Miss Me Not

By Tiffany King

From USA Today Bestselling author, Tiffany King

"Five beautiful stars for Miss Me Not."—Bestselling Author, Tara Sivec-Seduction and Snacks, Futures and Frosting, Troubles and Treats.

"Well worth reading! While the subject matter is intense, it isn't in any way graphic, and is suitable for teen audiences (I wouldn't have any problem with my daughter reading this)."—Bestselling Author, Charles Sheehan-Miles-Just Remember to Breathe, A Song for Julia.

Everyone at some point has probably done something they wish
they could take back. Madison Hanson's past mistakes have made her feel like a
shadow. Her grades suck, her social life is non-existent and her home life
isn't much better. Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, the
sudden and tragic death of a fellow student forces Madison to reevaluate
everything she thought she believed in.

Fate intervenes in the form of Dean Jackson, a popular "Mr.
Everything" at school whose life is the polar opposite of Madison's. What
starts as a simple tutoring session blossoms into an unlikely relationship, proving
that opposites do sometimes attract. With Dean's help, Madison discovers a new
life outside of the darkness she has cloaked herself in, and the power of
forgiveness, acceptance, caring and love.

Other works by Tiffany King
The Saving Angels Series
Meant to Be (book 1)
Forgotten Souls (book 2)
The Ascended (book 3)
Wishing For Someday Soon
Forever Changed
Unlikely Allies
Jordyn: A Daemon Hunter Novel Book 1
No Attachments

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiffany King
• Release date: Nov 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301692408

Tiffany King

Tiffany King is the USA Today bestselling author of over fifteen young adult and new adult novels. Publishers Weekly called her adult contemporary romance release, A Shattered Moment, "heartfelt... an admirably authentic portrait of PTSD."

Book preview

Miss me not

By

Tiffany King

www.authortiffanyjking.blogspot.com

Cover design by Okay Creations

www.okaycreations.net

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2012 by Tiffany King

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

On a personal note

Suicide is never the answer, no matter how serious or hopeless a problem feels. Please seek help if you feel lost. There are people who care.

Trust me. You do matter.

Contact: The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-TALK (8255)

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Anytime 24/7

To my wolfpack

Thank you so so much for all your support. Big chocolate kisses to you all.

Miss me not

Chapter One

Mitch Johnson died last night.

He killed himself. I wasn't sad or heartbroken when I heard. I was pissed. Stark raving pissed. I didn't know Mitch well. He was like me, a shadow that floated down the hallways, unnoticed and seemingly nonexistent among the crowd. I knew my attitude seemed callous, but I didn't care. Mitch stole my thunder.

It should have been me.

Mr. Wilson, our douche bag principal, decided to inform us of Mitch's death between news of an upcoming carwash fundraiser and a threat to crack down on student littering. How he had reached the conclusion that this was the best spot for an announcement like this was beyond me. I was doodling in the margins of my World History book, trying to ignore the annoying squawk of the intercom, and the droning voice of Mr. Wilson, when he suddenly slid Mitch's suicide in so quickly that I was momentarily confused by the words. I wasn't even sure I'd heard him right until the entire female population of the class gasped at once. The rest of the announcements were quickly drowned out by an eruption of chatter throughout the room. It was glaringly obvious the news had just added excitement to a drab Tuesday morning. The reactions ran the gambit from feigned grief to jokes about how Mitch may have offed himself.

As for me, I was pissed and confused. Why do it on a Monday night? There was nothing significant about a Monday. My friend James, aka suicide buddy, and I had given the subject a great deal of thought, and had decided that a Thursday was the best day. If you did it on the weekend, it would add drama to everyone's Monday, giving them nonstop gossip for the entire week. Tuesday held the same risk. Wednesday was a little more desirable, but Thursday was ideal. The student body wouldn't find out until Friday morning, and most of them would be too hyped up for the upcoming weekend to give a shit about the demise of a fellow student they never cared about in the first place.

