Shuffle, Repeat Read Online Free

she does.

“No cows!” I squawk at Oliver from my side of the behemoth as he trundles us down Main Street. We’ve already been arguing for a full ten minutes and I’m not making any headway at all. Also, I feel like I keep sliding down in my seat, because his car is so damn huge. I decide to change tactics, and I push myself upright, adopting a calmer voice. “I don’t want you guys to get hurt.”
    Oliver lets out an exasperated puff of air. “It’s not a bull,” he tells me. “We’re talking about a dairy cow. They’re big and dumb and they make milk.”
    “Just like you guys, except for the milk part.” He can’t blame me for hitting a softball when it comes in that low and slow.
    “We’re not going to
hurt
it,” Oliver tells me.
    “Oh, really? Medicating it with drugs intended for human consumption just to provide entertainment for a bunch of pumped-up boys isn’t
hurting
it?”
    Oliver lifts his right hand from the steering wheel and slowly—veeeeery slowly—flexes his biceps. He throws me a sideways glance. “What I’ve taken from this is that you think I’m pumped up.”
    It’s not that I’m
trying
to look at his muscle, but it’s right there, pushing against the sleeve of his T-shirt.
    “Not funny.”
    “It’s a little funny.”
    I roll my eyes and then, since Oliver is looking at the road and didn’t see, I lean across the center seat so I’m in his peripheral vision, and I roll them again. Dramatically.
    Oliver laughs. “
You’re
funny. I didn’t know that.” I feel a small stab of satisfaction to have surprised Oliver the way he surprised me yesterday with his vocabulary. “Nothing’s set in stone. I’m sure we can come up with something that doesn’t involve prescription drugs or force-feeding.”
    “I don’t get why you have to come up with anything at all.”
    “This again.” He darts a quick glance at me before looking back at the road. “Your lack of school spirit is—”
    “I know, I know. Sad.”
    “
So
sad. Tell me this, Rafferty. What kind of prank
would
you deem appropriate?”
    “None!” My arms fling into the air all on their own. “I don’t want to be involved in
any
senior prank! It’s an irrelevant way to leave a legacy! It’s
not
a legacy!”
    “Because high school is not where legacies are made,” Oliver says in a snippy version of my voice. “Because nothing we do now matters.”
    “Mock away, but we’re only waiting until real life begins.”
    “But these are the memories you take with you into real life! Pep rallies and parties and prom—”
    “Prom is the worst,” I tell him. “It’s the epitome of everything that is wrong with high school. An expensive dance with bad music that puts girls in the subservient position of hoping a boy will ask them to go.”
    “How do you really feel?”
    “I hate it!” I explode, and Oliver laughs.
    “Yeah, I got that. Okay, so traditions are stupid. Fine, I’ll buy that your opinion has merit even though I disagree. But what about your boyfriend? He matters, right?”
    “Itch? Yeah, but it’s not like I’m going to freaking
marry
him.”
    “What if you are?” Oliver swings us past the front of the school and toward the parking lot.
    “I’m not!”
    “But
what if
?” Oliver’s getting a little worked up. “What if it’s meant to be and you can’t even look beyond your version of what matters! It’s sad!”
    An underclassman with a trombone case steps off the curb in front of us and Oliver slams on the brakes, a little too hard. “Watch it,” I tell him.
    “I’m watching it.” He waits for the underclassman to cross. “I’m watching everything. I care about every single minute, because I know that everything here
does
matter. It has to, because otherwise what’s the point, June?”
    There we go. My first name again.
    Oliver steps on the gas and we pull through the lot and into a spot. I turn to him. “You know what’s sad? Pretending is sad.” I hop out and slam the