You Auto-Complete Me E-Book

Katie MacAlister

• Herausgeber: Black Cat Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Life, love, and the pursuit of the perfect Englishman…

Emily Williams, twenty-something free spirit, is spending a year in England with — horror of horrors — her parents. She’s not going to let that get her down, though…any more than she is brought low by her seemingly hopeless search for love, the ghost that inhabits her underwear drawer, the horrible high school flashbacks that come via a student she tutors, the hot guy she fancies who may or may not be what he appears, or the dishy almost-veterinarian who could be the perfect Mr. Emily…if only he wasn’t elbow-deep in sheep. Literally..

Welcome to the world of Emily!
EMSTER What, you’re not here?
DRU I’m here. What’s up, buttercup?
EMSTER I have things to tell you!
DRU So tell. I was sext…er…texting the BF.
EMSTER !!!
DRU J/K. Dish, sister.
EMSTER Reasons why my life has gone to hell in a handbasket:
In debt up to my armpits due to having to work off paying for ex-boss’s car.
DRU Shouldn’t have hit that cop car, huh?
EMSTER Forced to give up adorable apartment to live back with the parents while I pay off ex-boss’ car.
DRU Also shouldn’t have lipped off to the judge who garnished your wages.
EMSTER Forced to go with very same parents to England for a year.
DRU Dude.
EMSTER OK, that’s not really bad, but I’m on a roll. Humor me.
EMSTER Biggest reason life is messed up: Friends with Benefits Fang isn’t around to indulge in benefitting.
DRU You got me there. But cheer up, little Emily – life can’t get any worse can it?
Readers of the 2003 release The Year My Life Went Down the Loo may recognize passages–this book is an almost complete rewrite and update of that earlier young adult novel, and contains mature themes.
 

Leseprobe

YOU

AUTO-COMPLETE

ME

––––––––

––––––––

Katie MacAlister

Copyright © Katie MacAlister, 2018

All rights reserved

Cover art by Croco Designs

Book Design by Racing Pigeon Productions

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is for all those readers, young adult and just

young at heart, who have grown a bit older but still love

shenanigans, dishy British men, and Emily.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

EMILY’S HANDY TIPS TO READING THIS BOOK

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Author’s Note

About Katie

Other Books by Katie

EMILY’S HANDY TIPS TO READING THIS BOOK

The author, in what she calls her “wisdom,” has decided to recount my story in the series of texts in which they were originally written. Because it would be weird to make the whole book a series of my phone screens, she stripped out the text and slapped it straight into the book.

I know. I told her to do it differently, but will she listen to me? No, she won’t. Authors, man!

Anyhoo, in case you get confused by who’s saying what, here’s a key:

EM Emily (AKA me)

DRU Dru (my bestie)

FANG Fang (my friend with benefits. Kind of. It’s complicated...)

There you go! You should be set. Oh, and you might want to read the author’s note at the end of my fabulous story just in case a few parts of the book sound familiar. It turns out the author has been writing about my life for years! I feel so violated! Also, kind of famous.

Emily Williams, heroine

CHAPTER ONE

––––––––

You sent an invite to Dru to join YackApp

EM Well, I’m here.

Dru has accepted your chat invite

DRU Emily! There you are! Wait ... what the hell is this? Why aren’t we using WhatsApp? Why can’t we use pictures?

EM I refer you to Brother.

DRU What’s he done now?

EM Allow me to tell you. Brace yourself, I’m using voice-to-text because my thumbs would drop off

if I tried to type this all out to you.

First of all, my room is haunted. And not just haunted by any old run-of-the-mill ghost—oh, no, my ghost is an underwear pervert.

DRU Wow. That’s ... wow.

EM I know, right? Dru, Dru, dear, sweet Dru, I can’t begin to tell you just how awful my life is. Well, OK, I can, and since I’m having to suffer, you, as my bestie, are going to have to suffer with me. Even though you’re on the other side of the world. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? ’Cause I’d do it for you. I always get sympathy cramps for you, don’t I?

DRU You do, and you know that I would do the same for you. Besties, dude. Can I put an avatar on here?

EM No.

DRU Why not?

EM This app is weird. It just does names. No pictures. No avatars. Nothing but text.

DRU Let me try. ER...how’s this?

EM There’re no avatars, Dru. I can’t see any picture you post here.

DRU Maybe this one?

EM Still nothing. No. Avatars.

DRU OK, this is a cute pic. How about if I try this one?

EM You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?

DRU Trying to drive you insane?

EM Yes!

DRU No, but I’m so going to Google and see if there’s a way to hack this app so that we can use pics. Text is just so...texty.

EM !!!

DRU What?

EM Sheesh, girl! I’m trying to unload to you! Bare my inner soul! Share my burdens.

DRU Soz, go ahead. I’m good now.