The squawking of the intercom cut off abruptly and was replaced by sobbing. I twisted around incredulously, searching for the person who Mitch had meant enough to that they'd break down in class. What I saw was disgusting. It wasn't one individual, but three. The three clones, as I liked to call them. Every school had their prestigious groups. They were the cheerleaders, the jocks and the charismatic kids everyone wanted to be. One of the criers was on our Squadets Team which was our school's version of a pep squad. The student body got the privilege of watching the Squadet team shake their asses during pep rallies and any other event the school felt was ass-shaking worthy. Of course, now the normally perky, I-wish-it-was-legal-to-stab-them popular bunches were sobbing on each other's shoulders as if they had just heard that The Vampire Diaries had been cancelled. What a bunch of phony assholes. Go figure they would use this opportunity to steal attention for themselves.

I bet if asked at gunpoint they wouldn't have been able to tell you what Mitch looked like, what kind of clothes he wore, what types of music he listened to—nothing. Not that I knew anything about him either, but you didn't see me with false tears running down my cheeks. Their over-the-top performance hit me hard and heavy, leaving me gasping for my own breath. Never in any of my contemplations about how I'd go about ending my own worthless existence did I ever consider my passing being a bonding moment for those who would step over anyone and everyone. I had expected gossip and speculation and the clucking of ignorant tongues, but not this crap.

It was like a slap in the face. Ms. Jones handed out tissues to the sobbing girls and offered to send them to the counselors. All three gathered their belongings, excited at the idea of attending something as soul-searching as grief counseling. Once they made their grand exit, Ms. Jones closed up her lesson plan book.

Does anyone else need to see the counselors? she asked compassionately, sitting on the edge of her desk and swinging her feet lightly.

Of all my teachers, Ms. Jones was my least favorite. She was young, which equaled still gave a shit in teacher code. She was fresh out of school and convinced she could change the world. Five years from now she'd be jaded, bitching about us students to her peers any chance she got. I disliked her because she was convinced she could save me.

If I had a sense of humor, I would have laughed. Save me from what? Perhaps from my parents who forgot they'd had a daughter almost from the moment I was born, or maybe from the students who whispered behind their hands about me, or maybe she thought she could save me from myself. All were laughable if I had a sense of humor, but I didn't, so it wasn't.

No one responded to Ms. Jones' offer, so she decided to make her own amateur attempt at counseling.

I know the death of a fellow student is rough, she said in a voice that seemed overly patronizing. High school is a tough hormonal roller-coaster ride at times. It may become or seem unbearable, she added, looking at me directly.

I looked down. How dare the whore cat draw attention to me. She didn't know me. This was why I didn't like her. I didn't need her to save me. Mitch had unintentionally done that by taking his own life. Observing the aftermath of his death had left me shuddering at the gloried tear-fest I'd be providing for those who passed by my shadow each day.

I didn't want their tears.

I didn't want them to think of me.

I wanted nothing from them.

That asshole Mitch Johnson saved my life today. What a prick.

Chapter Two

James Isaac Garrison III, my best friend/suicide buddy, met me outside by the portables the school no longer needed. Tax money from hardworking taxpayers had finally allowed for the construction of our now rival high school, five miles away. We lost half the student body when the new school opened, along with the only decent teachers we had. Who could blame them for jumping ship? The new school had state-of-the-art equipment, brand spanking new classrooms and a teacher's lounge that was any teacher's wet dream. I'm sure when faced with staying behind in our shithole, with its endless sidewalks covered in fossilized gum, crappy air conditioning and smelly cafeteria, it was an all out race to see who could leave first.

James, my best friend, my only friend, was perched on the slanted walkway of one of the abandoned portables studying a rusted-out hole roughly the size of a softball when I joined him. If it was possible for me to love anyone, I would have loved James. I was fascinated with his blemish-free, mocha-colored skin that seemed to be as smooth as satin. I had spent hours daydreaming what his skin felt like, but had never given in to the urge. I had a strict do not touch rule.

