SadboyGatsby: I’m sorry, Daisy. I sound ungrateful.
FadedDaisy: No, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I don’t really remember them.
I looked toward the framed photo on my desk of my parents. It was taken almost fifteen years ago, before I was born. Just two ballet dancers, young and in love. They had no idea that three years later, when my mom was walking from the studio to her car, an obsessed fan would attack her and leave her to die with the car door wide open. Or thatthree more years after that, Dad would be hit by a drunk driver while on his motorcycle and left paralyzed by the same man who shot his wife. Want to kill a dancer? Cut off his legs.
FadedDaisy: That’s a lie. I remember my dad some. He was nice. He taught me the basics of ballet. Sometimes if I think hard, I can remember his voice. What is your dad like?
SadboyGatsby: Military.
SadboyGatsby: Let’s talk about something else. What did you do today?
Feeling brave, I took a breath and typed.
FadedDaisy: I want to hear your voice.
He typed, deleted, then typed again. I gasped as a message came through. It was his phone number. I stood, leaving my room to go find the phone. I’d asked for a cell phone once, but Nona saw no use for it, as I didn’t have any friends. Well, the joke was on her, because now I did. I tiptoed through the house, so as not to rouse my grandma from her room. I closed my door softly and then flew to the computer. My hands trembled as I dialed the number he gave me, putting the phone to my ear.
It rang three times. Each time, my heart sank further and further, as my mind began to spiral. It was a prank number. He didn’t want to talk to me. I’d been actually talking to an old man this whole time, and now, he was panicking. I was about to hang up when suddenly I heard the click and then, “Hello, Daisy?”
“Gatsby?”
There was a long pause as we took in each other’s voices. He wasn’t an old man. He sounded young, like me. He broke the silence with a low chuckle.
“Hi.”
A grin spread over my face as I jumped in excitement. “Hi! Oh my gosh, this is so weird. I-I don’t know where to start. How are you?” I gushed. He laughed again.
“You asked me that already.”
“Right!” I giggled. I’d never talked to a boy on the phone before. Was this what other girls my age did? Oh, how I finally felt like a real teenager.
“So, what did you want to talk about on the phone that we couldn’t say over the computer?”
“Everything.” I sighed and plopped down on my bed. I closed my eyes and took in how rich and calm and perfect his voice was. It was right there, in that moment, when he called my nickname again, that it hit me. I was in love.
“Daisy?”
I blinked, snapping back to reality. “Yes, I’m here. It’s just... nice to hear your voice. It feels real.”
“What does? Did you not think I was real before?”
“Sometimes you seemed like a dream too good to be true,” I admitted. He grew quiet, causing me to prompt him. “Gatsby?”
“Is it crazy to say I love you?”
“No.” I breathed heavily, trying to contain my fluttering belly.
“Good, because I don’t care either way.”
For the next four hours, we talked over each other, like we were afraid that if we didn’t get the words out, we’d never have the chance to speak to each other ever again.
“And one day, when I’m grown up and a part of a company, I hope to dance at the Tennant Opera House. My mom and dad both danced there.”
It was where they met, actually.
“I’d love to see you dance, Daisy. I’ll do everything in my power to help you get to that opera house.”
I started to giggle, but he cut me off.
