Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I keep typing, my breath coming fast, bottled-up emotions pulsing out of me.
Alex: I’ve tried my best to be close with Elliot, but sometimes, it’s like I’m distancing myself from him as some warped defense mechanism. It feels automatic. I can’t call it subconscious because I know I’m doing it. But it feels like instinct.
Tori: You’re protecting yourself from being hurt again. You were burned before by your brother, by somebody Elliot reminds you of. You’re afraid if you let yourself care about Elliot, he’ll let you down, too.
Alex: But that’s not fair to project onto a kid.
Tori: No, it’s not.
My virgin texts with brutal honesty, challenging me to do better, be better.
Tori: You need to be there for him, Alex. You’ve already given him more than most kids could dream of with this wonderful home, a nanny, a bright future. But trust me. Even though my parents argued every night, I still wish my dad was here.
Alex: Maybe I need somebody with a poetic eye to take some photos.
Tori: I’d be happy to do that. Elliot seems like a good kid.
Alex: Even if he’s imaginary?
Tori: LOL. I’m glad you can joke about that. I put myself through the wringer, thinking you made him up. I honestly believed it. But maybe my friends are right. Maybe I was just trying to avoid how I really feel.
Alex: And how do you really feel?
She doesn’t reply straight away. I know how she feels. I experience it when we kiss and hold each other. I’m sure I can even feel it through her messages.
She feels exactly like I do—like Valentine’s Day did something to us, changed us, even if it makes us crazy.
Tori: I feel like a girl who needs some sleep.
That’s a cop-out, but I decide not to press the issue. I don’t want to pressure her.
We’re way past casual, but I could lose her forever if I push too hard.
CHAPTER 21
TORI
Iwake early and go into the kitchen to make some coffee. I think I’ll be the only one awake until I find Elliot sitting at the table, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he leans over a notebook.
“Uh, hey,” he says with a nervous smile.
I grin and join him at the table. “Hi, Elliot. What’re you working on?”
“Sorry… you’re Tori, yeah?”
“Good memory.”
He smiles. “Thanks. It’s just English homework. We have to talk about this poem, this love poem. What’s it called?”
I give him a moment, then offer, “A sonnet?”
He lights up. “Yeah, that’s it. A sonnet.”
“What is the question?” I ask.
“They want us to decide if it’s a good poem.”
“Hmm. And how are they defining ‘good poem’?”
Elliot’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know. I like math. I know that’s silly because most people hate it, but I like it. I think I’m going to be an accountant. Or an architect. Uncle Alex says both are good jobs, jobs to be proud of, you know?”
“I agree,” I tell him. “When I was your age, I wanted to be a rocket scientist.”
“Whoa, that’s cool. What do you want to be now?”
He asks this with a child’s honest, blunt curiosity. “Happy,” I tell him with the same honesty.
He tilts his head. “Aren’t you happy now?”
The question cuts deep. Before Valentine’s Day, I would’ve told him that, yes, I was happy. I would’ve said I was content to go on with my life how I’d been going for years: work at the restaurant, work on my poetry, hang out with my friends, argue, and then make up with Mom.
But then Elliot’s uncle came along and changed everything.
Being here in this family environment makes me think dangerous yet tempting thoughts.
“I’m as happy as I can reasonably expect to be,” I say.
Elliot giggles. “That doesn’t sound very happy.”
“Do you want some help with your homework?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “Would you, really?”
“Sure. I’m a poet myself. My most recent poem was about love… sort of.”
“How can it be sort of about love, Tori?”
I look at his sonnet. “So, with Shakespeare, his sonnets were often quite clear in their messaging. He knew he was in love with his subject. He didn’t hold back. He enthusiastically and proudly painted his love with words.”
“Wait, hold up,” Elliot says, scrawling on his notebook, Enthusiastically and proudly painted his love with words…
I laugh. “Isn’t that called copying, young man?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s called inspiration.”
That gets another laugh out of me. This kid is precocious and hilarious.
“But that’s not what my poem was like. Mine was more about if love is a good idea.”
“Why would it be a bad idea?” he asks.
“Sometimes, love can lead down bad paths.”
He suddenly looks older, more serious. “Like with Mom and Dad?”
“I… uh, I don’t know.”
I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
“It’s okay, Tori. I know what happened. Dad was Uncle Alex’s brother. And Mom was Uncle Alex’s girlfriend. Mom and Dad weren’t supposed to be together, but then they had me.”