I'll always remember the last time I'd willingly touched someone with shocking clarity. I was thirteen, and it marked the end of my life as I had once known it. I didn't have some bullshit paranormal anomaly that prevented human contact, although that might have been easier. I just didn't like to be touched anymore, not since that day. I'm sure when I was little I must have felt differently, right? I mean, babies liked to be held and snuggled, so obviously, I must have liked it at one point, but no longer.

You heard? James stated.

Yeah, it's horseshit. Some of the Populars started crying. Can you believe that? They're not supposed to mourn us. They're not even supposed to think about us, I said, agitated as I paced up and down the metal ramp. How can they miss something they never knew? They've effed up our plan, I said as the ramifications tore through me. In one swoop everything I had counted on had been pulled out from under me.

I know. A couple chicks in my physics class did the same thing. It doesn't mean anything. We could still do it. We wouldn't be around to see their reactions… he started to say, but I was already shaking my head.

And give those drama-loving glory-hounds something to falsely mourn over? I said, plopping down next to him. We were supposed to disappear without a single ripple. I've given people enough reasons to talk about me. This was going to be my clean break, I said, fighting back the sudden moisture that had popped up in my eyes. We'd spent endless hours discussing disappearing from the land of the living, and now it felt like all that time was wasted.

I guess, James said, digging around in the rusted-out hole with a stick.

We could just leave, I said, looking for an alternate solution.

Yeah, because I'm sure we'd be the cream of the crop for any company looking to hire, with no high school diploma or work experience, James said sarcastically.

Truth, I sighed, lying back against the metal ramp. I guess maybe I can make it to grad. Can you?

He shrugged. I didn't push it. James's demons were different than mine. Being gay in a household with a domineering, ex-jock father wasn't easy. I'd seen the dark bruises James had to prove it. He could have turned his father in. Hell, I could have turned his father in, but we didn't. Abuse came in all kinds of forms. The sad thing is that there was a time I would have envied the attention he got. That's the sick kind of person I was. I mean, what kind of effed up person envied physical abuse as a form of desirable attention?

Me. That's who.

When I was little, I'd hoped my actions would get the reaction I craved from my parents. My attention seeking first started when I was four. I was sick of being stuck in the church daycare every single night, so I showed my displeasure by biting everyone I could sink my teeth into. I think I was hoping my actions would get me booted out and I could stay with my parents, but instead it earned me a one-way ticket to solitary confinement. They fenced me off in the far corner of the room, like a shark that couldn't be trusted with the other fish. My parents had been so unhappy with my sudden need to gnaw on other people that they even carried out the punishment at home by sending me to bed every night the moment we got home from church. Solitary confinement became my normal.

Once I realized gnawing on humans wouldn't get me the attention I yearned for, I tried my hand at destruction. Unfortunately, I underestimated the ramifications of flushing the heads of Barbie dolls down a toilet. At first, I enjoyed watching their heads circling the bowl, but instead of riding the circular wave to oblivion, they simply clogged the pipe and the water in the bowl proceeded to rise. In hindsight, I should have told my mom, but she was by the front door hollering that we were going to be late for, you guessed it, church. I guess in my five-year-old mind, I thought maybe the problem would somehow fix itself while we were away. That would be a resounding hell no. We arrived home three hours later to a foot and half of water throughout the entire house. I got spanked for that one, and for a moment, I was almost happy, thinking they did actually care about me. My destructive nature was short-lived when everything in the house below the waist had to be replaced—furnishing, carpeting, drywall and all my toys. I didn't miss my dolls with their freaky happy faces or my now decapitated Barbies, but I mourned the loss of my picture books that I would leaf through for hours at a time. Damn those fat Barbie heads. I blamed them for my loss, and to this day I can't walk down the sickeningly pink Barbie aisle of any store.