EM Honestly, it’s like you aren’t even interested. Where was I?

DRU Haunted room. Cramps. Underwear pervert.

EM That’s right. Where should I start in the catalog of horror that is now my life? Well, first of all, as you can see by the fact that I’m texting you using a weirdo app, I didn’t talk Brother (the most eccentric father in the world) into getting us a UK cell phone plan that included free international time, or which was able to use common, ordinary apps. So I’m stuck with only e-mail and YackApp, which evidently is part of the phone package. How on earth am I supposed to exist without Snapchat and WhatsApp and Instagram? Sheesh! But you know how my father is—if there’s a buck to be saved, he’s dibsed it.

And it’s not even like I can use my phone a whole lot, since we have a limited family data plan that Brother watches like a hawk lest we dare use it like normal people.

“And if I hear any complaints,” the Ancient One said when I told him he was being archaic as hell, “I will simply take back the phone, cancel the tuition at the very prestigious college into which I managed to get you admitted, solely by dint of pulling many strings, and inform your mother that you will be making your own way home, the latter being an act that I suspect you’ll find difficult.”

“Oh!” I said, outraged that he’d pull out my current state of insolvency in the War of the Generations (as I like to think of our conversations). “That is just going to make me point out yet again that I wouldn’t be broke if I didn’t have to pay for that stupid company car out of my own pocket.”

“A company car which you totaled,” Brother pointed out in that maddening way he has.

“That wasn’t my fault!” I said, slapping my legs in frustration. Honestly, was any father ever so blind to reality? “I was trying to keep a latte from spilling on the carpet, which was a nice thing to do, especially considering that I wouldn’t even have been in the car if the Weasel hadn’t sent me out to get yet another latte because he’s addicted to Starbucks.”

“You ran into a parked police car, Emily,” the father unit said.

I sniffed, and decided to adopt a dignified stance, rather than continue to argue with him (besides, I have yet to find a comeback to the parked-cop-car comment). “Regardless of the failure of my ex-employer to realize what a quality employee he had in me,” I said, loftily waving away his argument, “not to mention the judge who garnished so much of my wages that I can’t possibly live on my own any longer and had to move back with you—”

Brother grimaced.

I ignored him and continued, “As if that wasn’t enough, I already agreed to the infinitesimally small data plan although it’s utterly, utterly without reason.”

“Hrmph,” he said, and marched off to go unpack yet another box that Mom had shipped over here.

Great, now I’ve digressed to the point where I can’t remember what I was going to ... oh, yes. So here I am in England, horrified to be stuck only with some weirdo third-world-esque phone, with no future.

DRU Em, you’re in England. For a year. Free! Lots of people would be thrilled to be there.

EM Lots of people are idiots, too.

DRU You have me there.

EM Let’s just take a good look at why I’m miserable, shall we?

Why I Am Miserable: A List

Lost lease on cute little studio apartment when owner sold out to new company who jacked rent up almost double

Lost job due to slight accident with the Weasel boss’s car

Had no insurance because insurance peeps stopped autopay without telling me. (Isn’t that illegal? It should be!)

In debt for approximately two hundred years according to a (clearly dirty) judge who took the side of the Weasel’s insurance company re liability, and thus ordered wages garnished

Plan for student loan bailout canceled because student loan people say they won’t give money while the judgment is active

Likewise, free ride through local university was ground to dust when Brother said getting kicked out of college after two semesters was sign I wasn’t serious. Then added something about education being a privilege, not a right. Fwah, say I.

Daniel, formerly adored boyfriend and currently asshat heartbreaker, dumps me—cruelly, and maliciously—after almost two years because he is, and I quote, “tired of waiting for [expletive deleted].” The fact that we did everything but have actual sex seems to have escaped him.

In short, my dumpling, I have no job, no cute apartment with access to a pool, no money, no boyfriend, and no hope for my future at all.

DRU I admit, you’ve had a rough time of it lately.

EM Don’t be surprised if you get a letter from Brother or my mom saying I died. My obituary will read: “Emily Williams, slightly fluffy twenty-year-old, died Tuesday night of broken spirits and lost convictions after being fired from her job, sued for reimbursement of damages that the car insurance wouldn’t cover, and forced to move back home with her parents, an act so appalling that she willingly took up residence in Jolly Olde England simply to try to forget her woes.” Or something like that.

DRU You’re not slightly fluffy; you’re curvy. That’s super trendy now what with all the fat-shamers being roasted on Insta, and stuff.

EM And this is why I love you. Mwah. Although “fat” is very non-PC. Fluffy is in.

DRU Mwahback, and gotcha. Fluffy.

