A few trays clatter against steel, and then the room is deathly quiet. Workers stop serving, midscoops of mashed potatoes. Residents stop talking. The scene unfolds before me in slow motion as people who have had strokes and people in wheelchairs struggle to turn their heads in my direction.
“Nice try, Nicole.” He says my full name, the one I’d used to introduce myself, like an accusation. “Nikki Baylor, right? I know who you are. You forgot your ID badge yesterday. Now let me tell you who I am.” Jeremiah approaches and thrusts his right hand toward me with such force it jams against my rib cage. It’s almost a shove. “Jeremiah Jordan. Taylor Jordan’s my sister. My baby sister, for that matter.”
I hang my head and clench my fists at the same time, the mention of her name evoking the usual combination of shame and regret and a desire to run and hide. Except my feet are still stuck in the damn sand.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Guess it’s my bad. You should really find out a person’s last name before asking her out.” Jeremiah doesn’t say anything else and I look up, but it turns out he was saving one final zinger. “But now I know. And now it makes me sick to look at your face.”
Tears form in my eyes at once. It sort of makes me sick to look at my face now, too, but Jeremiah had changed that for a few weeks. Before I actually start crying, thankfully, whatever’s holding me in place loosens and I run from the room. I dart through the side door and into the central courtyard, the late-afternoon sun glaring down on me like the harsh lights inside the questioning room of the police station.
I choke back my tears, bending over and grabbing onto my knees for support. I’ll never escape this. This is going to follow me forever. I can pretend to be someone I’m not—I can pretend to be the person I used to be—but it’s nothing more than playing a part.
I shake my head back and forth and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, struggling to wrap my head around what just happened, feeling like I have whiplash. Jeremiah had come and gone so fast. The prospect of happiness had been so fleeting. I walked in the door envisioning the warmth of his smile; now all I can remember is the cold hatred in his eyes.
What the hell just happened?
“That was pretty harsh.”
I straighten and turn around … then look down. The boy is in a wheelchair more lightweight than most I see around here, and he can’t be much older than me. But he has a more mature look about him, something about his deep-set hazel eyes and square jaw that makes him look more like a young man and less like a boy. His light-brown hair falls to his chin, and the muscular build of his upper body makes me think he might’ve been a badass at one point.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “I probably deserve it.”
“Highly doubt that.” He wheels a bit closer, shaking his head. “That was a bad scene back there.”
“Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stare into the distance and blow out the breath I realize I’ve been holding. “If you did, you probably would’ve stood up and applauded him.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.” A hint of a smile plays on his bow-shaped lips.
“Trust me, you would’ve.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he repeats. He taps his knuckles against the wheels of his chair. “Standing ovations, not really my thing.”
I cringe and want to die. “Oh my God. I’m really sorry.”
“No apology necessary. I’m not easily offended.”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
He nods once in acknowledgment. “’S okay.” Then he tilts his head and studies me. “Anyway, I’ve seen you around here a couple of times. And I think you have a really nice face. I have a hard time figuring why it makes that dude want to puke.”
I smile in spite of everything, just for a second. Then reality sets in again, and I cover my eyes with my hand. “Today officially sucks. And I need to clock in. Like, five minutes ago.” I take a deep breath, trying to imagine how I can possibly make myself go back inside. “But I can’t go back in there.”
“I can have your back if you want,” wheelchair guy offers. “Give you an escort.”
I look at him, asking why without saying the question out loud.
He shrugs. “I’m old-school like that. A guy shouldn’t lash out at a girl, and he really had no business putting his hands on you. Just because of a fight or whatever.”
“It wasn’t a fight,” I mumble. “Not his fight, anyway. You certainly don’t have to make it yours.”
But he doesn’t go anywhere, and I don’t ask him to leave.
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Jenn P. Nguyen fell in love with books in the third grade and spent the rest of her school years reading through lunchtime and giving up recess to organize the school library. She has a degree in business administration from the University of New Orleans and still lives in the city with her husband. Jenn spends her days reading, dreaming up YA romances, and binge-watching Korean dramas all in the name of “research.” The Way to Game the Walk of Shame is her debut novel. Find her on Twitter at @JennP_Nguyen. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1: Taylor
Chapter 2: Taylor
Chapter 3: Evan
Chapter 4: Taylor
Chapter 5: Evan
Chapter 6: Evan
Chapter 7: Taylor
Chapter 8: Taylor
Chapter 9: Evan
Chapter 10: Taylor
Chapter 11: Taylor
Chapter 12: Evan
Chapter 13: Evan
Chapter 14: Taylor
Chapter 15: Evan
Chapter 16: Taylor
Chapter 17: Taylor
Chapter 18: Evan
Chapter 19: Taylor
Chapter 20: Evan
Chapter 21: Taylor
Chapter 22: Evan
Chapter 23: Taylor
Chapter 24: Evan
Chapter 25: Evan
Chapter 26: Taylor
Chapter 27: Evan
Chapter 28: Taylor
Chapter 29: Taylor
Chapter 30: Evan
Before: Evan
Before: Taylor
Acknowledgments
Swoonworthy Extras
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Jenn P. Nguyen
Excerpt from How to Keep Rolling After a Fall copyright © 2016 by Karole Cozzo
Swoon Reads
An Imprint of Feiwel and Friends
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
swoonreads.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Nguyen, Jenn P., author.
Title: The way to game the walk of shame / Jenn P. Nguyen.
Description: First edition.|New York: Swoon Reads, 2016.|Summary: “After a drunken night, Taylor’s perfect reputation is ruined unless she can convince bad boy surfer Evan to pretend to be tamed”— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015030156|ISBN 9781250084071 (paperback)|ISBN 9781250084088 (ebook)
Subjects:|CYAC: Love—Fiction.|Dating (Social customs)—Fiction.|BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Love & Romance.|JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Dating & Sex.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N52 Way 2016|DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015030156
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First trade paperback edition 2016
eBook edition June 2016
eISBN 9781250084088
The Way to Game the Walk of Shame Page 26
