Forget You Ethan Whitney G Read Online Free
Forget You, Ethan
a novel
WHITNEY G.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this volume may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval organization, or transmitted in any form, or by whatsoever means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author.
Encompass pattern by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.
Table of Contents
Championship Page
Copyright Page
Forget You, Ethan
PROLOGUE
Dorsum Then: 7½ Years Old
Track 1. This Is Why We Can't Take Nice Things (4:00)
Track two. So It Goes... (four:23)
Rail 3. Should've Said No (2:41)
Track 4. Bad Blood (three:22)
Back Then: 9 ½ Years Old
Track 5. Gorgeous (3:12)
Track 6. Tell Me Why (5:01)
Rails seven. Getaway Car (four:16)
Back Then: 15 ½ Years Old
Runway viii. ...Ready for Information technology? (iii:11)
Runway ix. Don't Blame Me (4:25)
Back Then: sixteen Years Old
Rail ten. Manner (three:59)
Track 11. Sparks Fly (2:42)
Back Then: 16 ½ Years One-time
Runway 12. Mine (1:57)
Runway 13. Dancing With Our Easily Tied (4:49)
Track 14. Dress (2:14)
Track 14A. Reputation (two:18)
Rail 15. Delicate (iii:27)
Back So: 17 Years Old
Rails xvi. King of My Heart (3:30)
Runway 17. Finish Game (3:37)
Track 18. Don't Blame Me (4:27)
Back Then: eighteen Years Onetime
Back And so: 18 Years Old
Rails 19. Telephone call It What You Want (iii:22)
Runway xx. I Know Places (1:13)
Track 21. I Did Something Bad (4:09)
Track 22. Milkshake It Off (2:22)
Track 23. Wildest Dreams (2:09)
Track 24. Mean (3:47)
Runway 25. Look What You Made Me Exercise (0:xx)
Back And so: 18 Years Old
Track 26. Welcome to New York (3:04)
Track 27. All You Had To Exercise Was Stay (4:10)
At Body of water: First Week Gone
At Sea: 3 Weeks Gone
At Sea: Half-dozen Weeks Gone
Track 28. I Almost Do (3:eleven)
Runway 29. Breathe (two:39)
Rails 29A. Brainstorm Again (1:39)
Back And then: eighteen i/ii Years Old
Track 30. This Love (3:53)
Runway 31. How You Become The Girl (two:46)
Forget Yous, Rachel
For those of us who grew up during a time when it took more than than a click of a button for someone to be your friend, a time when the cyberspace was still in dial-upward mode, and a time when nosotros thought everything would remain the aforementioned ...
Likewise BY WHITNEY G.:
SERIES & STANDALONES:
STEAMY COFFEE READS Drove
Naughty Boss
Dirty Doctor
Cocky Client
Filthy Lawyer
REASONABLE Doubtfulness SERIES
Reasonable Dubiousness #i
Reasonable Doubt #2
Reasonable Doubt #3
FALLING FOR MR. STATHAM Series
Resisting the Boss
Loving the Dominate
THE ONE Week Serial
On a Tuesday
On a Wednesday
On a Thursday
On a Friday
On a Saturday
On a Dominicus
On a Monday
Sincerely, Carter
Forget Yous, Ethan
Turbulence
Over United states, Over Y'all
Two Weeks' Notice
The Layover
PROLOGUE
Rachel
THE FIRST Letter I always wrote was addressed to a boy in my first-grade class. His name was Nate Cloud, and even at six years old, my shell on him (and his low-cal blue overalls) was overwhelming. My words were written in bright green crayon equally a elementary, "Practise you like me? Circle aye or no."
That asshole circled no.
The second letter I wrote was to a girl in my library course. Her proper noun was Ashley Donovan, and I desperately wanted to be her all-time friend. I wrote a full iii lines telling her all the things we had in common—all the things that would make united states of america the perfect ready of friends. (Pink jelly sandals, a Barbie Dream House, and a drove of vivid Beanie Babies.) My words were written on notebook paper, with a last question that read, "Volition yous please be my best friend? Circle yes or aye."
She didn't circle either one.
She created her own option: NO.
I fabricated it through first and second grade with a broken heart and zero friends, so I kept the rest of my messages to myself.
Until I met the boy who lived on my brand-new street, the boy who became my first all-time friend.
For all of 3 seconds.
He was the worst person I'd ever met in my life, and the very moment he quoted some bullshit nearly "keeping [his] friends close and [his] enemies closer," all while throwing me off my cycle and kicking me to the basis, I was convinced that the word "friend" would never be a part of my vocabulary. I thought I'd never find someone who loved letters equally much as me.
That is, until he became the starting time person in my life to ever write me back.
Non simply one time.
Not just twice.
Always.
Even though we hated each other down to our marrow, and we could never go along for more than twenty minutes at a time, we e'er wrote back...
Back So: 7½ Years Quondam
Ethan
I COULD'VE SWORN THAT my new neighbor was supposed to be a boy...
That's what my parents told me when the house down the street from us finally sold. They said, "Oh, they seem like such a nice family! They even accept a son for you to encounter. How dainty will that be?"
