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“I heard once that some scientist said that if romantic soulmates were real, only ten percent of people would find them in their lifetime. I actually feel like that might be in line with this theory, you know? A one-in-eight-hundred-million chance of findingthatperson.”
“Alright,” he drawled. “So, why does that make you hate romance novels, exactly?”
“Why would I want to read about something I am so unlikely to find?”
“Because it’s just a theory, Pep. There are an infinite number of ways we can find our person, oursoulmate, if you will. Your theory is solid, I’ll give you that, but it’s just one of a zillion. Another solid theory being that every person has a soulmate, someone that we’re all destined to find. In that case, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
I huffed as I sat back up and crossed my legs.
He smiled triumphantly.
Except, when I said I hated happy endings, I didn’t just mean the happy endings to love stories. There are much worse endings to much worse stories than love. Sometimes love isn’t enough, sometimes it doesn’t conquer all, sometimes it can’t even keep us alive. I wasn’t interested in reading books where everything works out in the end because for so many people that just isn’t true. Sometimes… sometimes people just give up. They lose the fight. They crumble beneath the weight of their world. Sometimes people shut their own book before making it to the end because they’ve lost all hope that they’d get a happy one.
Carter didn’t need to know that, though. Carter lived in a world where the glass was always half-full, where the sky was always blue, where both his parents—his birth parents—were alive and well and loved him. That last part will never be a reality for me. I hope maybe someday the rest of it can. I hope someday I can be a full glass, sunny days, flow-going type of person like he is.
“Plus, not all books have happy endings. Some books have tragic endings.” He shrugged. I flicked my eyebrow at him. “I’m just saying, you should give reading a chance. At the very least, it’s a great form of escape.”
I nodded in consideration. I thought his words through before responding quietly, “I don’t want a life I feel like I have to escape from.”
He paused and leaned his head against the wall behind us, just as I had. He looked up at the sky, and I followed suit. The clouds were growing thicker, darker. “Then read to learn. Read to laugh. Books bring growth and knowledge; books bring peace. All things that make real life better. Don’t read to escape, read to live.” His eyes met mine again.
“What aboutThe Alchemistmade you feel like you found yourself?” I found myself asking.
“There is a passage toward the beginning of the book that stood out to me the first time I read it.” He grabbed the book that sat between us. He opened it and pointed a finger at a highlighted group of text. “There.”
I read it out loud: “And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.” I’d read that page already, but that hadn’t stuck out to me. I looked at him, his eyes were matching the clouds above us: dark and storming. “And what is the universe conspiring to help you achieve, Edwards?” I asked, attempting at a lighter tone.
He only continued to stare at me with that same expression. I wasn’t sure how long it lasted before he finally said, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
I blinked at him just as the first drop of rain hit the tip of my nose. He watched the water splash against my skin. I followed his eyes as they traced the raindrop that fell from my nose and onto my lips, cascading down my chin and onto my chest before disappearing underneath my shirt. I again felt compelled to ask him about all the thoughts in his head, but before I could, the sky opened on us and it began to pour.
We need to go inside. I know we need to go inside.
Except I felt warped as I watched the way his eyes are focused on my lips. The water was coming down faster, coating both of our faces in a sheen of moisture. I took note of the way his breathing became labored, the rapid and shallow movement of his chest. He inched forward, almost unnoticeably, like he was closing in on me. His gaze moved rapidly between my mouth and my eyes, his expression almost needy. Almost like he was asking me for permission.
I inhaled deeply, pulling my lower lip underneath my teeth. As if my faint movement broke him from a trance, his eyes snapped up to meet mine. He leaned back instantly and let out a breath he seemed to be holding in. “It’s raining,” he observed as if he hadn’t noticed before.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly.
Still facing me, but farther away now, he closed his eyes. “We should go inside.”
“Yes,” I repeated in a hushed tone.
As if my word was the answer to a question rather than an agreement to his statement, he nodded and quickly stood up. His face was unreadable, almost strained. Whatever it was giving off, it was far from the typical grin that charmed his features. I remained sitting, staring up at him through the falling rain. “Goodnight, Pep,” he said, slipping through my window.
By the time I grabbed both copies ofThe Alchemistand crawled through the window myself, he was gone. I faintly heard him greet my parents downstairs before the front door shut. I watched him jog across the street and behind the gate of his parent’s house without another glance back at me. Once he was out of sight, I slammed the window shut.
That was weird.
All of it was weird. Weird and wonderful and frustrating and enticing. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he was about to kiss me.
But I do know better.
With a sigh of both relief and torment, I flopped down onto my bed. I pulled out Carter’s copy of the book, flipping it open to that last passage we’d talked about, reading it once more.
Chapter Twelve
Carter
