Toe to Toe (On Pointe Book 1) Penelope Freed (funny books to read .TXT) 📖

I needed after all the drama with Hannah and the ballet girls. Just a night with my real friends, laughing, being silly, not taking life seriously. I didn’t even have my phone with me, it died right after we arrived, so I left it in Tyler’s car. Not having it was as relaxing as the sound of the waves crashing against the beach.

One of the guys brought hot dogs, Tyler and I brought s’mores and as a joke Allyson brought these craft sodas called Apple Beer. They look like beer bottles, but are totally non-alcoholic. We definitely got some dirty looks, but since half those boys are counting on football to get into college, we weren’t actually stupid enough to have open beer bottles on a public beach. We thought it was hysterical, but were super glad we didn’t have any real beer when one of the beach cops came over to talk to us. Once he had a good look at the label, he laughed with us, but told us off for having glass bottles on the beach.

Tyler pulls up to my house just after midnight. I was expecting the house to be dark, but the lights are on downstairs.

“Shit, I gotta go,” I scramble to get out of the car, tossing Tyler’s jacket in the back seat. “Pray my dad doesn’t kill me.” I toss over my shoulder as I close the car door. Before I get two steps, the front door opens, silhouetting my dad standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You have some explaining to do.” My dad’s voice is cold. I try to wipe my feet on the grass as I walk past the driveway.

“Uh…” I start. My dad turns and leads me into the house, our voices dropping so we don’t wake anyone up. I drop my bag at the front door.

My dad doesn’t say anything, just gestures me to sit at the kitchen table. I sit, not sure how much trouble I’m in. I was late getting home and I lied about where I was, sure, but my dad seems angrier than those things deserve. There has to be something else and I don’t know what it is. I don’t like not knowing. I fidget in my chair, nervous.

“I tried to call you, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

“My battery died.” I pull my phone out of my pocket to show him the blank screen. I even try powering it on, letting the battery symbol flash so he knows it’s the truth.

“I was worried so I called Anne O’Brian to check on you.” I swallow. “Want to explain why she had no idea where you were?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, not sure if I can talk my way out of this.

“I know you weren’t at Hannah’s.” He interrupts me before a lie can cross my lips.

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I was at Santa Monica pier with the squad.” My dad’s eyebrow shoots up. “And the football team,” I add.

“Why did you tell me you were with Hannah?”

“So you would give me a later curfew.”

“What?” My dad looks confused.

“Whenever I say I’m going out with Hannah, you go easy on my curfew,” I say quietly.

“So, all the times in the last few months you’ve told me you were going out with Hannah, or at her house, were a lie?” My dad growls. I’m in really big trouble now.

I swallow. “Um, not every single time.” I get a look. “Not the first time. And I was kinda there when you and Martha went to Santa Barbara.”

“What do you mean, ‘kind of there’?”

“Um…I was there for a while, then I hung out with Tyler for a little while. But then I went back.”

My dad’s face is getting red. “Are you serious? Olivia, what were you thinking? I have been sick with worry for hours and now you’re telling me you’ve been lying to me, abusing my trust, not to mention using your friend, for months?”

Well, when he says it like that, I guess it does sound pretty bad. I’ve been feeling guilty about what I said to Hannah at YIGP, but this is ten thousand times worse. I just look at him, feeling terrible, but I have no words to explain myself. There’s nothing I can say that will make this better.

We stare at each other in silence for a minute. When I don’t offer up any explanation he holds out his phone. “Want to explain this?” There’s a screenshot of someone’s Instagram post on the screen. I look closer, it’s from Jack Quinn’s account. It’s a photo of the entire football team on the beach, Tyler and Jack in the center, the distinctive outline of the pier in the sunset behind them.

“I told you, we went to Santa Monica. We were just hanging out Dad. I’m sorry I lied to you about where I was.” I begin, not entirely sure what I’m supposed to say.

“Look closer,” my dad’s voice has gone icy. His cold disappointment is worse than if he would just yell at me. I take the phone from his hand and examine it. I spot myself, barely visible behind the guys, sitting on the sand, drinking my soda. And then it hits me.

“Dad, I swear, that was soda. It’s not what it looks like!”

He just looks at me. “I swear Dad, Allyson brought it. I know it looks like beer but it’s just soda. I promise. I can show you.” I use his phone to pull up a photo of the label, where it clearly states that it is non-alcoholic. I sigh. “It was a joke.” I debate telling him, but decide that full-disclosure is the best policy. “One of the bike cops that patrol the beach came over to yell at us, but when he saw what it was he thought it was funny too. I swear!”

“I don’t think it’s particularly funny, Olivia. How can I trust that you’re telling me the truth right