EM Dammit, I lost my place again. ... Oh, yes, so here I am, but all is not lost, because holy hellballs, Dru, there are some seriously sexy-sounding men in this country, and I’m determined to spring back from Asshat Daniel. I learned my lesson there, yes sir! No longer will I be Emily the Introspective. Gone is Emily the Woman Who Wants a Meaningful Relationship Before Sex. Vanished into nothing is Hesitant Emily. I’m on the prowl now, babe. The first guy I see who I want to hook up with is going to be pounced on.

DRU You go, girl!

EM And there’s a lot of such men around, let me tell you! Although all I’ve really seen so far are the guys who hang around historic sights, since that’s all Brother has allowed us to see.

It’s “Oh, look at that, Emily, that building is five hundred years old” this, and “That piece of Stonehenge has been standing in that spot for fifty gazillion years” that. Well, duh, it’s a rock. It’s not like it’s going to sprout legs, buy a thong, and go to Tahiti for a windsurfing vacation, now, is it?

That was Brother who said the bit about the rock, BTW (the first bit, not the thong part). You know him—the man lives for old stuff like that. Pro tip from me to you: If you ever have to move back with your parents (something I do not recommend), and they take you to another country, do not, under any circumstances, agree to go sightseeing with them. Especially if your dad is a medieval scholar like Brother, ’cause I’m here to tell you that you’ll end up looking at nothing but old buildings that should be plowed under to make room for more malls. Needless to say, he’s in seventh heaven, and plans on writing some book about his historical studies during the year we’re here.

Whatever, say I. If it’ll keep him off the streets and out of my hair, I’m all for it.

DRU You have to admit, Brother is much more interesting than my dad. My dad is boring central.

EM There’s interesting, and then there’s downright eccentric.

DRU True dat.

EM “Can’t we go see Windsor Castle?” I asked at one point, thinking that some minor European prince might be hanging around waiting to meet a groovin’ American chick. A girl can dream, right?

“Maybe another day. Brother wants to see an old illuminated manuscript,” Mom said. “It’s very important to his research to see it in person.”

“How about the dungeon museum? I heard there’s one in London. That’s not only cool—it’s historical, too. Bet there’s medieval stuff there.”

“Another time, Em,” Brother said, and went off about how wonderful the library was that we were going to. I tell you, Dru, I was going crazy being trapped in the car with them, traveling from library to library having to look at a bunch of moldy old books, with nary a pounce-worthy Englishman in sight.

Not that I’m here just to find one (well, OK, it’s higher on my list of priorities than going to the college that Brother is teaching at for a year). It’s just that The Situation is beginning to wear on me.

I mean, who else do you know who is still (technically, albeit not physically) a virgin?

DRU Well ...

EM No one, right? I must be the oldest living virgin in the world.

DRU Well ...

EM Thank god for my purple hippopotamus.

DRU Yeah ... but ...

EM I’d go crazy without a battery-operated boyfriend.

DRU ...

EM What???

DRU I don’t see how you can be a virgin if you’ve ... you know ... enjoyed your purple hippo.

EM It’s a state of mind. Sigh. Maybe Daniel had a point. I mean, we did everything else ... but I just ... every time I thought about having actual, real, parts-of-him-in-parts-of-me sex, it just got weird, and I ended up giving him a BJ so he’d let the idea go.

It’s me, isn’t it? Daniel is right and I’m the weird one. Well ... to hell with all that! I’m an adult, I’m twenty, and I’m lookin’ for a man! The new game plan is sex-or-bust, with no more hesitations, no more introspection, and no more delay!

DRU I love it when you go all badass.

EM Enough sex talk. So, I survived the sightseeing and Brother’s driving on the wrong side of everything, and yesterday we arrived here at chez Williams aka the Haunted Mansion.

“What’s wrong, Brother?” I asked when he pulled up before a creepy, old, creepy, dirty (and did I say creepy?) house that looked like it should have been condemned. “Are we lost? Out of gas? Did the engine fall out?”

“Nope,” the man who spawned me answered in a cheerful I can’t wait to see this antiquity sort of way that for the last two days had made the flesh on my back crawl. “This is our home away from home for the next year. Isn’t it charming?”

Charming? The Amityville Horror looked more welcoming than the monstrosity that slouched at the end of the drive. Honest to Pete, Dru, it positively reeked of lecherous old men lurking in the garden trying to watch people undress at night!

DRU Ew!

EM “I am so not doing this,” I said, taking a stand.

“It certainly is different than anything we have at home,” Mom said, ignoring my stand-taking in that mom sort of way older women have. “When did Professor Carlson say it was built?”

“In 1588, by Dracula, no doubt,” I answered, gripping my purse firmly. If anything weird even thought about grabbing me, I’d nail it upside the head with twenty-two pounds of makeup.

“Now, Emily, you know that Vlad the Impaler was born in 1431. It would have been impossible for him to build this house in 1588,” Brother said. “Ten points if you can tell me during what empire Vlad ruled Walachia.”

