I’ll Meet You There by Heather Demetrios Epub Ebook – Android Books

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I'll Meet You There - Heather Demetrios

If seventeen-year-old Skylar Evans were a typical Creek View girl, her future would involve a double-wide trailer, a baby on her hip, and the graveyard shift at Taco Bell. But after graduation, the only thing standing between straightedge Skylar and art school are three minimum-wage months of summer. Skylar can taste the freedom–that is, until her mother loses her job and everything starts coming apart. Torn between her dreams and the people she loves, Skylar realizes everything she’s ever worked for is on the line.

Nineteen-year-old Josh Mitchell had a different ticket out of Creek View: the Marines. But after his leg is blown off in Afghanistan, he returns home, a shell of the cocksure boy he used to be. What brings Skylar and Josh together is working at the Paradise–a quirky motel off California’s dusty Highway 99. Despite their differences, their shared isolation turns into an unexpected friendship and soon, something deeper.

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An Excerpt from I’ll Meet You There by Heather Demetrios

The Mitchells’ backyard was packed, full of recent and not-so-recent grads in various stages of party decay. The girls leaned against one another, wilted flowers that looked on while the guys got louder, sweatier.
I craned my neck and scanned the crowd for Chris, but my wingman had disappeared.
“Shit,” I muttered.
Like I needed any more confirmation of my loner status. I moved purposefully through the crowd, on a mission. The last thing I wanted was to have some drunk dude notice I was alone and try to hit on me.
A girl to my right stumbled, spilling her beer on my All Stars. I had to reach out an arm to steady her before she stabbed me in the toe with her stilettos. I sighed and shook my foot.
“Thanks!” she said, more to the air than me, as she turned back to the knot of girls beside her.
I turned around—Chris was over by the keg. When I raised my arms like, WTF, he turned over his empty cup, then made a sad face and pointed to the line of red-faced guys in front of him. Obviously he hadn’t taken me very seriously when I’d said, Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible.
I pulled out my phone and started texting Dylan while I made my way to Chris. Knowing her, she was probably in the back seat of her boyfriend’s beat-up Chevy Malibu, but I wanted Brownie points for coming out at all. Really, I was only here to see Josh Mitchell, this Marine I used to work with who had just come home from Afghanistan. I could have waited to see him some other time, but it seemed like a dick move; someone comes back from fighting a war, you go to their homecoming party.

U still here? Looking for Josh.
No answer.
People stumbled through the Mitchells’ back door, probably looking for the bathroom or somewhere to hook up. Every now and then, someone would wander out grinning stupidly from Reggie Vasquez’s hastily rolled joints. Linkin Park blared inside the house, and I wondered what the night would feel like if someone switched the soundtrack from angry kick-the-shit-out-of-stuff to Ben Harper or the Chili Peppers.
I stopped by the doorway when I saw a flash of long blond hair, but it wasn’t Dylan so I backed away, ignoring the what’s she doing here looks people were shooting at me. They weren’t mean-girl looks—I just didn’t belong. Didn’t want to.
Drunken laughter erupted from groups of partiers at regular intervals, but not because anything was funny. It was like laughter was just something you were supposed to do. I scanned the faces around me: the usual crew of locals from my high school. There were also a lot of slightly older faces—Josh Mitchell’s friends, partying with the teenagers, doing the same thing they had done every Saturday night since they were in junior high: Drink. Smoke. Screw. Repeat.

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