She shook her head. “First love-slash-crush. Because you really fell for him. Am I right?”
I nodded.Guilty as charged.
Dear Alex,
I know you don’t remember the first time we met. You talked to me backstage, but when we ran into each other a few days later, you had no idea who I was. Which is part of why I had a hard time trusting you. I was afraid you’d forget me again.
You know that day we were sitting in my backyard and the leaves were falling and you were telling me what it’s like to have a crush on someone? I get it now.
To tell you the truth, I knew then. I was just too much of a coward to admit what I was feeling. Which is why this letter will never be sent. And I’m the only one who’ll know that the times we had together were the closest my life has ever come to the kind of moments that could be in a book.
Love
Affectionately
Cordially
Yours Truly
Regards
Mary
Chapter 32
If ever an enterprise cried outfor poetry, it was this one. Unfortunately, in our house all the romantic verse was stored on a bedside shelf in our parents’ room, which for many reasons discouraged casual browsing.
Two days and a dozen failed attempts later, I bent my steps toward the public library. Nodding a quick hello to the librarian on duty, I made a beeline for the Literature and Poetry section. There was no one else around. My finger traced the many-colored spines until I hit the wordromantic. Pulling the heavy book from the shelf, I rested it on my knee. From my pocket, I withdrew the latest draft of my letter to Alex, using the flat of my hand to smooth it. It needed to be better. Perfect. Irresistible.
Time passed, and I kept turning pages. I didn’t want a poem that was obviously talking about getting it on. Nor did I want one of the really saccharine odes to rosebuds and cherubs (which were probably also about sex). It needed to be something that felt like me, and my feelings for Alex, in a non-cheesy way. I rolled my shoulders. Maybe the whole thing was hopeless. I’d tell my friends I’d tried, but it was no good.
Tucking the book under my arm, I climbed stiffly to my feet. I needed to walk around, drink some water, get the juices flowing. Preoccupied by my own thoughts, I was oblivious to my surroundings until I stumbled into the study area. It was packed with people of all ages, including a healthy sprinkling of faces I recognized from school. Apparently that was the kind of thing that happened when everyone had final exams the same week.
Since I had no desire to talk to anyone, particularly while in possession of a book of love poems, I kept my head down and hurried on. A pair of legs entered my field of vision. I looked up to avoid a collision.
“Oh,” I breathed, coming to an abrupt halt. “Oh, no!”
“Hello to you, too,” said Alex Ritter.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I whispered, conscious of our audience. “It’s just—the timing.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you.” He stepped around me, heading for a table with a single empty chair, and three very pretty girls obviously awaiting his return.
“Oh,” I said again. “I see.” My gaze fell to the book of poetry in my hands. Talk about a wasted effort. How stupid of me to think he wouldn’t have found someone else by now.
“What?” Alex stopped with his back to me.
“Nothing.”
With obvious reluctance, he turned around. At the same moment, the letter slipped from my grip. I stood frozen with horror, watching it float through the air. Then Alex reached for it.
I lunged, plucking the page from the carpet and holding it out of his reach.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s obviouslysomething.” Realizing he was trying to read the title of my book, I twisted aside. A white-haired woman cleared her throat, then pointed to the sign on her table:QUIET, PLEASE!
I took a tentative step to the left, sending a questioning look Alex’s way. He sighed but followed me into the cookbook section. When we reached the remotest end of the aisle, I pivoted to face him. My heart was beating so hard, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to speak.
“What?” he asked, arms crossed.
