1942664419 (S) Read Online Free Page B

1942664419 (S)
Book: 1942664419 (S) Read Online Free
Author: Jennifer M. Eaton
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Military, Young Adult, Alien, teen
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me.” I slammed my jaw shut. That was so not the right thing to say.
    He released me and rubbed his face. “They aren’t coming back, Jess. None of them are.”
    I shoved my plate back and stood. “You just hate him because he’s different.”
    “Where did that come from?”
    My heart threatened to rip through my chest. “You of all people should understand. Most of Mom’s family dissed her because she married you.”
    He leaned back. “That was something else entirely.”
    “How? Your skin was the wrong color.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Your mother and I were very much in love.”
    “Then understand how I feel about David.”
    “He’s not from this planet!” Dad’s exasperated look bore through me.
    I clenched my teeth so tightly; I’m surprised they didn’t crack. “Mom would have understood if she were here.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
    He pounded his fist on the table. “Don’t you dare bring her into this. It’s not my fault you …”
    Killed her.
    The unspoken words hung in the air like a hatchet waiting to fall.
    Dad closed his eyes and sighed. “Jess—”
    I held up my hand. I doubted he knew what he was going to say, anyway. I’d always wondered if he blamed me. Now I knew for sure.
    Bastard.
    He reached out to me, but I backed away. The best I hate you glare formed on my face before I could control it.
    His lips stretched. Message received loud and clear.
    I’d lived with the guilt of Mom’s death for far too long. I didn’t even remember what happened, but I’d been driving. One minute we were laughing, the next minute I was in a hospital, and Mom was gone. I should have had control of the car, but I didn’t. I guess that was something that I’d have to keep living with. Alone.
    Dad’s expression glossed over. The firm visage of an Army major returned. I suppose I was partly to blame for his shift into robot mode.
    “I need to get to school.” I snatched my backpack and stomped toward the door, struggling under the weight of textbooks Maggie had given me.
    “I’ll drive you.”
    “I can take the bus.”
    He walked toward me, his scowl screaming fat chance of that ever happening without him having to say a word. Part of me was glad. As much as I didn’t want to sit in the car alone with him for fifteen minutes, I totally didn’t want to deal with any reporters that might be hanging at the bus stop. It was going to be a tense car ride, though.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    Dad dropped me off in the front of the school. I tried to not look back, because I knew he’d still be parked and watching until I passed through the front doors. Any other day I would have been embarrassed, but it’s not like anyone didn’t know who I was, or what I’d been through. Their parents would do the same.
    A teeny part of me wanted to turn, to run back and apologize. But the part of me that knew I’d done nothing wrong won. Mom’s death wasn’t my fault. Dad was the one who needed to come to grips with that, not me.
    The security scanner didn’t beep when I went through. I’d been nervous my new camera lens would set it off. The last thing I needed was more attention on me.
    It was worth the risk, though. One thing the whole aliens exist experience showed me was that you have to be prepared. Always. I’d never be without my camera again. You never know when you might trip over the story of the century while taking a stroll in the woods.
    Dodging a few kids carrying basketballs, I slipped through the door to the main office. Four students waited in line, but parted as I walked in. The last to move tugged the backpack on the girl standing first at the front desk. She spun and her lips formed an O before she scurried to the side with the others.
    “Ms. Martinez,” the lady behind the counter said. “Welcome back.”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, umm, thanks. I need my schedule and locker assignment.”
    She handed me a paper from the tray beside her. “Here you go. You have

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