I moved right from destruction to a daredevil stage, by climbing anything and everything. I became an expert at scaling heights. My mom would find me perched on top of the fridge, the top shelf of my closet, and my all-time favorite, the roof of the house. The first time I climbed on top of the house she called the fire department to get me down. The kind fireman who scaled the roof plucked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me down. He lectured me on safety and the harm I could have come to. I soaked his words up like a sponge, and the next time I scaled the roof, I waited for one of the tragic events he'd claimed would occur, but after an hour had passed without a sudden fall resulting in multiple broken bones, I was highly disappointed. None of his prophecies came to pass, so I was once again plucked off the roof by another fireman. This one wasn't so kind and told my mom to keep a better eye on me since their services were needed for real emergencies. I guess I should have expected bars on my window after that, but Mom solved the problem by limiting my time at home, which meant more time at church. So, in a way, she found the ultimate punishment. Church always won. It stole every hour I was supposed to have with my parents. I hated the thieving bastard.

So, what do you think? James asked, breaking through my thoughts.

I'm sorry, what did you say? I asked.

"I said, do you want to hang after school? My dad's working double shifts all week, so I'm free. Maybe we can hang at your house. You know, talk about 'it'."

It was how we referred to our pact. We always avoided the word suicide, feeling once it was uttered someone would somehow find out and try to intervene. Who would have ever foreseen that the actions of one would be the very thing that would seal my fate? For four years I had done nothing but contemplate snuffing out my existence. No more judgments, no more glares and most of all, no more gossip surrounding things I had done. All of that was swiped away. In the end, they would still win. They always won.

Can't, I have freaking tutoring, I said, finally answering his question as I grimaced at the idea of staying at school a minute longer than I wanted to.

Tutoring? I thought all your teachers had given up on you, he said, trying to hide his disappointment. He hated his house even when his father wasn't home.

"Not that bitch Ms. Jones. It's either tutoring with some know-it-all, or she wants to schedule a meeting with my mom.

Would she even show? he asked.

Probably not. You know her rules though—either I keep my nose clean here and my grades passing, or she's sending me to that bullshit trade school for troubled teens in Jackson County.

I can tutor you, he said as a last-ditch attempt.

I told Whore Cat that, but she said either I used her approved tutor or it was conference time. I'll try to duck out early and we can meet at my house. I'll give you my key and you can head there to wait for me.

Nah, that's okay. I can go to my house, he said reluctantly.

James, it's fine. Hang at my house.

You sure?

Sure. No one will be home. You'll have the house to yourself until I get there.

Thanks, M, he said, looking almost happy at the rare solitude he'd have.

In our own demented way, we were made for each other. He craved solitude while I felt solitude was a just punishment.

So, who's your tutor? he asked, laying back down next to me.

I'm not sure. Whore Cat was pretty much closemouthed about it. Knowing my luck, it'll be some eager beaver freshman.

He nodded. That sounds like something she'd do.

Strangle me now, I said sarcastically, wrapping my fingers around my throat to emphasize my point.

M, can I ask you a question?

Um, yeah.

You think you'd still go through with it? he asked.

He didn't need to clarify.

I want to. I mean, I just want to disappear, leave nothing behind, but today showed me that's not possible. I don't want anyone here to falsely mourn me. I don't know. Maybe if I make it to grad, I can disappear and no one here will ever give me another thought once we walk out the doors the last day of class. What about you?

I guess I feel the same as you, he said, sounding anything but sure.

At least we have each other. One day you'll be away from your dickhead father and I'll be away from my void of a life.

If I make it that long, he said, running the stick in his hands against the metal railing of the walkway.

I didn't comment. Our friendship was formed on non-probing. He didn't ask about my lack of parental involvement or my inability to touch other people, and I didn't ask about his father or his bruises. We weren't typical friends. We were silent comforters. I felt his pain and he felt mine. We'd been friends since the start of freshman year when we both headed out to the portables during lunch to escape the crowds. It took almost six months for us to talk to each other the first time, and another six for us to actually hang out. He was the only friend I had and yet, there was still so much I didn't know about him.

The bell ending lunch interrupted any further conversation as we gathered our belongings.

