“You’re the best. You know that, right?” I whisper into the darkness behind my eyelids. “I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re wrong. You deserve it, and more.”
“You’re my favorite person.”
“You’remyfavorite person.”
We sit in silence, listening to each other’s deep, even breaths.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper again, finally opening my eyes to peer at the image of him on my phone screen. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
His light eyes bore into mine, voice dropping low. “I’d sleep better with you in my arms.”
Images of Noah’s bare chest and wandering hands invade my mind’s eye, and I bite my lip to fight off a grin as my stomach does eager somersaults. “Ditto.”
“Goodnight,” he whispers sweetly—so, so sweetly.
I ache for more. More of this. More of him. But after a long moment, I relent. “Night,” I whisper back.
The video-call cuts out and I roll onto my back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling I’d sloppily covered with bundles of thick white fluff to look like clouds. I wasn’t raised in a religious family, so I don’t really believe in gods or saints or angels, but for the first time in my life, I pray anyway. I pray for life to keep feeling like this. Present and connected. Like I’m a part of something bigger. So, if there’s a price to pay for my wish to come true, I’ll pay it. Please.
Just let this happiness stay.
5Big Leagues
Tacky as semi-dry paint, I peel my tongue off of the roof of my mouth. In all the excitement last night, I didn’t drink nearly enough water. Groaning as I roll over, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Even though I’m disturbingly dehydrated, I’m happy as hell, because one word—the best word—occupies my mind:Stunning.
I squint to look at my illuminated phone screen. At first, my tired mind doesn’t register the anomaly. But after a few slow, arduous blinks, my eyes snap wide open. I hurl myself up into a seated position.
Thousandsof new notifications.
What the hell?
I open the app and my jaw drops. The five most recent painting videos on my profile now have over ten thousand views each, and thousands of likes. My next breath hitches somewhere in my constricting throat as I stare at the app’s notification center; the numbers continue to climb.
Holy shit, I’m going viral!
Thumbs dancing across their glass stage, I switch to another app. Three thousand new followers overnight. Hundreds of comments, and even more likes. I check my online store andfind several hundred new orders pending for digital prints of my paintings.
Trapped air leaks from my lungs. I reflexively fist my pastel-pink comforter between clammy fingers, suddenly feeling faint. Falling back onto the pillow, a tangle of disorienting thoughts clamor for my attention, until, finally, one wins out over the others:Why?
I hadn’t posted any new content yesterday, what with classes and the excitement of the comment on my livestream. There has to be another reason people found my accounts like this. I spend fifteen minutes in bed, searching through the apps for the reason why—all in vain.
I blink, dumbfounded.Was it the prayer?
But there’s no way. It doesn’t work like that, right? Gods aren’t genies. They don’t go around granting the wishes of just anyone. Do they?
There has to be another reason. But I don’t have time to dwell on it now; I have to get ready for class. With my stomach tied up in knots, I climb out of bed, thankfully no longer dizzy, and hop in the shower. I skip shaving my legs, so I’m out and drying my hair five minutes later. My hair falls in loose, frizzy waves around my shoulders as I throw on a cream-colored sweater dress, black knee-high boots, and a jean jacket.
I’m galloping down the stairs when a honk from the driveway draws a curse from my lips. “Shit,” I murmur, picking up the pace.
I race to the kitchen, grateful Dad’s nowhere to be found since I’m running so late. After shoving a banana bread muffin into my lunchbox, I bolt from the house and clamber into Noah’s car. Before I can take a breath, he’s reaching for me with both hands, capturing my face, and smashing his lips to mine. He parts them with his tongue, hot and searching, deepening the kiss. A familiar warmth stirs to life in my core, and I want nothing more than to melt against him and savor the moment, but my mind won’t quiet down.
I pull back, gently breaking the kiss off early. There’s a question in his gaze.
“Noah, look,” I explain, pulling my phone out of my bag.
His eyebrows knit together, frustration tugging at the edges of his mouth like marionette strings.
