My Dilemma Read online

  My Dilemma

  Pixie Perkins

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  COMING SOON!

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  Also by Pixie

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Pixie Perkins

  All rights reserved.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—without prior written permission of the author (Pixie Perkins).

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To anyone who had a middle school crush,

  and thought they’d end up marrying said crush.

  You weren’t the only one.

  Prologue

  ~Almost six years ago~

  (Age: 11 ½)

  “You have to break up with him, Megan. I hate to tell you that, but as your best friend…I’m telling you that.”

  I look at Lora with a sigh. “You’re right, but—”

  “No buts, Meg,” she cuts me off. “You know what? We’re going to write a list of reasons why you need to break up with Brayden.”

  “Don’t say his name!” I wail, burying my face into one of my pillows.

  “You’re being overdramatic,” she states in a matter-of-fact tone, “now work with me.”

  I toss my pillow aside and sigh once again. “Can I just tell you what to write? I don’t think I can make myself write the actual list, Lora.”

  “Fine,” she huffs, snatching a notebook off my desk, “I will write the actual list. So, let’s hear it. Why do you have to break up with Brayden?”

  “He’s always getting into trouble,” I reluctantly say, eyes glued to my bedroom ceiling. “Even though, I don’t think he means to.”

  “You’re dumping him, Meg—not defending him—stay focused. What’s the other reason?”

  At that, I squeeze my eyes shut. “Do I have to say it?”

  “Yes.”

  Ugh.

  “He wants to date other girls besides just me.”

  “Exactly,” she says, sounding like a proud teacher, “and it’s not okay that he wants more than one girlfriend.”

  “I know,” I reply, now opening my eyes, “I know.”

  This is so humiliating…

  “Is he a good kisser?”

  “What?” I all-but-shriek, completely sitting up on my bed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I heard my sister talking on the phone last week about how she wasn’t going to date Chris Wade because he’s a bad kisser,” Lora responds with a shrug. “She’s sixteen, Megan, she knows about this kind of stuff.”

  I bite my lip, mentally debating what I should say, because here’s the thing: Brayden and I haven’t kissed yet. We’ve mastered cheek kisses and forehead kisses, but lip kissing? I thought that would just happen later in our relationship! Should we have been kissing, kissing already? This is even more humiliating! I mean, Lora had her first kiss three months ago!

  “Megan? Is Brayden a good kisser? ’cause if he’s not, that is definitely a reason we need to add to the list.”

  “He’s not,” I say the words before I can even think them through.

  Oh my gosh, what have I done?

  “Yep, that’s what I thought.” She tsks, still writing in my notebook. “Well, we now have three solid reasons for you to dump Brayden. Number one: he’s always getting into trouble. Number two: he wants more than one girlfriend. Number three: he’s a bad kisser.” She proceeds to give me a dry look. “Need I go on? The dude just isn’t boyfriend material, Megan. You deserve better, and you need to tell him so.”

  My eyes widen at that. “Tell him? Like, actually tell him?”

  “Megan,” she says with a sigh, “how else are you going to break up with him? Yes, you have to actually tell him.”

  “Can’t you just do it for me?” I plead with clasped hands.

  “Nope,” she drawls, getting up from my desk chair, “I wrote the list for you, and that is where I draw the line.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it, Lora,” I say as she sets my notebook and purple pen beside me. “We’ve been dating for almost a month! And what if I can’t get another boyfriend afterward?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she replies, rolling her green eyes, “of course you’ll be able to get another boyfriend…a better one. Just trust me, okay?” She gives me a quick hug around the neck, and then pats my head. “I’ll call you after my flute lesson, that way we can go over what you’re going to tell him, sound good?”

  “Sure,” I agree weakly, “sounds perfect.”

  No, it doesn’t, it sounds terrible.

  But there’s no time to tell her that because she’s already leaving my room while shouting some kind of farewell over her shoulder. Crud. Why can’t Brayden just be boyfriend material? That would fix everything…

  I look down at the list that Lora wrote, and cringe as I read over it. Why did I say he’s a bad kisser? I should’ve just told her the truth. Maybe he really is a bad kisser though. Well, I guess I’ll never know. And how am I even supposed to tell Brayden that we need to break up? I really don’t feel like talking to him. After all, I am pretty mad that he wants to date other girls…

  Honestly, how dare he! I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to have more than one boyfriend!

  “You’re getting side-tracked, Megan,” I mutter to myself, tapping my pen against the notebook. “What are you going to say to him?”

  Then, I get a brilliant idea. Why do I have to say anything to him? What if I just wrote it to him? People write breakup letters, right? Well, even if they don’t, there is no way that I’m breaking up with him face-to-face. A breakup letter is the perfect solution. Or maybe just a breakup note, because letters usually have to be long…

  I tear the “list page” out, and then clear my throat before getting a better grip on my pen. How hard can it be to write a breakup note?

