A Breath Too Late - Rocky Callen Page 0,46

heads. You looked away. Like you knew I would get up and leave and you didn’t want to see me do it.

“Well, did you ever name”—I made an awkward gesture toward my face—“these constellations?”

I held my breath, certain I would pass out on the buckled-wood bridge floor.

Finally, you looked up at me. “Every single one.”

I exhaled. “Liar.” I hoped you weren’t lying.

The tiniest quirk of your lips. I wanted to shiver as you leaned in closer.

Your fingers grazed the top of my nose and my cheeks, connecting the dots, voice soft as you started reciting names, “Paris and Helena. Tristan and Isolde. Lancelot and Guinevere. Romeo and Juliet…”

“All those names are lovers from literature.”

You took a shaky breath and then pulled your hand away, blushing. “That’s because every one of them was meant to be kissed.”

I held my breath. “Tragic lovers,” I said. “Those are all tragic love stories…”

“Maybe that’s because I didn’t think that I would get the happy ending I wanted.”

My heart wasn’t a single bright balloon. No. It was all the balloons in the world, and it was floating up, up, up into the sky.

“I love you, Ellie,” you whispered. “I love you and not like a best friend loves their best friend, but … more, more than that.” You took a deep breath in, knowing you couldn’t turn back even if you were afraid of my response and so you charged forward, seemingly emboldened by my silence. “I love the way you smile when you look at blank pages, I love the way you raise your hand in class even when you aren’t quite sure of the answer, I love the excitement in your voice when you talk about Columbia, I love the world you built for us when we were kids, I love the way you look at my drawings and see me there, truly see me. I love the way you look at me. I love the way you say my name as if you could fit all the good things of summer into it. I love who you are—inside and outside. I love you, Ellie Walker.”

I didn’t say anything back to you. You were bursting with nervous energy and I wanted to kiss every inch of you, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I soaked in all of you. I did love you, August. I do love you. I knew that for so long, but I’d been too afraid to say it.

You reached out to grab my hand. “Ellie, please … say something.”

I looked at you. The boy who made me forget my house, my secrets, my oceans of unshed tears. The boy who gave me strength to battle my own shadows in the dark.

I was still floating with clouds when I looked at you. “I have a story to tell you.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “But you’ll have to wait till tomorrow.” I planted a kiss on your cheek and I ran.

I ran with a smile on my face.

47

August,

We were in Ms. Hooper’s class. You were fidgeting by your desk trying to lock eyes with me, but I ignored you. I didn’t want to lose my nerve. I walked up to Ms. Hooper and her smile turned on me with its dazzling ferocity. It almost startled me, but I just blinked and whispered, “I’d like to read my story. To the class.”

Her smile stretched across her face. “That’s wonderful, Ellie! Would you like to read it tomorrow? Fridays are usually when we share—”

“No, can I read it today? Right now?” I bit my lip.

She cocked her head and saw something in my expression that led her to nod. “Go ahead, Ellie. You can start out class.”

She stood up and everyone quieted in their seats and she told the class that I was going to read a story. There were a few snickers, a few chair creaks, but I just took my backpack off my shoulder and pulled out the assignment I had written. The story that I had turned in to Ms. Hooper that had an A-plus across its top. The story I had submitted for my Columbia application.

Ms. Hooper sat. The other students were quiet. I dropped my backpack to the floor and then I built up my backbone, vertebra by vertebra. I always felt like I was cracking open and splintering apart, but in front of everyone, I felt like I was being stitched back together, into place. Like the joints and seams of me finally figured