“I wish.” She pouted and looked toward the door. “What’s that?”
“The door?” Seriously, did she drink last night?
“Thank you.” Lisa rolled her eyes. “Not that.” She pointed at the door. “That.”
A piece of paper was folded on the floor. It had my name on it. Holy crap! My name, in really nice handwriting.
“It’s not like it has anthrax in it.” Lisa bent down and picked it up. “Read it.” She thrust it in my face. “Come on! I’m curious.”
The coffee pot dinged. I snatched the paper and went to pour us both cups of coffee. Once seated, I tore into the note and read.
People don’t write letters anymore… such a shame, don’t you think? Day 1. Your mission, if you choose to accept it: Make two new friends, you know, people other than your roommate and her cousin. I don’t count either. Be sure to smile really big and raise your hand at least once in class. I’ll see you at lunch.
Your friend—Wes.
My smile couldn’t get any bigger if it tried. I re-read the note again and again, each time I read it, my heart pounded harder in my chest. It was the first morning in two years that I wasn’t thinking about my past. In fact, I hadn’t thought once about my parents’ accident. I was too happy, too excited to think about anything but the fact that a guy had written me a letter.
“Well?” Lisa asked. “What’s it say?”
“I’m getting married!”
“WHAT?” She screamed.
“Kidding,” I said, laughing as I held out the note. “Here, it’s from Wes.”
“Oh, so now it’s Wes?” Her eyebrows arched.
“Uh…” I looked away. “I meant Weston.”
“Right,” she grumbled and started reading. Her smile grew just like mine had, and by the time she was done she looked up, tears of excitement in her eyes. “He wrote you a love note!”
“It’s more of an instruction card.” I waved her off. “Clearly he’s trying to push me out of my shell.”
“Well, you are kind of like a hermit. And you did grow up in—” She paused “What’s the name of that rock you lived under? The one with one store?”
I sighed. “Bickelton.”
“Right. There.” She shook her head. “You need to get out and live. Methinks that Weston Michels thinks so too…”
“But—” I didn’t want to sound lame. Insecurity won over, making my voice shaky. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” She threw the letter onto the table. “You’re beautiful and you sparked his interest. Does there have to be a reason?”
“There’s always a reason,” I explained. “Guys like that don’t just pay attention to girls like me.”
“Girls like you are the reason guys like him exist.” Lisa smiled warmly. “You don’t see yourself how others see you. Maybe he sees more than you do when you look in the mirror. Whatever it is, don’t brush him off. He’s making an effort, and if I were you, I’d say thank you to God in my prayers tonight.”
I smiled. “Maybe I will.”
“Great.” She stood abruptly and stretched. Something glittered beneath her shirt — was that a belly ring? “Now, let’s get ready for our first class!” She did a little dance and ran off to her room, leaving me with my coffee and my note.
Chapter Eleven
Drugs suck. Getting hit by a three hundred pound lineman? Yeah, sucks way harder.
Weston
“Michels!” Coach Jackson yelled. “Where’s your head this morning, huh? Focus!”