I am warning you right here and now, Dru—if your father gives you even the slightest reason to think he’ll ever become a scholar, kill him. I know that seems harsh, but honestly, the historical pop quizzes alone are grounds for divorcing him as a parent.

DRU All my dad does is threaten to take me off his health insurance.

EM “Can we skip the crazy stuff and get right down to the exorcism?” I asked as the Parents hustled me toward the house. It’s huge—I mean really huge—and old, and black and moldy-looking, with all sorts of windows that poke out and glare down on you. “Do either of you have any holy water?”

“It certainly does have atmosphere,” Mom said.

“How about a spare crucifix or two?”

“Emily ... ,” Brother said warningly. He did something to the front door and it squeaked open. Inside was a whole lot of black. I swear you could hear the bats rubbing their little batty paws together and cackling at the fresh dinner walking in.

“A Bible? A ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ sticker?”

“Not now, Em,” Mom said, pulling me into the abyss. The door slammed shut behind us.

“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” I said in my best hollow voice while striking a pose on the staircase.

That was a mistake. The tall, dark-paneled hallway made everything sound even more hollow than normal hollow. Kind of überhollow. Downright gothapalooza hollow. Boy, if you say the word hollow enough, it starts to sound weird. Hollow. Hoooollooow. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the House of Doom.

Brother eyed me when I blew dust off the banister. “She didn’t get that smart mouth from my side of the family.”

Mom smiled and patted him on the arm. “It’s a defense mechanism, dear. Girls Emily’s age feel it’s a comedown in the world to have to return to the nest after flying from it prematurely.”

“One, I’m not a girl. I’m an adult. And two, it was not my fault the cop parked right where I was driving!” I said stiffly.

DRU It totally was the cop’s fault.

EM “They believe it’s vital to appear flip on the outside even though they’re riddled with insecurities on the inside,” Mom finished, ignoring me.

“I am not insecure. I’m far from it, in fact.” I rubbed my arms at the chill from the Gothic House of Horrors. “Although I would be happy to pretend I am if it got us out of here.”

“Are you sure she’s mine?” Brother asked Mom in what passes for Old-People humor. “Is it too late for a paternity test?”

I’ll save you from the hellish nightmare that was the grand tour, as the Sperm Donor called it. Let me just say that the house is one big creep fest. If there aren’t hockey-mask-wearing, homicidal, deranged ax-murdering child molesters living in the basement, you can paint my toenails and call me Sally.

DRU I gotta say, it sounds kind of fun.

EM You’re insane, but we know that about you.

DRU I repeat: You’re in England. For a year. For free, with nothing to do but go to school and meet dishy Englishmen.

EM If only it was that easy. Must go. Brother just bellowed upstairs that dinner is on, and it’ll probably take me at least a week to find my way down to the ground floor (that’s first floor to you and the rest of the world). I’ll tell you about the underwear ghost later. Oh! I picked up a magazine at the airport that said Chris Hemsworth was in England filming a new movie—can you believe that Brother had no idea who he was?

DRU OK, your dad is deranged.

EM Preach it!

“He’s only the star of the Thor and Avengers movies, some of the best man meat ever put on the screen for women to ogle,” I told him, then made him look at the Chris Hemsworth fan site just so he could see who I was drooling ... er ... talking about. Brother pretended to stagger away after he sat through the candid pics, Avengers stills, and of course the video of that Dutch girl doing the interpretive dance with her homemade full-size Chris Hemsworth cardboard cutout (I really need to get me one of those).

“And this is how you spend your time online?” the Old One asked, appalled. “I am quite right in keeping you off the social media, if this is what sorts of things people do in their spare time.”

I smiled my deep smile at him. “Turnabout is fair play, Brother.”

“Eh?”

“You made me look at old books for two whole days, but man, do you squawk when all I ask you to do is listen to some blank verse poems written to Chris Hemsworth’s fabulousness.”

Oh, get this, you’re going to die—the studio that the Hems will be working at is only ten miles away. I think we can guess what American female of legal age and plentiful bosomage is going to find herself in that area, can’t we?

DRU Ya know, I thought it was going to be a horrible year with you in England and me here, but this is just like I was right there.

EM Right? Like I said, if I have to suffer, you have to suffer with me.

DRU Smooches.

EM Hugs and kisses.

EM Oh, how’s the leg? Are you still playing Sims? What happened to your Sim Walking Dead family? Dammit. Missed you.

CHAPTER TWO

YOU LOGGED ON

DRU I was thinking about your situation.

EM Ohai. What situation?

DRU The Daniel Situation.

EM What about it?

DRU I don’t think you need a man. I mean, we don’t these days, do we? Lots of the feminist sites say we don’t.

EM You’re just saying that because you have a boyfriend. I don’t.