See you in a few, I said, heading toward the math building. Out of all my classes, I minded math the least. The teacher, Mr. Carson, was pretty straightforward. He'd cover the day's material for the first fifteen minutes of class and then give us the remaining thirty-two minutes to figure out the problems for the day's assignment. I usually spent ten of those minutes blowing through the problems, really not caring how many I missed, and would spend the rest of the time doodling in my notebook. I would have preferred to read, but I'd learned long ago that when teachers saw that you liked to read they started to expect more from you, so I doodled. I was a terrible artist, but the monotony of drawing helped make the hours slide away and gave me the excuse of not having to look up. Not that I had to worry about anyone looking at me.

When I first started freshman year, the stares of the other students followed me wherever I went. I could tell they already knew who I was. Maybe I should have been upset that my spotty reputation had followed me, but instead, it gave me the cloak of deception I yearned for. I was no longer the same person I'd been in junior high, but they didn't need to know that. I was fine with their assumptions. I didn't hang with anyone, and my appearance didn't tie me to any particular group either. My never-changing dark wardrobe, sometimes color-streaked hair and tattooed wrist were nothing that you would consider flamboyant. I didn't talk unless I had to, and I definitely didn't participate in

Reviews for Miss Me Not

[robert.zimmermann · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

*Read as an ARC copy received from the author

Tiffany King has yet again wowed me with her writing. I’ve read all of her books since Wishing For Someday Soon was published earlier this year, and I’ve never been disappointed.

In her newest novel, Miss Me Not, King has stepped outside of her comfort zone to write a story that packs a punch for anyone who reads it. It’s edgy. It’s hard-hitting. It’s going to make any reader stop in their tracks and rethink various aspects of life. It might even make some readers feel more grateful for the life they lead.

What I enjoyed most was seeing the inner workings of Madison’s mind. This novel is told in the first person point of view, though Madison’s eyes. I don’t think it could have worked better if done much differently. Without that window into how Madison saw things, I don’t think the reader would be able to sympathize with her character as much. The experience of various events would have been to limited from an outsider’s perspective. On the topic of POV, I did think that at certain times, it would have been nice to get to see Dean’s view on things. I think knowing his motivations in a less limited way would have furthered my understanding of the story, as a whole. What was his plan from the beginning? How did everything factor in together? I think knowing from his POV earlier one would have worked well. Don’t get me wrong though, aside from my wish for some of Dean’s point of view, the first person from Madison worked very well.

Another thing worth mentioning is that the pacing of the story is definitely different from King’s books like Forever Changed and Unlikely Allies. It wasn’t as fast paced when I read it. In a way this worked very well to allow me to soak in what I read. And on the other hand, I enjoy a book that goes, goes, and keeps going. King has a gift when it comes to a smooth and fast paced story-line, all while not hindering the reader from grabbing every detail of a story. Again, another personal opinion here.

The darker subject matter and emotional ride Miss Me Not holds within its pages made me at times put down the book and take a step back. It’s not the easier stuff to deal with. There’s bullying, broken families/friendships, thoughts of suicide, and other topics I won’t bring up in the review. Let this be known: Miss Me Not might not be for every reader. There were times when even I didn’t know if I wanted to pick the book back up. This isn’t saying that it’s a terrible book. It’s the opposite of that. It hits close to home in many areas and in relating to some parts of the story it makes too a little uncomfortable. I feel this is the work of genius storytelling.

In closing, I feel that this story, for me, deserves another read through sooner rather than later. Now that I’ve finished it, I think I’ll appreciate it even more than I already do by experiencing it all over again.

[readunderthemoon · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

surprisingly well written and sensitive

[SuperBabe818 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G.
This book is one of true value. The storyline is flawless, and this book has made it's way into the top 5 books I've read this month. And I've read at least 20, and that's just this month.
This is a must read.
While the cover itself didn't call to me, the description did. Give this book a go, and you WILL NOT regret it.