Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
WYLIE
“I love you, but you look terrible,” Sandie says as she sits on my bed and stares at my useless body.
“I feel terrible.” I let out a yawn and sip some of the coffee that Sandie so nicely brought me.
“I can’t believe he made you get the bagels again. And he didn’t eat any. What the hell is that about? Is he stocking up to have a bagel party?”
“I have no idea. But if he asks me to get more tonight, I’m grabbing them from the local grocery store and passing them off as the good water bagels.”
Sandie chuckles. “I hope that you do.”
“And you know what? I went on Yelp to see if there was hype around these bagels, and there was some, but nothing spoke about the good water or the one-in-the-morning session. I think it’s all in his head.”
“Could very much be in his head. You know how athletes are. They’re all sorts of superstitious. Next time you’re near the bagel place, you should just buy two dozen and put them in my freezer so when he asks, you just have to drive to my place and grab them.”
“Oh . . . wow, I should have thought about that sooner.”
She pats my leg. “Blame it on the sleep deprivation.”
“I will, but yeah, next time I’m over there, I’m buying extra bagels and freezing them at your place. And guess what? I’m going to buy the bad water ones.”
“That will teach him,” she says on a laugh. “He make you do anything else crazy?”
“Not really. He seemed not to like my packing but then quickly said that he did like it and told me what a great job I was doing. It was a weird change of tone. Like he wants to be this tough guy but then pulls back for a moment. He’s hard to read.
And oh my God, I didn’t tell you this, but when we were in his office, he saw a Post-it note I left for myself.
And I have no doubt he looked up what was on the Post-it note. ”
“What was on it?” Sandie asks.
“Patty Ford.”
“The girl I told you about?” Sandie asks.
“Yup, I wrote down the name because I didn’t want to forget, and then, bam, he saw it.”
Sandie shrugs. “If anything, he should be appreciative.”
I chuckle. “I guess that’s one way to look at it. I’m helping in all aspects of his life.”
“Did you see her logo contest, though?” Sandie asks.
“I did, and I started thinking up ideas last night on my drive to Port Hole Bagels and back. I think I’m going to draw some things up and see what you like best. It has to be sexy but not obvious.”
“And it would be great work because she’s offering a hefty prize for the winner. Maybe you can write in the entry form that you’re a woman entrepreneur like she is.”
“Ooo, good idea. She could appreciate that. Yeah, I think I’ll draw some things tonight or maybe tomorrow.
I still have so many tasks to do on Levi’s list. I thought I’d be able to get more done, but between being sleep-deprived and having to drive around everywhere, I haven’t been able to do everything I want to.
I still need to do the pencils and the Skittles.
And then this stupid book,” I say, lifting the Vermont book.
“Tell me when I’ll find the time for this? ”
Sandie takes the book from me and flips through the pages. “Do you really think he has a love for Vermont?”
“I don’t know. He’s an odd one, Sandie. You should have heard Halsey yesterday morning when he saw that I went out and got Levi his protein smoothie. He gave him shit for it, and Levi had the guiltiest look on his face.”
“I don’t know much about him, but he always seemed chill to me from all the online interactions. . .that you’ve shown me.”
I shrug. Yeah, I’ve shown her a lot.
“Still, this rewriting thing is so weird.” She flips open the first page, and a piece of paper falls out of it.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Probably instructions on how he wants the book typed up exactly.” We both laugh, and she flips open the page. I watch her eyes scan over it before her jaw drops, and her wide eyes look up at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh my God, Wylie.”
“What?” I say again, scooting closer. “Is it a diary entry or something?”
She shakes her head. “It’s an email from your father.”
“What?” I shout as I take the paper from her and start reading.
To: Levi Posey
From: Will Wood
Subject: Your List
Don’t fuck this up, Posey.
Aside from regular tasks like social media, retrieving your food, arranging your calendar, and being at your beck and call, here are a few tasks you need to give her this week:
Hand her a copy of a book. I don’t care what book, but give her a copy of it. Tell her you don’t like the font it’s written in, and have her type it out in a different font. Yes, have her type up the entire book, word for word. Tell her you want it in a week for your away trip to the Northeast.
Spill something on your floor. Don’t care what it is. But make it disgusting. Tell her she needs to clean it up and make it seem like it was never there.
