Pretty Little Mistakes - Section Three
From section 1 3.
While standing in his parents kitchen, you tell your boyfriend you’re leaving.
You’re not going to college. You’re not buying into the schedules, the credits, or the
points. No standardized success for you. You’ll know when you’re successful
because you’ll know when you’re happy. He seems upset. He’s talking loudly.
He’s shouting and he starts poking you on the shoulder as he explains to you why
your plan is so stupid. When you argue back, he shoves you. You shove him back.
Then he calls you a bitch and asks you who the hell you think you are and he slaps
you across the face.
Shit. Didn’t see that coming - or did you? Didn’t he always sort of have a bad
temper? But that was just when finals were looming or his dad was yelling, or his
coach was complaining…come to think of it, there was always a good reason for
him to be ticked off. It all clicks in your head. You’ve seen enough After-School-
Specials to know what will happen next. They hit you once, they hit you a hundred
times. They get better at it. So before he can hit you again, you grab the iron skillet
sitting on the stove (bacon grease still in it) and you clock him in the temple with it.
Thunk. He drops over like a sack of wet cement. He’s not dead. The bastard is still
breathing.
Time to go! But where? You’ve always wanted to see Europe. The stone buildings,
the renaissance paintings, the dark men. You could also go to California. Who
doesn’t have fun in California? You even have a place to stay there – some friends
who graduated the year before you bought a house in L.A. and told you to come
out and crash for as long as you like.
If you decide to go to Europe, go to section 6
If you decide to drive to California, go to section 7
While standing in his parents kitchen, you tell your boyfriend you’re leaving.
You’re not going to college. You’re not buying into the schedules, the credits, or the
points. No standardized success for you. You’ll know when you’re successful
because you’ll know when you’re happy. He seems upset. He’s talking loudly.
He’s shouting and he starts poking you on the shoulder as he explains to you why
your plan is so stupid. When you argue back, he shoves you. You shove him back.
Then he calls you a bitch and asks you who the hell you think you are and he slaps
you across the face.
Shit. Didn’t see that coming - or did you? Didn’t he always sort of have a bad
temper? But that was just when finals were looming or his dad was yelling, or his
coach was complaining…come to think of it, there was always a good reason for
him to be ticked off. It all clicks in your head. You’ve seen enough After-School-
Specials to know what will happen next. They hit you once, they hit you a hundred
times. They get better at it. So before he can hit you again, you grab the iron skillet
sitting on the stove (bacon grease still in it) and you clock him in the temple with it.
Thunk. He drops over like a sack of wet cement. He’s not dead. The bastard is still
breathing.
Time to go! But where? You’ve always wanted to see Europe. The stone buildings,
the renaissance paintings, the dark men. You could also go to California. Who
doesn’t have fun in California? You even have a place to stay there – some friends
who graduated the year before you bought a house in L.A. and told you to come
out and crash for as long as you like.
If you decide to go to Europe, go to section 6
If you decide to drive to California, go to section 7
© 2006 HarperCollins. Heather McElhatton Publishing rights © Heather Elaine McElhatton Pretty Little Mistakes, Million little Mistakes, Pretty Little Murder, characters, names and related indincia are trademarks © Harpercollins Inc. All Rights Reserved. |
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