Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
I wanted to say so many things to him. I wanted to answer the question he asked me in the kitchen. I wanted to promise him that his secret was safe with me.
But I never got the chance and so I resorted to other measures.
Since then, it has become my addiction.
Every night I write him a letter. I tell him about my day, about all the things I did, all the mundane details. Every night, I ask him about his day. About what he did, all the places he went, all the people he saw.
Every night, I talk to him like a friend.
Every night, I call him my darling.
My darling Arrow.
That’s how I start my letters. Not ‘Dear Arrow’ or ‘Arrow’ or something conventional like that.
Because what I feel for him can only be expressed in certain words, in certain syllables and tones and rhythms. And ‘darling’ hits all the right notes.
Darling says he’s adored and loved.
But he also makes me hurt. It says that he’s both a delight to my heart and a needle to it.
Loving him is the most wonderful, most awful thing in the world.
Loving Arrow is my doom.
So he’s not my dear, he’s my darling.
Once I’ve written them, I put them inside an orange envelope, which I then put inside a shoebox that I hide under my bed.
Well, whatever bed I’m sleeping in, that is.
Back at Leah’s place, I had them – the shoeboxes, quite a few of them now – under my twin bed.
The night I was running away, I was carrying them inside my backpack and my little suitcase. The shoeboxes full of letters and the t-shirts that I stole from him. I didn’t want anything else other than those.
When I came to St. Mary’s, I smuggled those boxes inside too.
Tonight, after talking to my sister, I sit in my bed, while Elanor snores away in hers, close to the window, and write him a new letter under the moon that appears to be red.
It’s not ideal but I make do.
I strain my eyes and scratch my pen on the paper, telling him that I saw him last night. That it was such a shock, a wonderful surprise to see him. But I can’t understand why he’s not with Sarah.
I ask him what happened.
How could they have broken up when they love each other so much?
I urge him to tell me that it’s all a lie.
I ask him about Ben. About how upset he must’ve been to hit someone like that.
I ask him about the fact that he’s here.
At St. Mary’s. At my school.
How did he become my soccer coach? How is it that he’s going to be where I am?
How is it that I was running away from him but somehow, we ended up at the same place?
Somehow I’m going to see him every single day now.
And somehow I’m going to have to keep him safe from a witch called Salem.
He is standing at the edge of the soccer field.
His sparkling sun-struck hair is the first thing I notice about him. Again.
Back at the bar, he had his cap on and so I couldn’t see it. But now I can.
Even though the September sky is gray, there’s still enough afternoon sunlight that the strands are shining. They’re fluttering in the slight breeze and I have to shove my hands down the pockets of my soccer shorts.
To curb the urge of running my fingers through them.
While his hair is sun-struck, the rest of him is all gray.
Gray trackpants, gray sneakers. And his signature gray gym t-shirt.
Back when I saw him for the first time in his kitchen, he wore the same style of t-shirt. It’s not something that’s very unique, the style, but on him it takes my breath away.
It’s loose and it flutters against his body in the breeze. That’s not the part I’m crazy about, however.
I’m crazy about the fact that his gym t-shirts sport non-existent sleeves. There are holes where his arms go and those holes are so big and sort of hanging that you can see patches of the side of his ribs and his obliques.
It’s fascinating. And so sexy.
It hammers home the fact that this is real.
That Arrow is really here, at St. Mary’s.
The secret love of my life, my sister’s boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend.
Ex.
God, it’s still so weird to call him that.
I shake my head and continue toward the soccer field with Poe, Callie and Wyn, who have no interest in any kind of sports whatsoever. But picking a sport at St. Mary’s is compulsory because it falls under team building exercises.
From the looks of it, we’re kind of late because all the girls are already here, and they seem super excited and chatty.
Well, why wouldn’t they be?
He’s a soccer superstar and for the past two days, the campus has been buzzing with the news of him being the new soccer coach.