One Week (Stolen Kiss #0.5) Read Online Free Page B

if I don’t know who I want to be?” I asked.
    The thing I liked best about Mark was that he never laughed at my stupid questions, the ones I could never voice in front of Natalie or my other friends from school. In their eyes, I was Hannah Cohen, the girl who had everything and could do anything.
    “Then you figure it out,” Mark said. “Push yourself outside your limits and try everything.” After a moment, he added, “Within reason. I don’t want your parents to blame me when they have to bail you out of jail.”
    I smiled back weakly, as if the idea of reinventing myself and pushing the limits wasn’t completely crazy.
    If Mark really thought I was ready to handle life without the rules, maybe he was the one who needed counseling.
    #
    I was lost.
    I tried to follow Mom’s directions, but I couldn’t remember if it was a right or a left after getting onto Mangrove Park Street. I had taken a right and then a left and then another right. And now nothing looked like anything my aunt would live in.
    Back in Willowbrook, Aunt Lydia had lived in a beautifully restored Victorian home, the kind that looked like it had sprung from a storybook. Years ago, Aunt Lydia and I used to pretend we were Victorian girls in beautiful dresses, dressing up in the old clothes she kept in the attic when I spent the night with her.
    I had always imagined that Aunt Lydia had relocated her old house from Willowbrook and plopped it down in the mountains. But the tiny brick homes I drove by were far removed from the restored Victorian in my memory. Everything was so green and lush, the trees gathered together in tight clusters around the homes. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze back and forth along each side of the road. The houses rose on the sloped land around me as the road dipped down and then back up again in the distance.
    Thunk.
    Thunk thunk thunk.
    What was that?
    I drove a few feet more, but the thunking only grew louder, and I felt the weight of the car shift as it dipped down on one side.
    I pulled over to the side of the road, flipping the switch for my hazard lights. Then I opened the driver side door and leaned out.
    “Great,” I muttered. “Just freaking great.” The front left tire was completely flat and the rubber hung loosely on the wheel. I grabbed my phone. I had the number to roadside assistance programmed into my contacts for emergencies.
    But when I looked at my phone, I saw there was no signal. Not even one bar.
    Perfect. I wanted to pound on the steering wheel and let out a cry of frustration, but as usual, my mother’s words echoed in my head.
    It’s all about image , Hannah, the wise Marilyn Cohen always said. If you look as if you have it all together, you will have it all together. Never lose control. Maintain the image of perfection. That’s Rule #1, the most important.
    So I sat in the driver’s seat, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I tried to maintain perfection.
    The problem was, I had never changed my own tire before.
    But it was okay. I could handle this.
    I got out of the car and walked to the trunk, popping it open to inspect the spare tire. It was still there, securely latched in the little molded well under the carpet.
    Okay, so I needed tools.
    I found a black pouch tucked into the side of the trunk and opened it to find what looked like a crowbar, another metal rod, and a folded metal square thing.
    I could not handle this.
    Gravel crunched on the asphalt as an old pickup truck slowed to a stop behind my car. It was painted a dull gray primer color with white splotches randomly placed across the hood. I could see a guy in the driver’s seat, but the glare of the sun on the window made it impossible to make out a face.
    Girl alone on a backwoods road with a flat tire. Guy in a creaky old pickup truck stops to help. Why did this sound like the start of a horror movie?
    I quickly slipped back into the driver’s seat and shut the door. I watched in the rearview mirror as the guy got out