Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) (3 page)

I have no idea how to write a memoir, so bear with me.

I’m still mad. It’s been two weeks since the news of my impending doom, and I’m still floating in the anger stages of my five-step grief process. I’m hoping it will pass soon; I’m looking forward to stage five—acceptance. I can’t see me reaching it any time soon, which makes me sad, especially since time is now working against me. My parents are putting on a brave face; I know it’s for my sake, but I kind of just want them to act normal around me. I can tell they’re holding back, scared that they’ll upset me if they cry in my presence, but it makes me feel guilty. They should be allowed to grieve. I wouldn’t mind.

Anyway, on that happy note! Blair has been amazing; she’s been here every day, updating me on the lunchroom gossip. Apparently, Jen Gray is sleeping with Coach Carter. I’d have said no way, but thinking about it, Jen would sleep with anything with a pulse. Coach Carter’s kept her behind a few times in gym class to help put away equipment. She’s not exactly built for lugging around apparatuses so I actually think this particular nugget of information could be true.

Blair also mentioned that Kickstart is playing a gig at some bar in town next week. I think we should go; I’m missing my daily dose of Ethan Jamison. It’s kind of crazy to miss something you never had, but I do. We’ve barely spoken, yet I miss him like we’ve been a couple for years and have been cruelly separated. I’m one of around a thousand of his friends on Facebook, so I click on his profile daily in hopes that he’s posted something that will give me my daily fix. He never does.

That’s kind of creepy, isn’t it? I should maybe tear out this entry and re-write it without sounding like a psycho stalker. Even if the term does kind of fit.

Blair often tries to make me feel better by referring to it as taking a ‘covert active interest.’ Mom keeps it real; she tells us that no matter how we dress it up, we’re no better than a pair of peeping Toms. Apparently, taking selfies with him in the background is a breach of his privacy. Of course, that doesn’t stop her from looking at the snaps. I’m pretty sure she finds him almost as hot as I do. We saw him a few months back coming out of a pizza place and she elbowed me, pointing him out and muttering under her breath something about being twenty years younger. Dad laughed until he caught sight of Ethan for himself. Then he went off about how he was just as well built and good looking in high school. He'd scoffed that he’d better have some sort of talent or work ethic because his looks will soon fade. Mom and I burst out laughing; it was equal parts amusing and gross that my dad was entering into some weird pissing contest with Ethan Jamison, without the poor guy even knowing about it.

When we returned home that evening, Dad spent a half hour in the basement searching through boxes until he returned wearing a slightly beat-up leather, biker-style jacket. It wasn’t too dissimilar to the one Ethan was wearing. Mom’s face lit up, and then—in a weird, husky voice—she made some suggestion about leaving the jacket out for later. I’m sure I threw up a little in my mouth. Mom and Dad were high-school sweethearts; they’ve been together since they were juniors and they were each other’s first real relationship. Mom once told me that they were each other’s one and only in the sexual sense. It’s not something a fourteen-year-old wants to hear, especially in front of her best friend, but she was determined to give me the ‘sex’ talk. I told her that it was unnecessary and then she almost had a heart attack, thinking I meant that I was already sexually active. It took Blair and me almost an hour to convince her that I meant I learned the birds and bees stuff way before her little sex talk ambush. When we finally escaped my mom and headed over to Blair’s house, Susan couldn’t stop laughing at how mortified we both were. Little did we realize she was lulling us into a false sense of security. We were bombarded with handfuls of pamphlets on birth control and teenage pregnancy statistics. Sometimes I think parents are put on this earth solely to embarrass us.

I had always envisioned my first time would be with Ethan Jamison; we’d fall madly in love and get married and produce a whole orchestra full of beautifully musical little mini-mes. Our children would have my hair (pre-chemo) and his eyes, and they’d all play instruments and we’d be like an updated version of the von Trapp family, minus that Nazi regime and shit.

Guess it will always be a dream now.

Considering that I have roughly six months to make it all happen, I should probably just focus on the “getting him to even notice me” part. Okay, that settles it, I’m going to his gig, I’m going to talk to him, and I’m going to make my play. I refuse to leave this life without at least experiencing kissing the man of my dreams just once. After all, what do I have to lose?

Watch. This. Space!

July 17
th
, 2013

Dear Diary,

Operation “MRS. JAMISON” has commenced. Okay, so I know the title needs work, but Emily Jamison has a certain ring to it. Blair’s on board with going to the Kickstart gig and has even agreed to come shopping with me later today. If I’m about to make a play for the hottest guy at school, I need to do it looking my best and I’ve lost so much weight lately that I need something new that actually fits. I’ve always maintained that if you feel good, you look good.

On a plus note, this little mission is giving me something to actually look forward to.

July 17
th
, 2013

I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to update this because I might forget something!

I have just experienced probably the funniest shopping trip I will ever have. My poor best friend!

Blair collected me at lunch and we headed to the mall; I saw a pair of killer jeans and decided to try them on. I’ve always been a confident person and I like to think I have a good eye for what suits me, but my body shape has changed so much since starting treatment that I wanted a second opinion. I called Blair into the changing room and made some asinine comment about my steroids making me look like I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy. I hadn’t needed her opinion really because anyone could see that the jeans looked horrendous, but I’d wanted to vent.