It would've been very nice considering every family unit on our street was total of stupid girls. Not a unmarried one of those girls liked me, and I didn't like whatever of them either.
So, when my dad came into my room today and told me to get dressed to meet the neighbors, I was shocked when he took my action figures and returned them to my nightstand.
"I don't think then," he said. "Rachel probably won't want to meet those."
"Rachel? Who is Rachel?" I asked.
"Your new neighbour down the street." He smiled so easily, as if those five words didn't ruin any hopes I had of finally having a friend in this neighborhood. It was bad plenty that we lived in the suburbs and it took half an hour to go to anywhere decent similar the movies or the skate park. Just at present, the last firm on our block housed the worst thing on the planet. A girl. Again.
Groaning, I slipped headphones and a CD actor into my backpack—ready to tune out everything as shortly every bit my parents talked about the boring stuff. I made my way downstairs and grabbed my mom's usual "Meet the New Neighbors" cake off the counter. I followed her and my dad out the front door and downwards the sidewalk—rolling my eyes at the Cramer twins who were playing in their front end g.
"Hullo, Mr. & Mrs. Wyatt!" They waved. "Hello, Ethan!"
"Don't wave at me," I said.
"Ethan ..." My mom narrowed her eyes at me. "Be overnice."
"Hello, Clara. Hello, Joan." I forced myself to smiling. The second my mom turned her back, they flipped their middle fingers up at me. I happily returned the favor.
Ugh.
When we fabricated
it to the new neighbors' firm, a red-headed adult female and her married man stepped out and smiled at us.
"Wow! I wasn't expecting yous to actually bake us a cake!" The adult female looked surprised. "It's been a long fourth dimension since I've had something habitation-made."
She bought it at the store. Information technology's not home-made.
As they ushered u.s.a. within, I hoped that their usual new neighbor conversation wouldn't last equally long as it usually did. They always talked about the same exact affair with every new family. Are the schools here as practiced as they say? What exercise kids do around here for fun? How cute would it be if our kids became friends?
"Well, look at you!" The woman bent down to my level. "I waved at y'all the other solar day when yous were playing in your g, simply I don't remember yous saw me. I'yard Mrs. Dawson. What's your name?"
"Ethan Wyatt," I said.
"Well, Ethan Wyatt, I have a daughter named Rachel Dawson who looks like she'southward virtually your age. Let me estimate. You're seven, right?"
"Seven and a half."
"She says the same thing." She laughed and pointed to the staircase. "Why don't you become innovate yourself to her while I pour your parents a glass of wine? It'due south the outset room on the left."
"No, that's okay." I shrugged. "I don't desire to encounter another girl. I've met enough of those already."
"Ethan Wyatt." My mother warned under her breath. "Go say how-do-you-do to Rachel, at present."
I rolled my eyes and took my time walking upward the steps, stopping when I saw the posters in the hallway. They were all superheroes and artists. Superheroes and artists that I liked.
Possibly she has a brother after all.
I knocked on the Spiderman that covered the bedroom door, and a girl with uneven bangs and ugly freckles opened information technology.
"My mom said you were a beautiful boy." She crossed her artillery. "She lied."
"Like you can talk." I scoffed. "You lot look similar a Raggedy-Ann doll, and your pilus looks like you cut it yourself. With a broken razor."
"I did cut it myself." She narrowed her optics at me. "And I did utilize a razor."
I glared at her, and she glared right dorsum at me.
I contemplated knocking some of her stuff over or pushing her to the floor to show her who ran this block, but the huge Jurassic Park poster on her wall defenseless my attention. Below it, on her dresser, she had a collection of Star Wars activeness figures and a massive stack of comic books.
"Do you have an older brother?" I forgot why I was mad at her. "Is that why you have all this stuff?"
"No, this stuff is all mine." She flopped onto her bed. "All the girls at my old schoolhouse thought I was weird, but I don't intendance. Superheroes crush Barbie any day. You take a sister?"
"Nope. I'm an only child."
"Me, too." She looked me over, and then she let out a breath. "Is this a proficient neighborhood?"
"It's a boring one," I said, stepping closer to her second ready of comic books. "You'll take no problem making friends, though. Every family on this cake and the next has daughters."
"I noticed." She groaned. "I met some twins yesterday, and they invited me to play dress-up and tea this weekend."
"Run into? You're going to be best friends with the Cramer twins before you know information technology."
"I hate playing dress up." She scrunched up her face. "I hate tea, too. I'll only pretend to be sick."
I smiled. Maybe Rachel wasn't so bad after all. Well, she was notwithstanding a girl, just mayhap she was a cool girl. For now.
"It was squeamish meeting you, Rachel." I headed to the door once I heard my mom call my name.
"Look." She pointed to my headphones. "What are you listening to?"
"Good music, trust me, I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that."
"Try me." She tossed me a box of CDs, so I pulled my CD keeper from my backpack and tossed information technology to her. I flipped through all her cases and felt my eyes widening as I read the names of each creative person. With the exception of a few terrible pop bands, she listened to almost every artist I did.
