Page 200 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
“Dad,” I balk.
“Josie,” Mom says, tears welling in her eyes. “This is out of control. It’s a mob out there.”
With a tremble, Wyatt tugs on my hand. I turn and see the reluctant resolve in his eyes. “It’s, it’s okay,” he stammers. “Th-they’re right. I have to go.”
My chest constricts and anger bubbles up from my gut. “No. You’re not going anywhere.”
“It’s...” Wyatt gulps and stumbles, taking a step backward. “It’s my fault.”
“You didn’t ask for this,” I argue.
Mom’s chin dimples. “The twins shouldn’t have to witness this.”
“No,” Callum whines. “Wyatt can’t go.”
“Yeah,” Casey says, hugging an arm around Callum. “He just got interesting.”
My jaw aches and pain twists between my shoulder blades. “Where do you expect him to go, Mom? He doesn’t have anyone but us.” I glare at Dad. “Or maybe he only has me on his side.”
“Joze,” Wyatt whispers, tugging on my arm. “Don’t do this. Don’t fight with them.”
“You’re not leaving,” I raise my voice. “There’s no other place for you to go, but back to Ferndale.”
Wyatt shrugs and his face droops. “Maybe th-that’s where I belong.”
My heart splinters. “You don’t deserve to be miserable.”
“I’m not kicking him out this minute,” Dad says, surveying the crowd behind the curtain. “But we need a more realistic plan.”
I stomp my foot to gain Dad’s eye contact. “If the crowd wasn’t here, you wouldn’t be kicking him out.”
Dad falters. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it.”
My heart races. “You need a plan to keep the reporters away for good?”
“It’s not so simple...”
I backtrack toward the foyer. “I’ll keep them away.”
Mom and Dad have trouble computing my words, and I take the opportunity to reef the front door open. I hear the calls from my family to stop what I’m doing, but I slam the door behind me.
I’m not letting anyone take Wyatt away from me.
Even though there are eyes on me, and even worse, cameras pointed at me, the zing in my heart has me powering through. All the questions pointed my way, can’t hurt me. I won’t let them ruin what I have.
I trudge down the front path and my hands ball into fists as everyone circles around me. I stamp my feet, clench my eyes shut, and let out a high-pitched scream.
Once the ringing in my ears stops, I notice the surrounding voices have muted. Taking a few large breaths, I open my eyes, finding bewildered faces.
I stare back at them, my throat scratched and strained. “Get out.”
Still, there’s no movement or sound from anyone around me.
I stomp my foot again. “Get out!”
Two people on my left jump back from my outburst.
Before I can make my next move, sirens blare in our direction. As everyone faces the road, I contemplate their arrival being too soon, even if Dad’s calling the police. Standing amongst the mass of stunned reporters, two patrol cars slow by the news vehicles, escorting a shiny black limousine.
