Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Is it my world and Timothy’s I’m trying to unite?
Which one of us is A major?
Which one of us C?
Does it matter?
Both chords are beautiful on their own. But the moment you play them at the same time, together, they clash, fight each other, sound wrong, fall apart.
I stop strumming, bothered by that.
Maybe I shouldn’t pursue Timothy at all. I’m doing nothing but chasing dreams when I think of him. I’m pretending I know a star just because I can see it in the night sky, because it seems right there within reach, as close as an eyelash.
But it’s not close at all. It’s light years away.
None of those stars out there belong to me. The night can’t lend its treasures any more than Spruce can let go a guy like him.
A cow moos in my ear. I turn my head, confused.
It’s my phone on the table next to me, mooing.
Fiona, who for some mystifying reason retained my passcode after helping me with one tiny thing a year ago, likes changing my ringtone. I think she finds it funny. Don’t know why I still haven’t updated my passcode. I guess the cow’s better than the blood curdling scream she set it as before—which woke me from a dead sleep not too long ago when I got a call at around this hour, too.
So it’s with conviction that I pick up my phone, figuring Fiona to be watching from her hotel window, grinning mischievously.
What I find instead is an unknown number.
I never answer unknown numbers.
And sure as hell not at 3 in the damned morning.
Could Fiona be blocking her own number just to play out this whole cow-moo thing? She really could be watching me from her hotel window. I’m within view, after all. Unless she got one of the odd-numbered rooms that face the other way.
Fuck it. I answer. “Moooo back at you,” I say right off.
There’s silence. Not even a snicker.
I grow unsettled at once. “Uh … hello?”
“Moo back at me?” comes a voice.
I sit up at once, nearly catapulting poor Glorious off my chest, catching it at the neck to prevent a catastrophe. “Timothy?”
“Sorry. It’s late. Like, really late. But you did tell me you’re up until, uh, ‘dead-o’clock’ I believe you said. Don’t know why I called right now and not during the day like a normal person.”
“I was up,” I tell him right away. Silence. I shrug. “I’m … not a normal person.”
“Who really is?” he asks back.
I hear the lightness in his voice. I’m still stunned he called. It doesn’t even matter to me what time it is. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“What was that about mooing …?”
“Long story. Ringtone. My—” I can’t say bandmate. He thinks I’m a groupie. “… sister keeps changin’ my ringtone. So it’s a cow now. Mooin’ at me at all hours.”
“My phone’s been on silent so long because of school, I can’t even tell you what mine is.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You could … make it a favorite song.”
“I’d ask for a suggestion, but I already know you’ll just barf more Chase Holt all over me.”
I smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“And yes, I … couldn’t sleep.” After a second, he sighs. “I don’t know what it is about this time of night. I keep waking up. Then I pace around my room. Then I try to doodle. Then I remember that I’m not an art major and laugh myself to tears. Are you sure you want to keep getting to know me?”
I’m still smiling, hasn’t gone away. “Why’d you call me?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep. Didn’t I say that already?” He takes a breath. “So you have a sister?”
“Well, yeah. But the ‘sister’ I mentioned just now is … more of a friend. A sisterly friend … who acts more like a prank-playin’ frat bro I can’t get away from. My real sister’s older. Then I’ve got two younger brothers.”
“Wow. Big sis and her trio of little brothers. Your parents had their hands full.”
I chuckle. “You can say that.” I wait a moment. “And … you?”
“Just me. Only child. Kind of a sad story. My parents had a … a really, really hard time having a child. They tried for years. Failed. Then when they weren’t trying, I sort of just happened. I’m their miracle baby. All their hopes and dreams … right here.”
I try to picture his face telling me this, as if he’s here, seated on this picnic table by my side. I even turn my head that way. “It sounds like … a lot of pressure on those shoulders of yours. To live up to all them hopes ‘n dreams …”
“Bingo,” he says cutely.
I run my finger over my lips, thinking. “Is that why you called your town ‘quicksand’? Feels like you get sucked in every time you go? Like you can’t get out?”