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sp; “If I tell you, will you leave?” I ask impatiently.
“Probably not. I like talking to you,” he says with a cheeky smile. I sigh, but I can’t even feign annoyance. I like talking to him, too.
I look at the curtains and then back at him.
“Fine. But let’s sit back there, if your mom comes back she won’t see us.” I cock my head to the windows.
His smile widens, his dimples deepen and I find myself smiling too.
He walks over, holds the curtain open and says, “Come on.”
I duck behind the curtain and he steps behind it to join me. I picked the window because it has a nook underneath it and it’s just big enough for both of us. When we’re both seated and the curtain is drawn, we’re completely hidden. The light that pours in from the room through the top of the curtain makes it easy to see. He scoots close to me until our shoulders are touching. I glance over at him and he’s looking at me. He flushes and looks down at the notebook in my hand.
“So tell me about your fairy tales.”
“They’re not fairy tales… I read a lot of missing person’s mysteries and I like to imagine that they’re out there living a happy life. Instead of just gone, you know? Like, if I disappeared, I would hope people would imagine me out there living my dream. So that’s what I do. In here.” I show him my notebook.
“Wow… That’s cool. So you turn them into fairy tales?”
“No, not fairy tales. These are real people.” I tap the book.
“Hmm,” he says through pursed lips. I flush and imagine what he must be thinking. It’s what everyone thinks.
“I know. It’s weird,” I say to preempt the inevitable teasing.
He frowns and shakes his head in disappointment. “Thank goodness you have other talents; ’cause mind reading isn’t ever going to be a moneymaker for you.”
“Whatever, it’s what everyone else thinks.”
“Are these the same everyone’s who also need glasses? Glad I’m not one of them. It’s not weird.”
“Really?” My shoulders relax a little and I probe him with my eyes for traces of a burgeoning laugh… the one that usually follows when someone finds out my hobby.
He draws a cross over the center of his chest.
“Really. I used to pretend my dad had just gone missing. I would look for his face in airports. I mean, I know he’s dead. It’s just nice to pretend that he’s not gone forever. You know?”
“Yeah. I do,” I say slowly. My heartbeat has slowed a little. The instant understanding and connection I feel at hearing him say that he’s… like me, it feels like a touch coaxing the tension out of me. The fear of being caught that’s been clouding my vision recedes.
He may look like one of the boys I know from school, but I can see now, that he’s not.
“Can I see it?” he asks, not flippantly, not easily, but like he knows he’s asking for a lot.
The respect in his request is disarming, and before I process what I’m doing, I hand it over. He flips to the first page and reads the inscription there. “The Legend is a love story. But it’s also a cautionary tale. It tells you to love deeply, believe in happily ever after, but don’t try to live anyone’s life but your own. That will be your undoing. All legends are lies. Make your own truth.”
He reads the inscription that’s scrawled on the front out loud.
“You wrote that?” he asks and I wish I had because he looks really impressed.
“No. It’s from a book I read once, called The Legend. It was the opening line. I read it in one afternoon, on the floor of the library. I’ve never been able to find it again, but it’s my favorite story. About a girl on a quest to find her father…” I trail off because he probably doesn’t care.
“A missing person story, I see.” He grins at me and looks back at the notebook.
“Yeah, I love them.”
“So you just woke up one day and decided this was what you wanted to read and write?”