  Dear Brayden,

  I know we’ve been dating for almost a month…but we need to break up. In case you’re wondering why, I’m going to list the reasons for you. Number one: you’re always getting into trouble. Number two: you want more than one girlfriend. And number three: you’re a bad kisser.

  Maybe I should come up with a different third reason. It feels wrong to tell him that he’s a bad kisser if I don’t know whether it’s actually the truth. Then again, he might just think I’m talking about cheek/forehead kissing…which he’s very good at. Ugh, why am I making this harder for myself? I just need to stick with the three reasons and break up with him.

  What we had was nice while it lasted, but this just isn’t going to work out. I hope you understand. Maybe we can still be friends.

  -Me
gan

  Do I want to be friends with him though? Well, I’m writing in pen, it’s not like I can just erase that part. And I don’t want to rewrite everything…

  Besides, what could it hurt?

  Chapter 1: New Neighbors

  “So, James Trent is throwing a party tonight,” Lora drawls, casually flipping through one of my Everything Teen magazines, “you wanna go?”

  “Yeah, no,” I reply with a snort, “last time I went to one of his parties, someone stole my jacket.”

  She looks up to roll her green eyes at me, “That was almost a year ago.”

  “And here I am without my favorite jean jacket,” I state in a bitter tone. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “If you want a jean jacket so flippin’ badly, you can just borrow one of mine,” she says, tossing the magazine aside. “You have to come.” She smacks her hands down on her knees before standing up. “So, let’s find something for you to wear, yeah?”

  “Noooooo,” I groan, widening my eyes at her, “I don’t wanna go to James Trent’s stupid party!”

  I’d much rather stay home and binge-watch my favorite shows on MoreFlix, is that too much to ask for?

  “Hey,” Lora says, now looking out my bedroom window, “I thought you said your new neighbors weren’t moving in until next week?”

  My eyebrows crease as I proceed to examine the spilt-ends of my dark hair. “They’re not.”

  “Well, they’re early.”

  I go ahead and look up at her. “So what?”

  “So what?” she echoes, crossing her arms. “Don’t you find that suspicious?”

  “No,” I drawl, rubbing the side of my nose, “why should I?”

  “Come on,” she says, suddenly turning away from the window, “let’s get a pair of your dad’s binoculars!”

  “Lora, you know we can’t. He’ll freak if we mess with any of his stuff.”

  Dad is an ornithologist (which is just a fancy way of saying that he’s a bird-nerd), and his entire study is full of bird books, bird pictures, bird models, bird posters, and bird-watching binoculars that are ALL completely off-limits unless he says differently.

  Lora flips her caramel-colored waves over her shoulder with a scoff. “Well, how else are we supposed to spy on your new neighbors?”

  “I have an idea!” I exclaim, feigning excitement. “Let’s not spy, and say we did!”

  She lifts an eyebrow at that. “Really, Meg?”

  “Yes,” I reply with a firm nod. “Besides, they’re probably just an old retired couple.”

  Like the Gravinskys, two houses down. Or the Pennings, across the street.

  “Ugh.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re no fun.”

  “I am too,” I say, scowling at her, “just because I don’t want to spy on my new neighbors, doesn’t mean that—”

  “You know what?” she interrupts me, grabbing my magazine once again. “Let’s just go back to flipping through magazines that have hot guys, and girls we want to hate. Would you rather do that?”

  I start to reply, but then another voice joins the conversation.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  I turn to see my seven-year-old brother eating a—

  “Kyle!” I snap at him. “Is that an ice pop?”

  He licks the side of his orange, melting, frozen abomination. “Duh.”

  “Out,” I order, pointing toward the hallway. “I’ve already told you that you’re not allowed to eat in my room!”

  He proceeds to mimic me, and then sticks his orange-dyed tongue in my direction before leaving the room.

  So. Annoying.

  “Megan!” I hear Mom yell from downstairs. “Come here, please!”

  I ignore the smirk on Lora’s face as I reluctantly slide off my bed. “COMING!”

  Lora’s phone starts to ring, and she nods after checking it. “Surprise, surprise. It’s my mom.”

  “Ha,” I say as she answers the phone, “who’s smirking now, Lora?”

  I give her a big, fat smirk before striding out of my room, and I almost collide with my twelve-year-old sister. “Hailee, what the—” I stop when I see her makeup coated face. “Have you been using my makeup?”

  The little troll…

  She rolls her brown (and heavily lined) eyes. “What and ev, Megan. It’s—”

  “Coming off,” I finish for her, “and after you’re done washing off my makeup, we’re going to have a little talk with Mom about you using my stuff.”

  She rolls her eyes, again, before stomping off to her room.

  “You better take it off!” I call after her. “I know where you live!”

  “Megan!” Mom yells for me again. “Now, please!”

  Ugh.

  I go downstairs with a grumbled curse. “Where are you?”

