Another Monday. Why wouldn’t I? I haven’t successfully fixed this day yet.
After a half hour of costume trial and error, I finally piece together the perfect outfit. An outfit Tristan is practically guaranteed to respond to. He doesn’t think we’re a match, huh? Well, wait until he gets a load of this.
I’m about to take a picture of the ensemble with my phone when I realize it won’t be there tomorrow morning. So instead I take a mental snapshot, then scoop up all the clothes and return them to my closet.
I’m hanging up the first item when an idea hits me.
Why am I bothering to put all of this away? Won’t everything just magically be put back into place tomorrow morning when the day resets?
A mischievous grin spreads across my face. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve never ever had a messy room. Everything has always been put into its proper place. My mom used to brag to her friends about how tidy I was. My favorite game to play as a kid was “housekeeper.”
I look down at the clothes in my arms and suck in a huge breath.
Then …
I let go.
The clothes and hangers fall into an unsightly heap at my feet. I cringe, fighting the urge to pick them up so they won’t wrinkle. I glance around my neat, orderly bedroom. My posters perfectly aligned on my wall. My bookshelf meticulously alphabetized by author. My collection of glass figurines precisely positioned on my dresser. The string of soft fairy lights hung over my bed. The labeled folders stacked on my desk.
After another deep breath, I release a quiet battle cry and lunge into action. I become Hurricane Ellie. A category seven. A force of destruction. I dump books on the floor. I pull clothes off their hangers. I yank posters from the wall. I destroy everything. Until there’s nothing left of my old, safe world.
This is the new Ellison Sparks. She is reckless. She is determined. She is not to be messed with.
Panting, I collapse on my bed, my heart racing. I feel like a wild animal who’s finally been let out of its cage and has wreaked havoc on the poor neighboring village.
I sit up and survey the damage.
It’s impressive. I can barely even see my carpet anymore.
The old Ellie would be totally freaking out right now. I can feel her buried deep down inside me. I can feel her trying to steer my body, manipulate my muscles, will my legs to move, my arms to pick up, my hands to clean. But I repress her. I shove her further and further down.
She had her chance and she failed.
She lost the boy.
She blew it.
It’s time to try something completely different. It’s time to become someone new.
The Way We Were (Part 3)
Five months ago …
“I beg to differ,” I argued, pulling my wet legs out of the pool and hugging them to my chest in an effort to thwart the bitter wind that was sweeping through Daphne Gray’s backyard. “I have amazing taste in music. If my taste in music were an ice cream flavor, it would be—”
“Rocky Road,” we both said at once.
Tristan grinned. “I don’t know, Ellie,” he said, sounding like an old-timey boxer about to challenge me to a fight. “I’m having serious doubts.”
“Just because I thought your music was…” I trailed off.
“Noise,” he was nice enough to remind me. “You called it noise.”
My cheeks turned the color of cherry tomatoes. The super-ripe ones. “Sorry about that.”
“So, if you don’t like my music, what kind of music do you like?”
“Um,” I bumbled, “you know, like, old music.”
“Old music? Are we talking Renaissance? Medieval? Because I could play you a really mean Baroque concerto on the electric guitar.”
I giggled. “No, I mean like from the sixties.”
“Ah. So you’re a hippie?”
“Not all sixties music is hippie music.”
He leaned back. “Okay, hippie. What’s your favorite song from the sixties?”
I slumped. “That’s impossible. You can’t make me pick.”
“Um, I think I just did.”
“Um, I don’t have to answer.”
He reached around me and grabbed one of my sneakers, clutching it possessively to his chest. “If you want your shoe back, you do.”
Of course, as my heart was racing like a hamster on a hamster wheel, all I could think was I really hope that shoe doesn’t smell.
“Hey!” I made an effort to reach for the shoe.
He pulled it out of reach. “Nuh-uh. Shoe for song.”
“I can’t choose my favorite! There are too many.”
“You don’t have to write it