DRU I can’t believe he said you had sexual hang-ups.

EM I know, right? I am so not an ice queen!

DRU Still, jumping the bones of the first guy you meet may not be smart.

EM Meh. I’m determined to make things different here. I’m not going to sit around wondering if he’s the right man to jump into bed with. I’m just going to go for it.

EM You know, once I find someone I want to go for it with. With whom I want to go for it. That sounds awkward. Gah. Grammar!

DRU You didn’t finish telling me about the ghost in your room.

EM Didn’t I? I thought I did.

DRU You’re telling me stuff in your head again, aren’t you?

EM It’s the jet lag. OK, pull up a chair. Let me go voice-to-text again.

DRU And here I was worried the ghost had gotten you. Who would have sympathy cramps for me if you get taken by an underwear-fetish poltergeist?

EM Luckily, the ghost doesn’t seem to be interested in anything but my undies. Which is creepy enough, let me tell you! The thought of spectral hands fondling my bras gives me the willies.

Here’s what happened—we arrived two days ago. Since Bess is off to tour England for a week, I got the first dibs on the best bedroom. Brother and Mom took the Old People’s room downstairs (so the Ancient One doesn’t have to climb the stairs every night, and let me tell you, that’s a blessing for those of us who like to sleep at night—Brother’s knees sound like cannons going off when he climbs stairs).

So there I was with pick of the prime rooms, and of course I chose the tower room. Now, get this—the room is almost totally round. There’s a turret overhead, but the room itself is round, with great curved window seats. Of course, the first thing I did was check the storage space under the window seats for dead bodies, severed limbs, pulsating hearts, etc., but they were empty.

DRU I really would not like to have your imagination.

EM Fine and dandy, say I, and I snag the room. I unpack my meager belongings right away into a hulking piece of furniture Brother says is a wardrobe (don’t the English understand the necessity of a really big walk-in closet?) and tuck the undies and stuff away in a minuscule dresser. A side note: I can’t believe Mom only let me bring two suitcases. How can I go out in public with only two suitcases full of clothes? I’d go shopping, but until I get a job, I’m sans funds.

Anyway, I went to do family stuff and when I came back, my underwear was all over the room.

All.

Over.

The room.

It was so creepy. I, of course, did the only thing I could do. I screamed.

Brother cracked and popped his way up the stairs (which was really kind of nice of him considering how old he is), and charged into the room looking like a sixty-two-year-old deranged rhinoceros—he had a hair thing going on that looked just like a horn. I really need to have a talk with him about the benefits of mousse.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?” he asked in between gasps for air.

I stared pointedly at my undies lying all over the floor. “My underwear is all over the room!”

He looked around, the hair horn kind of quivering in an agitated sort of way. “Your underwear?”

There are times when I am positive that he doesn’t speak the same language I do. “Underwear. As in, those things I wear under my clothes? Get it? Underwear?”

“I know what underwear is, Emily. And I can do without that smart tone.”

“This from the man who springs Vlad the Impaler trivia quizzes at the drop of a hat.”

“Those are different. They are educational,” he said, trying to look noble ’n stuff.

I took a deep breath. “The fact remains that my undies are not where they should be.”

He ruffled back the horn o’ hair and looked around the room again. “Why have you strewn your clothes around the room? I thought you were excited about having the tower room?”

“I didn’t strew anything around, Old One. I put my things—pitiful and in need of immediate replacement, not that you’ve offered to do so—in the drawer, but when I got back, they were all over the floor. I just knew this house was haunted, and now I’ve got proof.” I shook an underwire bra at him. “We’ve got ghosts. I just hope you’re happy! God only knows what the ghost is going to do with my—”

Oops! Almost let the cat out of the bag there. Don’t need to explain to him about my boyfriend hippopotamus.

“With your what?” Brother asked.

“My ... um ...” I had to think fast. You know how suspicious my father can be. “Um ... my personal things. You know, women’s things.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look like he believed me. “Regardless of that, there are no such things as ghosts, Emily. You probably simply forgot to put your things away.”

“Even if I did forget—and I didn’t, because unlike some members of this family who are so ancient they can recall what the Holy Grail looks like, I can remember things—but even if I did forget, I would not have thrown all my underwear around the room. Thus, either there’s an ax-murdering maniac with an underwear fetish living in the basement who came up here while I was downstairs trying to make your laptop understand English wireless connections, or this room is haunted.”

“Emily—”

“I’d prefer a ghost to an ax murderer, thank you.”

“You can always use another room if you don’t like this one.”

“But I do like it,” I said, grabbing the rest of my things and stuffing them back into the drawer. “It’s the only nice room in this whole nightmare of a house. You always say I have to make the best of a bad situation, and in this case, that means I get the cool room. It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” he said, running his hand through his hair again. It only made the horn stand up even more. “If you’re done having this morning’s histrionics, I have work to do. The dean of the college I’ll be working for is coming by in a few minutes. I trust you’ll be available to greet him?”

