Loving Arrow is my doom.
So he’s not my dear, he’s my darling.
Once I’ve written them, I put them inside an orange envelope, which I then put inside a shoebox that I hide under my bed.
Well, whatever bed I’m sleeping in, that is.
Back at Leah’s place, I had them – the shoeboxes, quite a few of them now – under my twin bed.
The night I was running away, I was carrying them inside my backpack and my little suitcase. The shoeboxes full of lettersand the t-shirts that I stole from him. I didn’t want anything else other than those.
When I came to St. Mary’s, I smuggled those boxes inside too.
Tonight, after talking to my sister, I sit in my bed, while Elanor snores away in hers, close to the window, and write him a new letter under the moon that appears to be red.
It’s not ideal but I make do.
I strain my eyes and scratch my pen on the paper, telling him that I saw him last night. That it was such a shock, a wonderful surprise to see him. But I can’t understand why he’s not with Sarah.
I ask him what happened.
How could they have broken up when they love each other so much?
I urge him to tell me that it’s all a lie.
I ask him about Ben. About how upset he must’ve been to hit someone like that.
I ask him about the fact that he’s here.
At St. Mary’s. At my school.
How did he become my soccer coach? How is it that he’s going to be where I am?
How is it that I was running away from him but somehow, we ended up at the same place?
Somehow I’m going to see him every single day now.
And somehow I’m going to have to keep him safe from a witch called Salem.
Chapter Five
He is standing at the edge of the soccer field.
His sparkling sun-struck hair is the first thing I notice about him. Again.
Back at the bar, he had his cap on and so I couldn’t see it. But now I can.
Even though the September sky is gray, there’s still enough afternoon sunlight that the strands are shining. They’re fluttering in the slight breeze and I have to shove my hands down the pockets of my soccer shorts.
To curb the urge of running my fingers through them.
While his hair is sun-struck, the rest of him is all gray.
Gray trackpants, gray sneakers. And his signature gray gym t-shirt.
Back when I saw him for the first time in his kitchen, he wore the same style of t-shirt. It’s not something that’s very unique, the style, but on him it takes my breath away.
It’s loose and it flutters against his body in the breeze. That’s not the part I’m crazy about, however.
