Don't Look Behind You (Don't Look Series Book 1) Emily Kazmierski (ereader that reads to you TXT) 📖

dairy is pretty big, so it’s possible I just never saw him, but…” Noah tousels his hair and shuffles through his papers.

“But?” I’m leaning forward over the table, the hesitance in Noah’s tone drawing me in like the gymnastics finals at the summer Olympics.

He sighs. “I don’t want to say your aunt was wrong, but I don’t think that guy’s ever worked at the dairy. I can ask my dad though. He’s worked there for twenty years, so he’d know for sure.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he starts tapping on the screen.

“Wait. No. Don’t do that. I must have misunderstood her. Maybe she meant he’d applied at the dairy.” I shrug it off even though my blood is pounding in my ears. There’s no way I misinterpreted what Aunt Karen told me. Where did he work before he started at the school? The dairy. Either she was wrong, which doesn’t jive with the careful competence my guardian exudes in pretty much every area aside from actual parenting. Or she lied.

Chapter 14

Day 119, Sunday

The newspaper article on Esau came out today. I’ve been scoping out Aunt Karen’s newspaper each day so I wouldn’t miss it. I’m curious about what he said to that reporter.

Every morning, Aunt Karen leaves that day’s rolled-up paper in the middle of the kitchen table while she’s making her coffee. She uses one of those French presses and lots of flavored creamer. Then she sits there in her dark shirt and pressed pants and reads in silence. “It’s useful to keep up to date on current local events,” she said the first time I saw her reading an actual newspaper and couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising into my hair. I didn’t know anyone still read a physical newspaper, since everything is available online. I didn’t even know they still printed them.

This morning the newspaper is twice as large as during the week, and Esau’s brooding face is right on the front, above the fold. Aunt Karen’s attempting to make breakfast, so I snatch it off the table and fall into a seat to read it. I barely speak to Esau during drama club, so who knows why I’m interested in an article about him, but I am. It starts by talking about his humble upbringing—those are the literal words the journalist used. I smother a huff into my palm. Aunt Karen looks at me over her bottle of creamer, then turns to the giant stack of plain, buttered, almost-burned toast she’s made.

Quietly, I keep reading, but stop again to take a bite of the peanut butter and banana wrap I threw together.

Reading all of this background info about Esau is making me feel kind of voyeuristic. Like, if I wanted to know about his childhood I should ask him in person, not read about it in a newspaper. Then I shake the feeling away. If Esau didn’t want everyone in town reading about it, he wouldn’t have told the reporter. Fair is fair.

“Is that you in the newspaper?” Aunt Karen bellows, tearing the pages out of my hands and bringing them closer to her face.

Dropping my breakfast on the table top, I scramble out of my chair. “No. I’m not in any photos. They didn’t ask permission, and they have to have…” My voice dies when I look where Aunt Karen is pointing. Sure enough, there it is, my profile behind Esau in the photo. In color. In the county newspaper.

“I thought I told you to stay away from cameras! Do you realize how many people will see this?”

“Most people don’t even read these anymore,” I say, trying to placate her. Aunt Karen is just trying to keep me safe.

“That isn’t funny.” Each word is clipped, as is the sharp look she sends my way.

I cross my arms. Go completely still. She’s right. It’s not funny.

“If you can’t stay away from the press, I’m going to pull you out of school.”

“No, please don’t. I promise to hide the next time someone shows up with a camera. It probably won’t happen again,” I add hastily.

“I’m calling that good-for-nothing editor right now,” Aunt Karen decrees, scrolling through her phone. “I have his number here somewhere…” She puts the phone to her ear and paces across the kitchen.

“What can they do? It’s already been printed,” I say halfheartedly. “Besides, he already knows where I am.” She’s clearly not heeding me, her back turned as she taps her foot on the dingy linoleum floor.

“They can take it off their website!”

Apparently she was listening.

“Can you believe he hasn’t been home to see his family in five years?” Marisa says contemplatively as she takes a long swig of her mint grasshopper milkshake.

Despite the fiasco this morning, Aunt Karen agreed to let me meet my friends at the only diner in town for milkshakes this afternoon. After a lot of groveling and promises that I’ll never let anyone take my photo ever again.

It’s a blistering day and Main Street is like a ghost town. Except the diner, which boasts a whopping thirty milkshake flavors. Pretty much everyone from school is here. Noah is sitting across the diner on a counter stool, flanked by Esperanza and Matteo.

Despite all the buzz about the article, Esau is absent. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to be out with everyone talking about me either.

“I can’t imagine not seeing my mom for that,” Viv says from behind her vivid pink cherry milkshake.

“Same,” Erin says, her arm slung behind Viv on the back of our corner booth.

Next to me, Fiona nods, looking down at her phone screen. “I had no idea he wanted to be a film director. It explains why he’s so uptight about everything being perfect at practice all the time.”

Next to her, Dariel nods.

“Seriously,” Marisa says.

“I wonder why none of the teachers have tried to start a film class,” Fiona muses.

“Mr. Baugh says there aren’t funds for it,” I say, thankful to have something safe to add to the conversation.

“And that quote about Megan!” Fiona