“I don't need to. You wrote it, so I know it’s good.”
Smiling, I pull my knees to my chest and look around my dorm room. Books are scattered across the floor, clothes I picked out for myself hang in the closet, and photos of real friends I’ve made cover the walls.
Then my eyes land on the little blue box sitting on my desk while I talk to my favorite person in the world.
This is it.Thisfeeling is what I've been searching for the entire time.
I'm home...in myself.
“You're brilliant, Honeycomb.”
“Zach.”
“I'm serious.” His voice drops, losing any hint of teasing. “I'm so proud of you, Honey. Do you know that?”
I nod even though he can't see me. I do know it. That's the part that gets me. He'salwayshad my back and believed in me. Only now am I able to accept it.
“Thank you.”
“So the lake, huh? Was your story about your parents’ house?”
“Yeah,” I reply, not even surprised that he made the connection.
He knows about the lake and has been there before. However, this is the first time I really think he understands what it means to me, and how hard it was to write about.
“It took a deadline,” I say. “Which is basically the same thing.”
He laughs, low and quiet, and it makes my chest feel tight.
“I'd love to read it one day if you'd let me?”
“I'd like that,” I say meekly.
A comfortable silence settles between us for a moment, and somehow it feels less like a phone call and more like he’s here with me.
“So,” he says, breaking the quiet. “Professor McFineAsHell thinks you're talented.”
I wince and groan. “I knew I shouldn't have told you about that.”
“Oh, you definitely should've told me, because it sounds to me like he has excellent taste.” He doesn't hide the implication in his voice.
“What's that supposed to mean?” I probe.
He scoffs. “I'm just saying, the man gives you an A plus and says you're talented. He's also a lucky bastard because he gets to be in the same room as you every week and I—” He stops.
I wait.
“And I?” I ask.
“I'm working on not finishing that sentence,” he says.
“How's that going for you?”
“Badly.” Another pause. ”I'm just saying, some of us are here. Working very hard with significantly less literary appreciation and arguably worse handwriting. I just hope you notice us, too.”
“Oh, please. You make it hard not to notice you.”
“Damn straight.”
