because of Mark but I’ve learned my lesson. Never again.
Who cares if my sister found it and is all gooey happy? So, what if my mom is dating again? That doesn’t mean everyone has to do it, right?
I enter the kitchen and snatch an apple from the bowl on the counter near the fridge. My mom is typing away on her laptop, probably setting someone up on a date.
“Sarah, can you please hold for a second?” my mom says, as I pass the counter.
“Juliet.” She still has her eyes trained on her computer. I’m the only one who eats apples for breakfast in the house. So, of course, she knows it’s me without looking. “Can you run by the dry cleaners after school and pick up my suits?”
I take a huge bite out of my apple. “Sure.” I continue to exit.
She gasps, and I turn around. My mom’s gaze locks with mine. “Oh, my.” She pauses. “Tell me you couldn’t find a hairbrush.”
I take another bite of my apple and mutter. “Yep, that’s what happened. I’ll pick up the suits after school.”
She leaves the table, strides to her purse, and slips me some money. She gives me a once over then shakes her head as she retreats to her laptop and phone call. For a second there, I thought she was going to tell me to go upstairs and find a hair tie.
I grab my backpack hanging near the door, drop the money into one of the zipper pockets, and pull out my keys. I open the door and spray chunks of apple from my mouth onto the person standing on the porch.
“Juliet, are you ready to talk?” Mark asks as he flicks pieces of apple off his shirt.