  “Kitchen!” she hollers from that direction. “Hurry, please!”

  Please, is one of Mom’s favorite words.

  “What’s up?” I ask her as I walk into the kitchen. “Is something wrong?”

  “I need you to put the cookies on those serving trays,” she says, motioning to both things. “Where’s Lora? She can help you with it.”

  “I actually have to go, Mrs. Taylor,” Lora drawls, now appearing beside me, “my mom wants me home.”

  How convenient.

  “Oh,” Mom replies with a tsk, “well, tell her that I said hi.”

  Lora smiles at her. “Will do.” She then turns to me. “Later, Meg. Have fun with the cookies.”

  “Traitor,” I mutter as she leaves the kitchen.

  “And no eating any of the cookies, Megan,” Mom tells me in a stern voice, “they’re for the neighborhood committee meeting tonight.”

  She would’ve never known that I had some of the cookies she baked for Kyle’s school’s bake sale last month if he hadn’t snitched on me…

  “Sure, Mom,” I say, starting to put the cookies onto the trays, “but do you really need this many?”

  “And once you’re done with the cookies,” she starts, ignoring my question, “I’ll need you to take my blueberry bread over to the new neighbors.”

  My shoulders drop at that. “But, Mom, wh—”

  “I really wish I could do it, me being the committee president and all,” she says with a sigh, “but with the meeting tonight, and Kyle having a sleepover at his friend’s house…there’s just no time.”

  I roll my eyes at how “disappointed” she sounds, because I know that she actually likes being busy. If there’s not something going on every flippin’ day of her planner—she will literally freak out.

  “And when you do take the bread to our new neighbors,” she continues, taking her polka-dot oven mitts off, “make sure you give them my sincerest apologies.”

  I fight back another eye-roll. “Sure thing.”

  She nods in approval. “Good, now…”

  I continue to transfer the cookies as she bustles around while muttering under her breath, but then I stop when a grubby hand grabs one of the triple chocolate chunk beauties. “Kyle!”

  He proceeds to sticks the whole darn thing into his mouth. “Whut?”

  “Megan!” Mom exclaims with her hands on her hips. “You gave him one of the cookies?”

  “What? No!” I jab an accusing finger at the little monster. “He took it!”

  Her lips purse at that. “Really, Megan…” She turns to Kyle and ruffles his short, brown hair. “Go wash up, okay, Ky-Ky? We’ll be leaving shortly.”

  He swallows, blinks his big eyes at her, and then offers an innocent smile. “Yes, Mommy.”

  I glare at him as he skips off. He’s such a kiss-up.

  “Now your dad will be home tomorrow after his convention,” Mom states in a matter-of-fact tone, “so can you tidy up a little around the house?

  I point to myself in disbelief. “Me?”

  “And keep an eye on Hailee tonight,” she instructs as she unties her matching polka-dot apron, “I don’t want her watching that Cloverdale show,
okay?”

  “MOM!” Hailee’s shrill voice rings from upstairs before I can even complain to Mom. “KYLE IS IN MY ROOM!”

  “Coming! And Hailee, please…” Mom’s voice fades out as she leaves the kitchen, and I wrinkle my nose at the delicious cookies. Why am I stuck doing everything? Example number one, Hailee’s tenth birthday party: I was volunteered to blow up the balloons for the balloon arch—without any help—all one hundred of them. Example number two, Kyle’s soccer team’s snacks: I’m the one who got stuck passing out juice boxes and granola bars, only to hear most of the kids complain about flavors and brands.

  Story. Of. My. Life.

  By the time I transfer the last cookie, and cover both filled trays with foil, I hear Kyle asking Mom (for the umpteenth time) about getting a dog. It’s not going to happen though. Mom “doesn’t-do-pets,” and Kyle can’t seem to get that through his head.

  “Kyle…I already said no, honey,” Mom tells him in an exasperated voice as they both walk into the kitchen. “Please stop asking.” She grabs both trays off the counter, and then gives me a rushed thank you as she leaves the room again. “Don’t forget to take the bread, Megan!”

  “Stupid neighbors,” I grumble after Mom and Kyle go outside, “if they moved in next week like they were supposed to, then Mom could take the bread to them.”

  I grunt as I grab the plastic-wrapped blueberry bread, and then I walk into the living room. Might as well get this over with…

  “Hailee!” I yell, opening the front door. “I’m going next door! I’ll be right back!”

  She doesn’t reply though, so I don’t wait around. I close the door behind me after stepping outside, which causes Mrs. Penning to pause in getting her mail and to look in my direction instead. Being the great neighbor that I am, I wave to her. Then surprise, surprise, she doesn’t wave back. Typical.

  I trudge across our lawn over to the new neighbors’ front yard, noting the huge moving truck that’s parked in their driveway, and I may or may not peek into the back of it. I mean, the door is open. And from what I can see, they still have quite a bit to unload.