Dear Diary,
Noah and I are together.
Officially.
The man brought me waffles.
I’m in love.
He’s waking up. Gotta go!
Emma
* * *
Emma: Sorry I’m totally bailing, but something came up and I can’t surf today. :( Raincheck?
Mr. Magician: Lame, but I’ll accept an IOU.
Emma: Granted.
Mr. Magician: Fourth lesson in all things magic: It’s not about the size of your wand. It’s how you use it.
Emma: That’s not… Are you drunk? I don’t have a wand.
Mr. Magician: It’s all in the swish.
* * *
It was safe to say Teresa spent the whole weekend at her friend Stacie’s house. I would’ve felt guilty for basically forcing her out and bailing on Finn, but I was a little too busy enjoying myself more than was healthy in the arms of my lover boy.
The eve of Slade’s midterm arrived before I knew it, and with it came a hefty dose of heartburn. After my mother’s threatening call, Noah and I spent most of our time studying. Well,mostlystudying—when we weren’t doing much more fun things with fewer clothes.
And I refused to feel guilty about that. My dating life wasn’t up to my mother.
By now, I knew Noah’s flash cards like the back of my hand.
Like how the seventh scale degree of a major scale is typically called the leading tone. Seemed easy enough once I cared to learn.
And that if a major interval is lowered a half step, it doesn’t become a diminished interval. It’d be a minor interval.
And, of course, how a Neapolitan chord is really just a major triad built on the lowered second degree of a major or minor scale.
I also learned I had a birthmark in the shape of a turtle on my hand that I’d never noticed before, but that’s neither here nor there.
The night before the test, Noah was busy with his consulting gig, so I spent half of the evening flipping through his flash cards and rattling off answers. The other half was spent panicking that no matter how much I studied I’d still end up bombing the midterm and my time at Westcroft would be over before it really began.
Since Teresa was traveling to an away game with the soccer team, she wasn’t there to calm me down. Mr. Elephant just ended up getting me more worked up, and by the time my caffeine high crashed well after midnight, I’d had at least two existential crises.
One might’ve involved pulling Oliver Bishop’s invitation from my nightstand and adding his number to my phone.
Then texting him.
Then promptly freaking out about texting him and throwing my phone across the room.
Hopefully Teresa wouldn’t notice the dent in the wall above her headboard.
I glanced at my sent messages for the twentieth time in an hour.