What is it with parents having you meet all their cronies? All they do is ask if you’ve met someone you want to marry, and why you ran into a parked cop car, and stuff like that. The last thing I wanted to do was to meet his dean, but never let it be said that I, Emily Williams, let an opportunity slip past me. “Let’s make a deal,” I said.

Brother groaned. “Not now, Emily—”

“The deal is this: I come down and be charming and pleasant to your dean, and you take me to the nearest mall and fund a shopping trip.”

“I don’t have time to drive you around, and we agreed that you would get a job while you’re here if I got you a work permit. Which I did. The rest is up to you. Besides, I need to be ready for the start of term next week—and speaking of that, so do you. Don’t you want to bone up before you start university?”

I sighed. You know my feelings about that whole school thing—just when I think I’ve found a good degree that I’ll really like, it turns boring after a couple of semesters, and I have to start all over with a different degree. I can only hope that something here will be different than what they have back home, because I’m running out of options of anything that interests me enough to stick with it. “About the mall—”

“Not today, sweetling,” he said as he creaked and popped his way out of the room. I almost rolled my eyes at the “sweetling,” but to be honest, I’m used to it by now. Brother thinks using medieval terms is cute. “Maybe you can worm some money out of your mother, although I wouldn’t count on it. I’ll expect you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked, pausing at the door.

I waved my hand at the wardrobe. “I don’t have anything to wear. That’s why I have to go to the mall.”

“What you have on is fine. Downstairs in fifteen, madam, and none of your sulks, please.”

I hate it when the parents pull that authority crap. Just because I was forced by fate and a lot of bad luck to have to move back home doesn’t mean he can treat me like I’m twelve. Sulks! Did you ever? I have never sulked. I don’t even know how to sulk!

DRU Wow, you say the word “sulk” enough and it really starts to sound weird.

EM ...

DRU What?

EM You interrupted my train of flow. Flow of thought. Train of thought. Whatever, you interrupted.

DRU Sorry. I got caught up in your drama and forgot we weren’t talking on the phone.

EM Aww. You’re forgiven. Where was I? Oh, the dean. I thought about ignoring Brother’s demand altogether, but figured it might peeve off Mom if I did, which would lessen the chance of wheedling some pity money from her. Besides, it wasn’t like this dean person was anyone important. It didn’t matter what I wore. Right?

A few minutes later, there I was sitting in the room Brother calls the library, but which really looks (and smells) like a mouse’s playroom—it’s full of boring old books, not even the good kind like that Victorian erotica book I found (you remember, the one with all the “manly pillars of alabaster”).

DRU And “grottoes of Venus.”

EM Plump pigeons of breastitude.

DRU You made that one up.

EM Maybe, but it sounds like something the erotic Victorians would have said. Well, these books weren’t like that. They were sermons and other deadly things like that—and Brother brought in this old geezer who’s the head of the college. I started to stand up to shake his hand, when this totally fabulous guy came in behind the dean. Girl, I’m telling you, I must have swallowed back gallons of slobber! He wore skinny jeans that looked at least ten years old, a ratty old sweater over a “This is what a feminist looks like” tee, and he had dark gray eyes, a hipster goatee, and dark blond dreads. You know that I don’t like blond men, but holy huevos rancheros, Dru, this man made me rethink my dark-haired-men-only stance. 

DRU I’ve always thought that was weird of you.

EM I’m not weird. I’m fascinatingly odd.

DRU If that’s what you want to call it ...

EM Shush, you’re distracting me again.

“Emily,” Brother said, waving toward the hipster. “This is Aidan, the dean’s son. He’ll be working as my teaching assistant this year.”

Aidan. Mama likes sexy names.

DRU Oooh, that is a good one. Almost as good as Raphael.

EM Crapbeans, I have to go. Mom insists I go with her to the grocery store, and since I’m hopeful of hitting her up for some much-needed funds, I shall toddle off to be the doting daughter. I’ll text you as soon as I’m back. I haven’t told you yet about what Aidan said, and why I almost committed Brother-acide, and Holly, and why I’m going back to high school. Kind of. Not really, but kind of. Oh, I’ll tell you about it later.

DRU WHAT? You’re going back to high school? What about Aidan? Emily! Don’t you dare Game of Thrones cliff-hanger me like that!

EM Gotta run.

DRU You can’t do this to me! Emily! COME BACK HERE!

EM Hugs and kisses.

CHAPTER THREE

YOU LOGGED ON

DRU EMILY MARIE WILLIAMS! You can’t just tell me you met a hipster with a goatee and dreads, and you’re going back to the hellhole that is high school, and almost killed your father, and then leave me hanging! Tell me everything!

