Page 47
“White pelicans don’t dive to catch shit. They swim and scoop, which is easier to do when your mouth is huge.”
An intrigued hum leads to me wanting to add more information, needing to impress her.
“Most pelicans go north for the summer to mate, but there are some that chill on our lakes and down by Camelot’s coast.”
“How much time do you spend bird watching?”
Shrugging thoughtlessly occurs. “Whenever I’m out here.”
“At this lake?”
“Any.” My hands flop back behind me again. “This one is just my favorite.”
Emaline flashes a bright smile and resumes staring through the binoculars at the sight. Only a single beat precedes her asking, “How often do bring um…dates…er…uh…biker…brownies out here?”
“Cookies,” I correct, making sure to stifle down my chuckle, “and never.”
Yet again, she diverts her gaze to me.
“I usually jus’ do this shit alone.”
Her curiosity is caked in softness, sweetness, like her. “Why?”
“Guess I care about what people think more than I fuckin’ let on.” Tightness gathers in my chest, threatening to cut off my ability to speak at all. “That’s probably why I haven’t told anyone I’m taking your class.”
“You haven’t?”
Shaking my head is instant yet the details of my retort aren’t. “People…” A small lump begins to form in my throat, forcing me to clear it in order to continue. “People see me and tend to think one of two things. Either, big and scary – height plus cut plus bike does that – or sexy and stupid – board shorts and tank tops and flipflops at work most days kinda sends that message. And Idono. Guess sometimes it fucks with me.”
“Still waters run deep.”
My eyebrow quirks on its own volition.
“You hate that your exterior makes people think you’re one thing when your interior – the side of you that likes birds and 90s movies and English class – is so much more.” She slowly lowers the binoculars to her lap. “It’s pretty standard shit. Most people go through some version of it. The key is to not let what others perceive become the thing you believe. When that happens…that’s when you lose your voice.”
“There’s that voice shit again,” I grouse.
“Your authentic self,” she reiterates alongside a small glare. “One of the best things about creative writing is no one but you gets to decide how your work comes out, leaving it to be a true vehicle for whoever you really are or aspire to be. Meaning…” her frame angles itself more towards me, bent legs landing gingerly on my thigh, “if you’re a big burly biker whose engine roars when he hears a pelican bark then on the page, writing to your future self or your past self or even your present self, you can just be the big burly biker who vrooms when a pelican squeaks.”
It’s impossible not to laugh at her phrasing. “Pelicans don’t bark or squeak. They grunt.”
“Oh, like you.”
Additional mirth gets me shaking my head once more. “Do you treat all your students with this much disrespect, Teach?”
“Nahhhh,” she brushes off with a gentle bump into me, “just you.”
I can’t help from grinning big again.
Not that I want to.
“Should we…” the unprompted concern in her voice twists the muscles in my chest, “head back?” An unnecessary adjustment to her glasses is given. “I’m…I’m um…sure you have somewhere else to be.”
“The only place I wanna be is with you, Emmerz.”
“I like that,” leaps past her lips in mostly air.
“What?” Uncertainty crawls throughout my expression. “That I wanna be with you?”
