Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I realize two things: she’s as nervous as I am, and she sees me.
I set the water bottles on the desk. “You’re the first person to say that besides my mom. Not the evil smile part—the beautiful part. Keep talking.”
She rolls her eyes, huffing out a laugh. “You do things for others, especially Benji—you bought him that lizard. You talk to Parker about his sister when everyone else is afraid to bring it up. You’re more in tune to emotions than facts. You’re one of the most creative people I’ve ever met. You dream up fun things for the pledges. The dance contest was brilliant. Others before you have taken dyslexia combined with ADHD and accomplished great things. Whoopi, Justin Timberlake, Michael Phelps, Tim Tebow. I’m sure there are more—”
“And dyscalculia. Tack that on too.” I pause, unsure how to continue, not sure if I want to. This is too revealing!
“No judgment. The more you open up to me, the better.” Her tone is soft. “I know you’re intelligent. Your IQ is off the charts, I bet.”
I swallow, and something that’s been buried deep loosens. What if, what if with her, I can just let go?
Then I remember my ex laughing at me.
I stalk around the room, pacing.
“Talk to me, River.”
I stop, my chest heaving as I rake a hand through my hair.
“Truth? My brain is wired like a crazy funhouse at a carnival. You walk in and don’t know what to fix first, so instead you hop on the rollercoaster that happens to be there and enjoy the ride. There are colors everywhere, dangling wires, uneven floors, and wacky staircases. That’s just my ADHD. The other stuff…I think in pictures rather than words.” A sigh escapes my chest. “I’m messy and disorganized. It’s the Bermuda Triangle, no shit, in my head. Reading out loud? Insanity. It will give me a panic attack. I can’t breathe, like someone has their hands around my throat. It feels like everyone is looking at me, waiting, waiting to see if I can read. I will run from the room. I did once in middle school. It took an entire day for my dad to find me hiding under the bleachers. Menus? I rely on pictures or order the same thing over and over. Overheads and PowerPoints? Forget it. They move too fast for me to keep up. Computer screens? A hassle. Elevator buttons? Hate them. Algebra? The numbers dance on the page, getting jumbled, and I can’t focus enough to make them stop. Road signs? I use GPS. Hospitals and big buildings here at school? I want to scream until, finally, I can make them stick in my head. I memorize football plays. I make these big flashcards and know them by heart. I just…fuck! These banned books are a goddamn nightmare—”
She’s moved closer and takes my hands.
I freeze, realizing my voice had risen toward the end.
Then, I’m acutely aware of the feel of her skin against mine. Sparks zing along my nerve endings.
I stare down at our intertwined hands, my big ones and her small, delicate ones. My frustration crashes and dies, snuffed out by her touch.
“It’s okay to vent. Anger builds inside of us, especially with things we can’t control. Breathe. Tell me your three things.”
A small laugh escapes me. Oh, oh, she thinks I froze because I’m upset about my issues. Rainbow, that may have been it at first, but now…
She’s a River-whisperer runs through my head as I lean into her. She feels so good. Hesitant and unsure, her arms wrap around my waist and her forehead presses to my chest. She exhales, her face moving as her cheek rests against me.
Can she hear the fast beat of my heart?
I exhale a deep breath as I rest my chin on the top of her head and hold her against me.
It’s not a sexual touch; it’s accepting and real, and fucking alright. I’m not making any moves on her. This is legit friendship stuff. A hug. A comforting hold. One I wanted to do at the sunrise but resisted.
I’m totally okay, totally fine.
I’m not doing a damn thing wrong.
You are!
A bolt of pain shoots through my skull. “Dammit,” I groan.
“What’s wrong?” She looks up at me.
With reluctance, I shake my head and ease away from her to drop down to sitting on the bed.
“Headache. Tension. I reached my limit. At the worst possible time when I need to get this paper done. I get them on and off. This whole week is catching up with me…” My voice trails off and I grimace.
“What helps your head?”
I huff out a laugh as I rub my temples. “Ha. Not going there.”
She sits down next to me on the bed, her leg against mine. “Huh?”
“Sex helps, Anastasia. And it’s been a long time.”
She blinks rapidly. “Can I get you an Aleve?”