Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

We’d been inseparable—Riley, Nola, and I—and now it seemed like all that time had meant nothing to her. Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked her in the eye. There was a hardness there that hadn’t been there two years ago. There was something else, too. Longing.

Taking a deep breath, the scent of her shampoo wafting around me, I tried to speak calmly. “I’ve missed you, Riley.”

“Yeah sure, there’s no one else you can harass as much as you do me,” she said with a mocking laugh.

“You’re right; no one is as fun to tease as you. No one loses their temper like you do. Nola just forgives me. My girlfriends just break up with me. But you...you lose your temper like a volcano,” I answered with a grin.

“I’ve changed, Nate. I’ve grown up. I’ve learned to control that temper. The one you loved to poke and prod all of our growing up.” She raised her eyebrows and gave me a knowing look.

“I’m sad to hear that,” I said, and I meant it. I didn’t think I liked the idea of a subdued Riley. She shouldn’t be subdued. She was too perfect being herself to the fullest. “Come see Nola. She’s living in Riverly. It’s practically right around the corner. She misses you.”

Riley shook her head. “I already told you we can’t tell her.”

“Why not?” I leaned down until I was looking straight at her blue eyes.

“You know I can’t hurt her like that,” she said in exasperation.

“Like what? Like disappearing for years only for us to find out you’ve been living close this whole time? Do you realize she’s been telling herself lies? Dreaming and praying that someone offered you an amazing job you couldn’t resist and that you barely had time to pack your bags? She’s even suggested you’re off saving a third world country. No matter why you left, Nola will never make you the bad guy.”

“But you will,” she whispered.

I sighed and leaned back on my heels, needing the space between us. “Maybe. I really wish I could think of a reason you would do this to us—but I have nothing.”

We stayed there, frozen in our swirling thoughts. My mind ran through any reason I could think of for her to disappear like she had. To just pack her bags and leave an empty dorm room in her wake. I watched as Riley’s expression changed from sad, to confused, to stoic.

Finally, she stood up and hobbled to the door, opening it with a thump. “You need to leave. And understand this: I don’t want you in my life. I don’t miss you or Nola. Just go.”

Glancing around the trailer, I noticed a framed picture of Nola, Riley, and me, sitting in a prominent place on her open shelf.

On my way out the door, I stopped in front of Riley, looking down at her eyes that were stubbornly focused on my collarbone. I leaned down and whispered, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Then I left the same way I came.

Chapter ThreeRiley

Chocolate chip cookie night had been a bust. Wren ended up staying at her best friend Macy’s house overnight. It reminded me of Nola and me when we were in high school. Wren and Macy were inseparable just like Nola and I had been.

When Wren texted me the night before, it had been the perfect timing.

Nate’s “liar, liar, pants on fire” comment had ended with me sitting on the floor, crying my heart out.

I’d then furiously scrubbed at the drops of blood still on the floor from my stubbed toe. I thought if I could erase those, then it would seem like Nate had never been there. Maybe I could erase the feeling of his warm hand on my ankle.

Luckily, Wren’s text reminded me why I didn’t run after Nate and ask him how he had been these past couple years. It had reminded me why I had moved on from that other phase of my life.

I had goals, things to accomplish, a half-sister to raise. Life went on, and it rarely turned out like you planned. But I wouldn’t change the life I had now.

I’d dragged out my light and tripod and made a makeup tutorial to upload to my social media. I didn’t bother to wash my face before bed.

The setting spray I’d bought from the local grocery store worked like a charm. My eyeliner was still in place the next morning when I sat down with my morning cup of coffee and day planner. I repainted my nails the nude color and let them dry as I scrolled through my social media planner.

After consulting my posting schedule, I washed my coffee cup and wiped up the spilled coffee grounds from my coffee pot.

Next, I filled a cup of water from my kitchen sink and poured it in my aloe vera plant that sat on my windowsill. I grabbed an ice cube from the freezer and set it in my orchid pot.

I picked up my cell phone off the counter, snapped a picture of my plants, and posted them on my Instagram stories. Next, I filled a small pitcher to water my pots that lined the windowsill inside my bedroom—time for a selfie for my stories. I snapped a picture of myself as I leaned over a pot, watering it carefully.

A text from Wren chimed.

Wren: Macy and I are going to hang out with Mason today.

Was fifteen too young for a boyfriend? Because I was pretty sure it was. Wren had never bothered to ask me for permission. She simply started dating a boy that was in her class. He was nice enough, but there were times when I wished I was more intimidating and could scare Wren’s boyfriends. Hopefully, he wouldn’t last long. That might be a selfish thought on my part, but Wren had had far more boyfriends than I’d had in our time of living