"I guess your taste isn't that bad." She returned my CDs, and I returned hers. "And yous know, neither are you. Do your parents let you lot apply the internet?"
"Yes and no," I admitted. "My parents e'er check the computer before and afterward I apply it, so I don't really use information technology."
"Okay, well ..." She pulled out a note carte du jour and scribbled her full name and address. "I adopt writing letters anyhow."
"You desire me to write y'all a letter from correct down the street?"
"Why not?"
"Considering you're right down the street," I said, laughing. "I'1000 always outside. Merely come by if your parents let you lot. Besides, from the looks of things on your corkboard, it looks like you can barely spell. 'Forget' is spelled with an 'e,' not an 'i.' It clearly would be unfair for me to look you to write a decent letter if y'all can't get a simple give-and-take like that right."
"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine."
"Fine." I walked to the hallway, only before I could set my foot on the first step, I felt her pressing her hands against my back. Felt her pushing me frontwards, and before I knew it, I was tumbling downwardly the steps. Hard.
What the ...
I held back a cry when I striking the bottom and looked up the steps for an explanation, only all she did was cross her arms.
"I changed my heed," she said. "I don't like you and I don't want to be your friend. Besides, the word 'forget' is spelled exactly how I spelled it, so maybe y'all need to get your optics checked or learn how to read. Take that, Ethan."
"I don't want to be your friend either." I glared at her as I stood to my anxiety, knowing that I should've never trusted a stupid girl. "Forget you, Rachel."
Rail 1. This Is Why We Can't Take Nice Things (4:00)
Ethan
Present Day
I STILL HATE RACHEL Dawson...
I looked over the well-nigh recent letter she'd sent me from her "Semester at Sea" programme, and I notwithstanding couldn't bring myself to write her back. It'd been iii months since our last commutation, and my blood was boiling like I was reading her words for the showtime fourth dimension.
Dear Ethan,
I'm pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you. Like, all the SIGNS are there, and they were there viii messages ago. As a person who honestly loves seeing yous miserable, I can't say that this makes me happy. (Merely because I don't similar cheaters, though. If yous were upset about anything else, I'd exist laughing my donkey off right now.)
Maybe she's just not impressed with all those accolades you lot Honey to throw in my face all the fourth dimension: The fact that yous were Mr. Popular in loftier school for three years in a row (I still believe you stuffed the ballot box, and it was high school. Fourth dimension to let that shit get.) The fact you drive a classic blue convertible (What the hell does that have to do with anything? Like, always?) And the fact that you're supposedly "running shit on SBU'southward campus." (I've been on this ship for 3 years, and none of the students who practice unmarried semesters have whatever idea who you are when I ask. No. One.)
Thank you for the unwanted advice about MY swain, just seeing as though I know what it takes to make a human relationship work, I don't need it.
Forget Yous,
Rachel
PS—Peradventure you're non as good at sex every bit you lot thought you lot were? (That's probably it. I can send you some 'How to' books on that topic if you similar. Let me know!)
I reread her alphabetic character one terminal time, putting it away in my glovebox. Then I looked up at my girlfriend's windows for the second hour in a row, watching her grind confronting ane of my closest friends.
I was supposed to exist surprising her with a "iv-month anniversary" gift right now since she'd thrown not-so-subtle hints all week, but after watching her become pounded by someone else, I knew I was returning everything to the store the second I broke upwardly with her. Today.
I can't believe Rachel was right
about this shit.
Not wanting to look for them to stop, I stepped out of my motorcar and walked to her front door. I used the central she gave me months ago, the one labeled "Ethan and Lisa forever," and walked into the living room.
"Ohhhh god!" She moaned. "Oh god, yes!"
"Yeah?" My friend, Brody, slapped her ass. "Is this what you similar?"
"Yeah, she loves that position," I said, and he immediately stilled. His optics went wide, and all the color left Lisa's face.
He pulled out of her, quickly moving away. Then he stared at me in stupor for several seconds before picking up his jeans and rushing to the bathroom.
Lisa stood in front of me, stark naked and reddish. Keeping her eyes on mine, she walked over to the couch.
She bit her lip, looking equally if she was searching for the right thing to say.
"Hello, Ethan," she said, finally. "I know this looks really bad, but I can explain."
I said nothing, and she picked up her clothes.
"Can you finish looking at me like that first, though?" She pulled her bra over her head. "Similar, delight?"
I didn't movement. I watched as she struggled to put on the rest of her clothes. Blueish jeans. Faded shirt. My high school varsity hoodie.
"It'south like you're a zombie or something correct now," she said. "You haven't said a word to me since you came in. At least allow me know what you lot're thinking so I tin know where to start."
Brody stepped out of the bathroom and looked between us, grabbing his jacket and walking over to me. "Nosotros'll yet exist cool after this, right?" He held out his hand for a handshake, and it took everything in me non to knock him to the ground and beat his ass.
"Then, nosotros're not cool?" he asked. "I mean, don't tell me you're willing to flush years of our friendship down the drain over something like this."
"Depends," I said finally. "By 'something like this' practice you lot mean the fact that I saturday in the driveway and watched you fuck my girlfriend for almost two hours?"
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