Love Sucks and Then You Die by Michael Grant & Katherine Applegate Page A
Authors: Michael Grant & Katherine Applegate
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would not register on this line. The entire history of modern humans barely registers.
Ms. Leach had warned them: You will find this exercise humbling and surprising.
E.V. clicks back to her e-mail.
She stares at her laptop screen and begins to type.
From: Spiker, Evening
Sent: Sunday, April 24 8:56 AM
To: Brizley, Bob
Subject: Re: wtf?
Bob:
I will be happy to cover the costs of dry cleani–
E.V. stops typing. Her mother is rapping insistently on her door. She doesn’t wait for E.V. to yell “Come in.”
She never does.
Terra Spiker looks elegantly fatigued in her Prada suit. She is the CEO of a pharmaceutical company worth billions. She always looks elegantly fatigued.
“Were you at work all night?” E.V. asks.
“A crisis. My head biochem is a cretin.” Terra waves a hand dismissively.
She trains her gaze on E.V.’s bloody dress. “What happened? Were you deflowered?”
“My virtue remains intact.”
“You’re all right, though.” It’s not so much a question as a command.
“Yep. Minor skirmish. I ran into my date’s nose.”
Terra puffs her lips and lets a bit of air escape. “You’re still taking the pill, Evening? And your condoms are up to date? Condoms expire, you know. Like milk.”
“You do understand, Mother, that I have never even been kissed?”
“Forewarned is forearmed.”
Terra approaches the bed. She strokes E.V.’s head the way an allergic person pets a cat. Satisfied her maternal duties have been executed, she heads for the door.
“I’m going to take a bath and head for bed. Do you have plans?”
“Homework. I might hook up with Aislin later.”
Terra exhales. “Aislin is a—”
“—drunken slut. Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that.”
“Actually, I was going to say ‘slutty drunk.’”
E.V. ignores her. It’s more efficient that way. “Speaking of slutty, do you remember your first kiss?”
“No.”
“Everyone remembers their first kiss.”
“Firsts are highly overrated. First kiss, first intercourse, first…” Terra says with a shrug, “marriage.”
E.V. frowns. Her father, having died several years ago, is not exactly in a position to defend himself.
Terra slips off a Jimmy Choo and rubs her heel. “Why do you ask?”
“I just feel like I’m behind the curve,” E.V. says. She points to her laptop. “Look at this time line. I mean, tick tock.”
Terra glances at E.V.’s screen. “You gave the Cretaceous Period too much space. Also the Triassic.”
“My point is: I’m not keeping up with my peer group.”
“Pfft. You’re only seventeen.”
“Fifteen.”
Terra pauses, calculating. Milestones are not her strong point.
“I’m emotionally delayed.” E.V. realizes she must need more sleep. She does not talk about feelings with her mother. Her mother is a businesswoman. She does not like feelings. She cannot patent them.
Terra purses her lips. Twin frown lines make it clear she’d prefer to be drawing her bubble bath.
“Aislin says I’m too much of a perfectionist about guys,” E.V. adds. She is beginning to feel quite sorry for herself.
“Aislin will happily bed any carbon life form with a credit card.”
“Maybe I am too picky.” E.V. tries unsuccessfully to comb her fingers through a knot in her hair. “I keep thinking if I wait long enough, the perfect guy will materialize. You know: fate. Kismet. True, perfect love.”
“Let me tell you what true love amounts to: pheromones and a nice Cabernet.”
“You loved Dad.”
“Yes, well. To err is human,” Terra says. She half smiles.
E.V. hopes it’s wistful, but she doubts it.
“Today’s his birthday, you know,” E.V. says softly.
“Is it?” Terra asks, and then she is gone.
“Thanks,” E.V. murmurs to her empty room. “I’m so glad we had this little pep talk.”
History homework beckons, but first, E.V. rereads Bob’s e-mail. She searches the trail of ellipses for a
Ms. Leach had warned them: You will find this exercise humbling and surprising.
E.V. clicks back to her e-mail.
She stares at her laptop screen and begins to type.
From: Spiker, Evening
Sent: Sunday, April 24 8:56 AM
To: Brizley, Bob
Subject: Re: wtf?
Bob:
I will be happy to cover the costs of dry cleani–
E.V. stops typing. Her mother is rapping insistently on her door. She doesn’t wait for E.V. to yell “Come in.”
She never does.
Terra Spiker looks elegantly fatigued in her Prada suit. She is the CEO of a pharmaceutical company worth billions. She always looks elegantly fatigued.
“Were you at work all night?” E.V. asks.
“A crisis. My head biochem is a cretin.” Terra waves a hand dismissively.
She trains her gaze on E.V.’s bloody dress. “What happened? Were you deflowered?”
“My virtue remains intact.”
“You’re all right, though.” It’s not so much a question as a command.
“Yep. Minor skirmish. I ran into my date’s nose.”
Terra puffs her lips and lets a bit of air escape. “You’re still taking the pill, Evening? And your condoms are up to date? Condoms expire, you know. Like milk.”
“You do understand, Mother, that I have never even been kissed?”
“Forewarned is forearmed.”
Terra approaches the bed. She strokes E.V.’s head the way an allergic person pets a cat. Satisfied her maternal duties have been executed, she heads for the door.
“I’m going to take a bath and head for bed. Do you have plans?”
“Homework. I might hook up with Aislin later.”
Terra exhales. “Aislin is a—”
“—drunken slut. Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that.”
“Actually, I was going to say ‘slutty drunk.’”
E.V. ignores her. It’s more efficient that way. “Speaking of slutty, do you remember your first kiss?”
“No.”
“Everyone remembers their first kiss.”
“Firsts are highly overrated. First kiss, first intercourse, first…” Terra says with a shrug, “marriage.”
E.V. frowns. Her father, having died several years ago, is not exactly in a position to defend himself.
Terra slips off a Jimmy Choo and rubs her heel. “Why do you ask?”
“I just feel like I’m behind the curve,” E.V. says. She points to her laptop. “Look at this time line. I mean, tick tock.”
Terra glances at E.V.’s screen. “You gave the Cretaceous Period too much space. Also the Triassic.”
“My point is: I’m not keeping up with my peer group.”
“Pfft. You’re only seventeen.”
“Fifteen.”
Terra pauses, calculating. Milestones are not her strong point.
“I’m emotionally delayed.” E.V. realizes she must need more sleep. She does not talk about feelings with her mother. Her mother is a businesswoman. She does not like feelings. She cannot patent them.
Terra purses her lips. Twin frown lines make it clear she’d prefer to be drawing her bubble bath.
“Aislin says I’m too much of a perfectionist about guys,” E.V. adds. She is beginning to feel quite sorry for herself.
“Aislin will happily bed any carbon life form with a credit card.”
“Maybe I am too picky.” E.V. tries unsuccessfully to comb her fingers through a knot in her hair. “I keep thinking if I wait long enough, the perfect guy will materialize. You know: fate. Kismet. True, perfect love.”
“Let me tell you what true love amounts to: pheromones and a nice Cabernet.”
“You loved Dad.”
“Yes, well. To err is human,” Terra says. She half smiles.
E.V. hopes it’s wistful, but she doubts it.
“Today’s his birthday, you know,” E.V. says softly.
“Is it?” Terra asks, and then she is gone.
“Thanks,” E.V. murmurs to her empty room. “I’m so glad we had this little pep talk.”
History homework beckons, but first, E.V. rereads Bob’s e-mail. She searches the trail of ellipses for a
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