Page 3 of Her Goal
Also, isn’t Mr. Roboveitchek fancy with a complicated gate latch, locks on his windows, and a hot tub? I might just have to go back a third time because my entire body is sore. I could really use the soothing water jet and bubbles on my back right now.
Who knew cat burglary could be so exhausting?
To be clear, I wasn’t stealing. Rather, returning. Sort of. Technically, Howie the Garden Gnome belongs across the street, but I’ll let Hudson deal with his wayward twin’s teenage misdeeds, especially now that Cara and I are good friends.
I scrunch up my face, really wanting to stick out my tongue. I’m alone, so no one would see. If you stick out your tongue and no one is there to see it, did you really stick it out?
This is the level of deep thinking I’m doing after a stupid day.
However, the scratching sound coming from behind the wall in the corner and my roommate Rasmus’s eerie “sound bowl band” echoing through the thin walls make “alone” a relative concept.
Loneliness is a different story altogether.
The image on my phone’s screen fades—yes, I was looking at cute animal videos and home organization, and whatever else fills my feed.
In Hudson’s backyard, I nearly went blind when I saw him shirtless and only wearing a towel around his waist. Gone is the reedy teenage boy who could hardly consume enough calories to support his hockey habit. Though Hunter, his twin, was even thinner. He seemed to resent food, odd for a guy his age, but that was Hunter for you. He defied everything, laughed in the face of life itself, and rebelled … eventually even against what I thought was our friendship and hoped would become something more.
I mean, everyone assumed we were a couple since we were together so often, including me. But when I brought up the topic, he avoided it like a slippery eel while at the same time letting me think he was my boyfriend. Kind of. Being a teenager was confusing.
Looking back, the teen years were hard enough and he had to go and muddy the water.
However, it’s fair to say that the sun has shined kindly on his twin.
Yeow.
Even though I’m lying down, I stomp my heel against my bed. Who’s rebelling now? That would be me—rebelling against myself for connecting the cognitive dots between possibly feeling lonely lately and a loser like Hudson.
Gross.
I blame my hyperactive brain for going off on that tangent. Now, where was I?
Ah, yes, laughing my face off when Hudson fell on the slippery leaves and several were stuck to his skin like leeches. He looked so confused, concerned, and … smoldery.
No. Not that. His eyebrows are like two hairy caterpillars, his nose is probably full of snot, and I imagine his lips feel gritty like sandpaper.
I repeatedly tell myself not to think about his lips. Not how they’re full or how they might feel. Not in any context.
What is the matter with me?
Letting out a sigh, I replay the encounter again. Not because I’m mentally admiring his pecs, but to make sure I didn’t do or say anything to reveal my identity. The one thing I said was,What were you expecting, a troll?
If the guy had any ability to self-reflect, he might’ve realized who I am—given the comment and my stature—his expression of frozen shock revealed no awareness that I was the girl next door in disguise.
We have an unspoken pact of mutually agreed-upon destruction. I mean, Hudson doesn’t know about it, but it’s enough that I do. Also, I don’t want to have to explain why I was at his house.
During the brief moment when we lay on the ground with our legs and arms tangled and Howie’s pointy gnome hat jabbing into my ribs, I considered explaining. It’s all so ridiculous and juvenile that I had to flee … and then return several hours later to deposit Howie with the other boxes that I’d already dropped off several days before with the kindly help of the real estate agent.
I half expect the police to have an APB out for me, but so far the coast has been clear.
Adjusting my pillow, I’ll be the first to admit that I’mscrollaxing—scrolling social media to relax. In addition to the stolen item recovery, I worked a long shift at O’Neely’s FishBowl and then had to go do my former best friend and sort-of boyfriend’s dirty work. Our status was never officially defined. He was a boy who was also a friend. At least, I wanted to think so. Believe there was something between us. The truth was, our status was undefined. But back to Howie.
I’m lucky I wasn’t arrested.
If Mrs. Gormely, the town gossip, or anyone else, for that matter, saw me sneaking around on Golden Bantam Lane, my name would certainly come up in whispers, which inevitably means my house call will get back to Mami. The woman knows the news before it’s broadcast, especially when it comes to one of her four children.
My phone beeps with an incoming message, breaking me from my swipe daze.
It’s from my bestie.