She’d laughed and scrunched her nose, telling me, “Yep, those are definitely not the right cut for you anymore. Shame though—they’re cute.”

“You should take them and try them on. They’d look good on you,” I’d said, slipping the jeans down my legs and shoving them into her arms.

She unbuckled her belt and wiggled out of her shorts before shaking out the jeans in front of me. By this time, I’d changed back into my own clothes and was waiting on her. She pulled the jeans up over her knees and then did a little jump to hoist them up further. We used to be the same size, but apparently, we’re not anymore. She held onto the belt loops as she shimmied them up but somehow lost her balance. I think I was in some sort of suspended animation as everything unfolded.

Blair stumbled into the side of the cubicle, and the rail that held the curtain slipped from its mount and came crashing down. At the same time, one side of the cubicle collapsed and crashed into the next. We both watched in horror at the domino effect; one by one the five cubicles in the women’s changing room came crashing down around us. It sounded like an earthquake. I took one look at her panic-stricken face and did what any best friend would do…

I burst out laughing.

The sales assistants came running through to see what had happened. Not just the female ones, either; the two hot guys who worked the men’s section came flying in, sneakers screeching as they skidded to an abrupt stop. By this time, I was sitting amongst the curtains on the store floor in fits of laughter, tears streaming down my face as she stood like a deer in the headlights. The jeans were still halfway up her thighs and she was wearing a bright blue thong that had the word ‘ANGRY’ above a picture of a cartoon beaver. That wasn’t even the best part, though; her ass was projected onto all the mirrors throughout the room and no matter what angle she tried to turn, the image was still reflected.

I’m never going to win bestie of the year, but I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I really need to buy her a present for being such a douche. We left after that; guess I’ll have to get Mom to take me shopping later in the week.

I quickly close the screen on my Mac, hiding my diary entries as my door opens and Mom’s head peeps through. I haven’t told her what I’m doing. I’m not sure I’m ready for her to know just yet.

“Hey, sweetheart, you have visitors.”

“Okay, be right out.”

I’m not expecting anyone, and Blair’s already left for the day, so I’m not sure who would be dropping in on me unannounced. I pull my shirt tighter around me—I can’t seem to stay warm lately—and make my way through to the kitchen.

I can hear Casey’s unmistakable drawl as she chats animatedly to my dad. Brie jumps off the barstool to greet me with a hug; her white and blue cheer uniform flashes before my eyes as she moves at warp speed and squeezes me tight.

“Em, girl, we’ve missed you!” Casey shouts as she makes her way over.

Dad looks relieved that her attention’s been stolen and slips out of the room, widening his eyes at me as he slinks through the door as if to wish me luck.

The girls are great; we’ve been on the cheer squad together all through school and the two of them come as a package; you don’t see one without the other. I guess you could say the same about Blair and me, except Casey and Brie are always off-the-chart hyper. We’re all close friends, although I think they intimidate Blair a little. The two of them together are a lot to handle for
anyone
.

“We came to see if you wanted to hang out,” Brie says, taking a step back out of my personal space so I can actually breathe.

“If you’re feeling up to it, that is. We’re going to catch a movie, but we don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” Casey interrupts. She regards me like I’m some fragile china doll she’s worried to play with for fear it might break.

“Count me in. Do I have time to change?”

“Yay! Told you she’d say yes!” Brie shouts at Case. Her blond hair and boobs bounce all over the place as she hops with excitement; anyone would think she’d just won the lotto.

“Yeah, yeah, I think you need to lay off the caffeine. You’re making me feel dizzy bouncing around. I’m cutting you off.”

“She bet me $10 you’d flake on us,” Brie offers as Casey’s face contorts in horror.

“That sounds way worse than it was,” she says, shooting Brie a death glare. “Blair mentioned you guys were at the mall today, I just said to
Skippy
here that you’d probably be too tired to hang out.”

“Relax, you don’t need to explain,” I tell her, walking back to my room to grab a sweater.

“So, what do you guys want to see?”

“I’m easy,” Brie says, rocking back and forth on her heels.

The sound of us shouting, “We know!” in unison makes her visibly startle. She rolls her eyes at us in feigned indignation before turning towards the popcorn stand.

“Oh my god. Don’t look now, but guess who’s here?” she whisper shouts. Casey and I turn to see who she’s talking about. “I said, don’t look now!” she grits out.

“Seriously, saying that is like offering cake to a fat kid. Of course we’re going to look,” Casey sniggers as I stand rooted to the spot, staring unashamedly at Ethan Jamison as he talks to Jackson and TJ, two of the members of his band.

“Good god those boys are hot,” Case says as she nudges my arm.

“What? Yeah … hot,” I practically dribble out as I continue with my moronic staring. I can hear Casey laugh at me, and then Brie says something back to her before heading off in the guy’s direction.

“Wait, where the hell’s she going?” I hiss as I watch her approach Ethan and his friends.

“To see if they wanna join us.”

“What! No … she can’t. I mean, they can’t … I mean … shit.”

“Wow, you really do lose the ability to form a coherent sentence when Ethan Jamison is in the vicinity, don’t you?”