Sweet Dandelion

I smile. A book discussion with Lachlan sounds nice, despite the fact I’ll probably hate his favorite book.

Leaning around him I push the button for another elevator. “Don’t get too excited. I’ll probably rip it apart.”

His smile grows and he takes a couple of steps backward, toward the exit. “Disagreements can be healthy. Opinions are vital.”

The elevator dings and I point at the open doors. “I’ll … uh … see you.”

His blue eyes are bright, so bright they twinkle like the stars in the sky. I think I could get lost in them forever and it wouldn’t bother me.

“See you later, Dani.”

I step onto the elevator and let out a shaky breath the second they close.

Ansel told me he’d see me tomorrow and I felt nothing. No excitement, no fluttering in my belly, not a thing.

But when Lachlan said it?

I felt it all.

Chapter Fifteen

It’s the middle of the night and the lights in my bedroom are dimmed. I lay curled on my side under the covers holding onto the pages of the book like a life preserver. I can’t believe what I’m reading. My mouth is open in horror as I turn page after page, shuddering at how scarily realistic this book is to today.

I only meant to read a few chapters before attempting to go to sleep, but I know that won’t be happening. I have to know how it ends.

If I knew exactly where Lachlan lived in the building, I’d be banging on his door right about now demanding answers. But since knocking on every door on floor twelve isn’t possible I continue reading.

An hour later it’s three in the morning and I lay wide-eyed staring at the ceiling. The finished book lays on my chest, my fingers clasped overtop of it.

I feel angry, infuriated, and if I didn’t know this book was so special to him I would throw it at the wall and punch it for good measure.

There’s little to no chance I’ll get any sleep tonight, which isn’t all that unusual. I throw the covers off my body and place the book on my dresser before tiptoeing from my bedroom into the kitchen. I make myself a bowl of cereal and sit down on the couch, turning the TV on. It’s a bunch of infomercials, and since I’m not interested in buying a vacuum cleaner or a thingamajig, I end up putting a movie on.

Spooning the cereal in my mouth, I can’t seem to get rid of the ache in my chest from the novel. I’ve never read anything that’s made me feel so much. True, I’m mostly pissed off, but I know this is a book that I’ll think of for years to come.

Finishing my cereal, I clean the bowl before I lay back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over me. I keep the volume on the TV low enough that it shouldn’t wake up Sage.

By some miracle, I manage to drift off to sleep and wake up around six. I get ready for school, eat a quick breakfast of a muffin from the grocery store, and say goodbye to Sage when he leaves for work.

I place Lachlan’s copy of 1984 carefully into my backpack. It’s in rough shape so it’s not like a bent page would be my fault, but for some reason I find it necessary to treat it with reverence.

Heading downstairs, I wait for the school bus. When it arrives I hop on and walk all the way to the back, sitting down and putting my earphones in. Fire and the Flood plays by Vance Joy and I lean my head against the glass as the bus starts moving.

I probably should get a car. I got the all clear to drive after I was released from the rehabilitation center, b

ut I’ve been too scared. It’s one of those things I can’t seem to explain, the fear. It’s completely irrational, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a real thing.

After a couple more stops, the bus heads for the school.

I wait for it to clear off before I stand up, walking down the narrow aisle.

“Have a nice day,” I say to the bus driver before stepping off.

My morning passes in mind-numbing slowness. All I can think about is my everyday period with Lachlan. I itch to talk to him about the story. I can’t decide whether I enjoyed it or hated it, but I guess it doesn’t matter since it’s affected me so deeply.

“You seem distracted,” Ansel remarks, wadding up his trash from lunch and tossing it in the can a few feet away. His hands are stained with pencil from his latest project of an intricate and twisting abstract collection of shapes.

“I have a lot on my mind.” My own sketchpad is tucked into my bag, untouched today since my brain is focused elsewhere. I haven’t been using it much during lunch anyway since we’re now joined by Sasha and Seth.