DRU Every.

DRU Single.

DRU Thing.

EM Hold on there, girlfriend, I said I’d text you as soon as I got back. Where was I?

DRU I flail my hands at you!

EM Hee hee hee. OK, I’ll start with the best bit first: the professorial meet and greet at Oxwills University. Or rather, one of the colleges.

I know, it’s confusing—I thought Oxwills was a college, but it’s like a mega college, and there’s all these little colleges within it. I think. I wasn’t really paying attention when Brother was going on and on and on about it on the way to Oxwills. Aidan of the goatee wasn’t at the party, which made me a bit sad.

DRU And why are you not telling me about him? What are you hiding?

EM I’ll get to him. Be patient.

DRU Gah.

EM The meet and greet was a bit on the sad side as well, with no one under fifty except me and the daughter of a Latin teacher, who was about fifteen or sixteen. The daughter, not the Latin teacher.

“Hi,” I said, parking myself next to the girl. She was vaguely Goth in a black top and leggings, and wore a really sad expression. No one was paying her any attention, and she had that look on her face that you get when you’re not sure if your tampon has leaked or not, and you don’t want anyone to look at you just in case it has.

She eyed me for a minute before saying, “Hullo.”

“I’m Emily,” I said, holding out my hand.

She stared at it like it was made up of bull testicles. “Holly Alton,” she said, finally giving my hand a little shake.

“You have a parent here, too?” I asked, nodding at the herd of ancient ones who were milling around meeting and greeting and whatnot.

“Yes, my mother is a Latin professor, and my father teaches religious studies.”

“Ugh. Oh, sorry if that came out rude, but neither of them sound like much fun. The subjects, not your parents. I’m sure they’re a barrel-of-monkeys sort of fun.”

Holly gave a little one-shouldered shrug, still eyeing me in a considering sort of manner. “They aren’t. Are you a tutor?”

“Me? No, my dad is a visiting professor, and I came along to take a year of foreign college. I’m having trouble picking a major. So far, I’ve thought about psychology, English, art history, and justice, but none of them really are for me, although I was pretty good with the English composition classes. And the criminology classes I had at a community college were a blast. We got to go to the morgue and everything.”

“Oooh.” Her eyes widened, and she warmed up to me a bit. “Those all sound so interesting, except the morgue one.”

“I’m thinking of archaeology next, or maybe something sciency. Do you go to school here?”

“No, I’m in the fifth form. It’s too bad you’re not a tutor—my parents are trying to find one for me, since ...” She stopped and, biting her lip, looked away.

I sensed a mystery and, Dru, you know how I love me a good mystery!

DRU You do. You love mysteries. Especially my old-time pre–politically correct Nancy Drew books that I used to get at garage sales. You know, the ones you stole from me.

EM I didn’t steal them—I borrowed them. Reading is good for you. A mind is a sad thing to waste and all that.

DRU Dude.

EM ?

DRU You still have them. My books. The ones I spent my allowances on every month. The ones I loved and petted and which are hard to find, and now are worth a fortune on eBay.

EM You’re delusional. What makes you think I have them?

DRU I saw them when I helped you pack, remember?

EM You must have hit the crack pipe particularly hard that day. Anyway ...

DRU I have never smoked crack!

EM ANYWAY! There I was at this party with a Goth girl going all emo.

“Since what?” I asked her, realizing that I was being a bit pushy, but what’s the use in having everyone think you are pushy just because you’re American, and not taking advantage of that bias?

Her gaze flickered away from me, and she gave another half shrug. “I don’t do well at school.”

“That’s too bad. I didn’t mind high school, myself, but I know that sometimes people can be dicks and make you hate it.” I felt an odd sort of sympathy for Holly. She reminded me of that girl who was in our sophomore class for a couple of weeks before she left because she was bullied by the cheerleaders. Do you remember her?

DRU Marvella. Weird name, great hair. I think she was into corset training.

EM That’s right. She passed out once in gym class and told Miss Miller it was because she had tightened her corset down another level, which I always thought sounded incredibly uncomfortable. The corset, that is. But boy, her boobs never moved during track.

DRU Better than a sports bra, that’s for sure. Go on with telling me what happened with Goth Holly. Did she faint?

EM Nope.

“Those are my parents, there,” I told her, nodding toward them. “My mom is in the yellow dress, and my father is next to her.”

“The one with the—” She made a gesture indicating the hair horn.

“Yup, that’s Brother.”

She blinked at me.

“I know, it’s confusing,” I said, giving her an apologetic smile. “My father has always been called Brother. Evidently his sister started calling him that when he was born, and it stuck. Even my mom and my grandma call him Brother. It’s a bit kinky, but what can you do?”

“That is ... different.”