Ask her to get you ten pounds of Skittles. The Skittles must be divided into colors and placed in separate jars. But you want more reds than any other color. At least half a jar more.
Have her purchase you fifty number two pencils. Have her sharpen them just enough so they’re pointed but not too much where they’re splintering. Use them as a decoration for a day and then have her donate them to a local school, but she must receive a receipt of the donation.
Text her in the middle of the night that you need something, anything. Make her get it for you.
After each task, I expect you to take a picture and inform me that it’s been completed. Do not let her off the hook. Don’t let her skate by. I want you to make her life a living hell, got it?
And don’t forget the rules. Don’t forget why you’re doing this. And mainly, don’t forget that she’s completely off limits.
My eyes slowly lift as anger sears through me.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I hop out of bed, all of my exhaustion fleeing as red-hot rage and adrenaline pulse through me. “Is this real?” I shake the paper at Sandie.
“It looks real to me.” She grabs it and scans the paper. “It’s printed out like a real email. Is that your dad’s real email?”
I snatch the paper again, looking over the email a few times. My eyes feel wild at the moment. When I realize that it is, my entire body breaks out into an angry sweat. “It is.” I toss the paper to the floor and start pacing the length of my tiny hole of a bedroom. “I can’t believe this.”
“What part can’t you believe?”
“All of it.” I toss my hands up in the air. “This is all a joke to him. To my dad. He’s not giving me a chance to prove to him that I can handle this. He’s trying to make me fail. That’s so . . . that’s so fucked up.”
“It is,” Sandie says softly. “I’m sorry, Wylie. You deserve better.”
“I do deserve better,” I reply. Hands on my hips, I stare down at the printed email as realization falls over me. “And he’s helping my dad.”
“Levi?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes. He’s helping him.” I look up at her. “All this insane shit that he’s made me do. The bagels. The writing of the goddamn book. The stain. The pencils. That’s all because of my dad’s direction. Direction that Levi is taking. Why would he listen to my dad? Why would he be a part of this?”
“Well, according to the email, it seems as though there’s a reason he’s doing this.” She picks up the paper and reads, “ Remember why you’re doing this. Maybe . . . I don’t know . . . maybe he knew who you were that night and is pissed that you took off and is now trying to get back at you.”
I whip around to look at Sandie. “There’s no way he knew who I was, unless . . . do you think my dad saw us and confronted Levi after? Maybe Dad has been holding this over his head, and they’ve come together to get me back.”
“That seems very calculated,” Sandie says. “But also, slightly plausible.”
“Wow.” I shake my head as I cross my arms and sit back down on the bed. “I can’t fucking believe this. Here I thought I was actually getting a chance to do something different with my life, and it turns out it’s all a freaking setup. A setup to try to get me to do something I don’t want to do.”
“And I think we all know that you don’t do things you don’t want to do.”
“That’s correct.” Not to mention that my dad doesn’t care whether I fail or succeed.
Why? Why would he do that? What parent deliberately sets up their only child to feel bad about herself?
I lean against the headboard, feeling so incredibly hurt.
So angry. So horrified at the fact that my dad thinks this is all a game.
This isn’t a game. This is my life. And it’s about time he realizes he can’t control me anymore.
I run my tongue over my teeth, my mind whirling.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on in your head? Because I can see you thinking over there, and I don’t want you to spiral.”
“It just sucks,” I say, my throat growing tight.
“He’s never trusted me to make smart decisions for my life.
He’s always controlled me. What school I went to.
What I majored in. The people I hung out with.
And now this. It’s just him tightening his grasp on me, and I’m done.
I don’t want to be his puppet anymore. The leading player in his game. ”
“Then don’t be.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to.” I pull my legs into my chest. “And here I thought Levi was feeling bad about the things he was making me do. I thought I saw a shred of doubt in his eyes.”
“Maybe you did. Maybe he’s not fully in on this plan. I mean, the email does seem pretty threatening. Maybe he didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I say as I hug my knees and work my jaw to the side, a thought coming into my head.
Sandie notices. “What’s the evil look on your face for?”
“There’s no evil look.”
“Uh, yeah, there is. You went from sad to conniving in seconds.”
“I was just thinking, if they can play, why can’t I?”
“Oh boy, what do you mean by that?”