Honestly, how dare he! I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to have more than one boyfriend!
“You’re getting side-tracked, Megan,” I mutter to myself, tapping my pen against the notebook. “What are you going to say to him?”
Then, I get a brilliant idea. Why do I have to say anything to him? What if I just wrote it to him? People write breakup letters, right? Well, even if they don’t, there is no way that I’m breaking up with him face-to-face. A breakup letter is the perfect solution. Or maybe just a breakup note, because letters usually have to be long…
I tear the “list page” out, and then clear my throat before getting a better grip on my pen. How hard can it be to write a breakup note?
Dear Brayden,
I know we’ve been dating for almost a month…but we need to break up. In case you’re wondering why, I’m going to list the reasons for you. Number one: you’re always getting into trouble. Number two: you want more than one girlfriend. And number three: you’re a bad kisser.
Maybe I should come up with a different third reason. It feels wrong to tell him that he’s a bad kisser if I don’t know whether it’s actually the truth. Then again, he might just think I’m talking about cheek/forehead kissing…which he’s very good at. Ugh, why am I making this harder for myself? I just need to stick with the three reasons and break up with him.
What we had was nice while it lasted, but this just isn’t going to work out. I hope you understand. Maybe we can still be friends.
-Megan
Do I want to be friends with him though? Well, I’m writing in pen, it’s not like I can just erase that part. And I don’t want to rewrite everything…
Besides, what could it hurt?
Chapter 1: New Neighbors
“So, James Trent is throwing a party tonight,” Lora drawls, casually flipping through one of my Everything Teen magazines, “you wanna go?”
“Yeah, no,” I reply with a snort, “last time I went to one of his parties, someone stole my jacket.”
She looks up to roll her green eyes at me, “That was almost a year ago.”
“And here I am without my favorite jean jacket,” I state in a bitter tone. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“If you want a jean jacket so flippin’ badly, you can just borrow one of mine,” she says, tossing the magazine aside. “You have to come.” She smacks her hands down on her knees before standing up. “So, let’s find something for you to wear, yeah?”
“Noooooo,” I groan, widening my eyes at her, “I don’t wanna go to James Trent’s stupid party!”
I’d much rather stay home and binge-watch my favorite shows on MoreFlix, is that too much to ask for?
“Hey,” Lora says, now looking out my bedroom window, “I thought you said your new neighbors weren’t moving in until next week?”
My eyebrows crease as I proceed to examine the spilt-ends of my dark hair. “They’re not.”
“Well, they’re early.”
I go ahead and look up at her. “So what?”
“So what?” she echoes, crossing her arms. “Don’t you find that suspicious?”
“No,” I drawl, rubbing the side of my nose, “why should I?”
“Come on,” she says, suddenly turning away from the window, “let’s get a pair of your dad’s binoculars!”
“Lora, you know we can’t. He’ll freak if we mess with any of his stuff.”
Dad is an ornithologist (which is just a fancy way of saying that he’s a bird-nerd), and his entire study is full of bird books, bird pictures, bird models, bird posters, and bird-watching binoculars that are ALL completely off-limits unless he says differently.
Lora flips her caramel-colored waves over her shoulder with a scoff. “Well, how else are we supposed to spy on your new neighbors?”
“I have an idea!” I exclaim, feigning excitement. “Let’s not spy, and say we did!”
She lifts an eyebrow at that. “Really, Meg?”
“Yes,” I reply with a firm nod. “Besides, they’re probably just an old retired couple.”
Like the Gravinskys, two houses down. Or the Pennings, across the street.
“Ugh.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re no fun.”
“I am too,” I say, scowling at her, “just because I don’t want to spy on my new neighbors, doesn’t mean that—”
“You know what?” she interrupts me, grabbing my magazine once again. “Let’s just go back to flipping through magazines that have hot guys, and girls we want to hate. Would you rather do that?”
I start to reply, but then another voice joins the conversation.
“What are you guys doing?”
I turn to see my seven-year-old brother eating a—
“Kyle!” I snap at him. “Is that an ice pop?”
He licks the side of his orange, melting, frozen abomination. “Duh.”
“Out,” I order, pointing toward the hallway. “I’ve already told you that you’re not allowed to eat in my room!”
He proceeds to mimic me, and then sticks his orange-dyed tongue in my direction before leaving the room.
So. Annoying.
“Megan!” I hear Mom yell from downstairs. “Come here, please!”
I ignore the smirk on Lora’s face as I reluctantly slide off my bed. “COMING!”
Lora’s phone starts to ring, and she nods after checking it. “Surprise, surprise. It’s my mom.”
“Ha,” I say as she answers the phone, “who’s smirking now, Lora?”
I give her a big, fat smirk before striding out of my room, and I almost collide with my twelve-year-old sister. “Hailee, what the—” I stop when I see her makeup coated face. “Have you been using my makeup?”
The little troll…
She rolls her brown (and heavily lined) eyes. “What and ev, Megan. It’s—”
“Coming off,” I finish for her, “and after you’re done washing off my makeup, we’re going to have
