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Chapter One
Maddison
“Come on,” Kelly says, sitting up with a big smile on her face. “Don’t be shy.”
I look down at her from my place in the center of the living room.
When I told my best friend I’d written a letter to Madden Mitchell – my favorite writer of all time and the man I’ve had a major crush on since high school – she practically demanded that I read it to her.
But she demanded it in that just-Kelly way, with a disarming glimmer in her eyes, her cheeks flushed and happy. I often envy the way she can simply be happy, as though she doesn’t have all this pain and uncertainty lurking beneath her every move.
And she probably doesn’t. Maybe I’m unique in that regard.
Or maybe I think way too much of myself.
Here I go again, getting lost in my thoughts.
I guess it comes with the territory of being a writer.
Kelly leans forward, her long black hair swaying around her shoulders. She’s far leaner than I am, her cheeks sharp when she smiles, with the bearing of a princess.
She was the prom queen and on the cheer squad, so she was my opposite in every way during high school, but we bonded through grief therapy and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
She lost her brother when she was a kid. I lost my parents. It bonded us.
“Well?” she says, shaking her head at me. “You know you drift off into the clouds far, far too much, Maddie?”
I giggle. “I can’t help it. You’re telling me not to be shy. Which is pretty freaking difficult when you’re staring at me like I’m an exhibit at a zoo.”
“Would you prefer this?”
She stands up and turns around, staring at the wall.
I laugh as my gaze roams over our small apartment, the TV sitting between the doors to our bedrooms, an adjoined kitchen, and the bathroom just off to the left.
But even if it’s small, it’s ours.
At twenty years old, we bust our asses off at the restaurant we work at to make rent. I write in my spare time and Kelly does her part-time psychology course online.
We’re making our way in the world.
We’re doing it.
Pride whelms in me, as we laugh together.
She drops back onto the couch with a grin.
“Okay.” I smile, clearing my throat as I raise the letter to eye level. “Dear Mr. Mitchell, I’m writing to tell you that I’m a huge fan of your work, especially The Ugly Sea, which I read when I was in high school and I’ve reread many times since. My friend, Kelly…”
“Hey, that’s me,” Kelly quips.
I giggle as a warm feeling fills my chest. Kelly always finds a way to draw me out of my anxiety, my shyness, at least when it’s just the two of us. She was the one who got me the job at the restaurant, who helped me push past my first day – and then first week and first month – nerves.
“My friend, Kelly, says I’m on a mission to read your book as many times as years as I’ve been alive. Well, I’ve read it seventeen times, so if I can finish it three more times before December, she’s not wrong.”
I pause, looking over the top of the letter at Kelly.
She stares up at me with acceptance glimmering in her eyes.
“I’m an aspiring writer myself. I spend my free time locked away in my bedroom, my head full of characters, scenarios, conflicts, and resolutions. It’s not an easy task, trying to bring all of this into some sort of order and put it on the page. But like you once said… type, just type, and the rest will take care of itself.
“But writing isn’t all we have in common.”
I swallow as a big ball of emotions travels up my throat, trying to choke me as I go on. Kelly watches patiently.
After her little brother died in a house fire, she’s better equipped than most to understand the feelings that are flurrying through me like little arrows of pain.
Or maybe they’re not little. Maybe they’re huge and time has just made them manageable.
Somewhat manageable.
“I was involved in a car crash when I was seven years old and both my parents were killed. I miraculously survived. So when I read The Ugly Sea, I felt so much of the raw emotion. I felt like the book was becoming a part of me. I know I probably sound silly, but I felt like I knew you as I read it. You’ll probably laugh at that, but it’s the truth.
“I’m not sure where to go from here, Mr. Mitchell, except to say thank you for writing more and more books. I always look forward to your next release. And I can honestly say that each book is better than the last. And hey, if you have any writing tips to throw at a twenty year old newbie writer, feel free to write back. Yours, with gratitude, Maddison Smith.”