“Yup. Hey, what does tutoring involve? And ... uh ... I hate to be crass, but does it pay much? I need a part-time job while I’m going to college, and if all you need is some help with your classes, I could probably do that with one hand tied behind my back.”

Holly brightened just a little. “I don’t know what my parents are paying, but I can ask them. Would you really take the job?” For a second she looked horrified at what she said, and then her gaze dropped to her hands, and she muttered something about being presumptuous.

“Look, babe,” I said, giving her a pat on the hand. “Any girl who can use the word ‘presumptuous’ in a sentence is a chick after my own heart. I’d be happy to be your tutor so long as we can come to an agreement about money. I don’t need a ton, since Brother is paying for my classes and books and stuff, but I do need some clothes, and since my driver’s license was taken away because I ran into a cop car, and the judge got all bent out of shape because the insurance company didn’t tell me they turned the autopay off—anyway, because of all that, I have to take the driving test here in order to get a license. And that costs money.”

“I’ll go ask,” Holly said, and, without waiting for me to tell her she didn’t have to do it right that second, scooted off to find her parents.

DRU Aww. You made a new friend. A needy friend. That’s awfully sweet, Em.

EM A job is a job. But I will admit, I liked Holly. She reminds me of a lost puppy.

DRU You always were a sucker for a lost puppy.

EM Long story short (I know, too late): I am now the official tutor of one Holly Alton, sixteen-year-old troubled girl. I almost backed out when her mom cornered me and asked me what experience I had with depression and self-harm, but after explaining to her that I was never into that because I was horse-crazy until I was fifteen, and didn’t have time to be moody and depressed, she gave me a huge smile and said I was hired.

DRU That doesn’t make any sense at all.

EM Right? But then, people really don’t, do they?

DRU So is that why you’re going back to high school? And why? You hated it when you had to go, so why would you repeat that now when you’re in college?

EM Mum Alton said she really wanted me to be more of a friend to Holly than anything else.

“She has trouble at school interacting and communicating with the other children,” Mum A. said, patting her perfectly coiffed hair. “Holly feels things so much, you know. The headmaster is willing to allow an advocate to attend some classes with Holly in an attempt to get her through this trying time.”

“Attend classes?” I said, my voice all high and squeaky and probably able to cut glass at close quarters. “Whoa. I’m in college now! I graduated high school almost three years ago, and I’m not going back for anyone. I mean, Holly seems like a nice kid, but—”

“No, no, I phrased that poorly. You wouldn’t be expected to attend the classes in that way—you’ll simply be with her certain days of the week, anonymously sitting in the background and monitoring the situation so that Holly will be able to focus on her studies and not worry about any bullying, of which she has in the past been the target. The school is quite willing to work with us on this, and I’m certain will tell everyone that you are there in a nonstudent capacity. I’m sure it will be quite suitable for you to do your own studying during such times.”

“Oh.” I thought about that for a few minutes.

DRU The only way anyone could get me back into high school would be to pay me a metric butt-load of money. Metric. Butt. Load.

EM “Naturally, we would compensate you for your time and trouble above and beyond the standard tutoring rate,” Mum A. said, which clinched the deal.

DRU Ha! Called it.

EM “Holly is rather withdrawn with others her age, so it will be a relief to know she is under the watchful eye of someone so mature.”

“I’d be delighted,” I said with my best trustworthy smile, and after haggling just a little over the salary, we settled it all, and I start tomorrow, before the college semester begins.

DRU You have balls of steel, girl.

EM Ovaries. We shouldn’t base strength on male personal equipment. I have ovaries of steel. Wait, that sounds ...

DRU Yeah. Uncomfy.

EM Balls it is.

On the way home, I noticed a sign on the side of the road that said piddlington-on-the-weld 1 mile. I was just starting to snicker to myself about all the poor people that live in Piddling when Brother pulled off at the POTW exit.

“Hey,” I said. You know me, never one to pull my punches.

DRU People with balls of steel never pull punches. Fact.

EM “What are you doing? Taking a shortcut to Ghoul Central? How come we’ve turned off here?”

“We live here, Emily.”

Honest to Pete, I just about piddled on the weld (whatever that is). “What? You said we live in a town called Alling! No one ever said anything about a town that describes someone peeing on something!”

Brother glared at me in the rearview mirror. “Piddlington is a suburb of Alling. The town name has nothing to do with urine. Many British towns bear old and ancient names dating back ...”

I groaned to myself and tried to stop listening. Whenever Brother gets going on anything ancient, he can talk until the end of time.

DRU So, you live in a town called ...

EM Piddlington.

DRU Hoo. I’m really sorry.

EM As if things weren’t horrible enough, now I am forever going to be cursed for being known as “Emily of Piddlesville.”

DRU Could be worse.

EM I don’t see how.

DRU My mom is from a place in Kentucky called Big Bone Lick.

EM I retract my objection.