Chapter 10
Daisy
14 years old
FadedDaisy: You there, Gatsby?
My heart leaped with joy at the three dots bobbing, indicating he was typing.
SadboyGatsby: I’m here. How was your day? Dancing today?
FadedDaisy: *Eyeroll* I dance every day. But no, I didn’t have rehearsals today, just home practice. What were you up to today?
He typed, then deleted, then typed again.
SadboyGatsby: Boring. School, then work. Finally able to sit down and relax. What book did you choose for us to start reading?
I sighed, leaning back in my chair, my hands falling from the keyboard. His mom had been making him work every day after school, and during summer, winter, and spring breaks, since he was thirteen. He barely had a childhood, it seemed.
FadedDaisy: How do you feel about Edgar Allan Poe?
I glanced at the large book sitting beside my keyboard. I’d found his complete works in my Nona’s library.
SadboyGatsby: We read the raven in school. It was ok.
School. How envious I was of him that he got to attend public school with other kids our age. Nona homeschooled me. She didn’t like me to leave the house. If she could have convinced the Madame to host rehearsals here, I’d never leave.
FadedDaisy: I bet if we were in class together, we would have laughed through the whole thing.
SadboyGatsby: Oh definitely. We’d sit in the back and shoot paper footballs at the people in front of us.
The night went on like it did every night. We messaged until he absolutely couldn’t anymore, which was around midnight.
FadedDaisy: Good night, Gatsby
SadboyGatsby: Get some sleep, Daisy.
I went to my bed, where I lay, staring up at my ceiling. It was still covered in the stars my mother had painted on them when I was an infant. She died shortly after, and Dad and Nona never thought to redecorate. Other than the updated furniture, everything in my room was just as it had been when it was my nursery.
I fell asleep, dreading the morning. I didn’t dream. It was very rare that I dreamed. I was so exhausted from the rigid dancing schedule my Nona had me on that my body couldn’t give any more energy to things so whimsical. I blacked out and awoke in the morning, feeling incredibly empty.
I went through the motions, breakfast, dancing, school, lunch, dancing, dinner, dancing, then bathing and finally free time. Before Gatsby, all I did was read until I fell asleep. But now, I had a glimpse of the outside world through his words. It was beautiful, hearing his stories about his friends and school. It was the best part of my day, logging in to see a message waiting for me.
SadboyGatsby: I was able to get to the library today to borrow the book you have. I can’t wait to read with you.
I smiled and replied quickly.
FadedDaisy: Same here. How was your day?
SadboyGatsby: Alright. Mom got me some new sketchbooks and pencils. I spent the day drawing.
FadedDaisy: Your mom seems nice. What’s the occasion? Birthday?
Gatsby was picky with what he told me about his life. Which was understandable, considering we were total strangers, really. I knew his hopes, dreams, and what he liked and didn’t, but I knew nothing of his family, or friends, or what he did for fun, outside of drawing. It felt entirely unfair sometimes, as I told him everything.
SadboyGatsby: She’s not.
Oh. I blinked. While it was just text on a screen, I could hear the cold words. I wasn’t sure how to reply. Finally, I put my hands to the keyboard.
FadedDaisy: I feel that. Nona is more of an instructor than grandma. Sometimes I wonder if she was the same way when my dad was growing up.
SadboyGatsby: I’m sorry, Daisy. I sound ungrateful.
FadedDaisy: No, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I don’t really remember them.
I looked toward the framed photo on my desk of my parents. It was taken almost fifteen years ago, before I was born. Just two ballet dancers, young and in love. They had no idea that three years later, when my mom was walking from the studio to her car, an obsessed fan would attack her and leave her to die with the car door wide open. Or that three more years after that, Dad would be hit by a drunk driver while on his motorcycle and left paralyzed by the same man who shot his wife. Want to kill a dancer? Cut off his legs.
FadedDaisy: That’s a lie. I remember my dad some. He was nice. He taught me the basics of ballet. Sometimes if I think hard, I can remember his voice. What is your dad like?
SadboyGatsby: Military.
SadboyGatsby: Let’s talk about something else. What did you do today?
Feeling brave, I took a breath and typed.
FadedDaisy: I want to hear your voice.
He typed, deleted, then typed again. I gasped as a message came through. It was his phone number. I stood, leaving my room to go find the phone. I’d asked for a cell phone once, but Nona saw no use for it, as I didn’t have any friends. Well, the joke was on her, because now I did. I tiptoed through the house, so as not to rouse my grandma from her room. I closed my door softly and then flew to the computer. My hands trembled as I dialed the number he gave me, putting the phone to my ear.
It rang three times. Each time, my heart sank further and further, as my mind began to spiral. It was a prank number. He didn’t want to talk to me. I’d been actually talking to an old man this whole time, and now, he was panicking. I was about to hang up when suddenly I heard the click and then, “Hello, Daisy?”
“Gatsby? ”
There was a long pause as we took in each other’s voices. He wasn’t an old man. He sounded young, like me. He broke the silence with a low chuckle.
“Hi.”
A grin spread over my face as I jumped in excitement. “Hi! Oh my gosh, this is so weird. I-I don’t know where to start. How are you?” I gushed. He laughed again.
“You asked me that already.”
“Right!” I giggled. I’d never talked to a boy on the phone before. Was this what other girls my age did? Oh, how I finally felt like a real teenager.
“So, what did you want to talk about on the phone that we couldn’t say over the computer?”
“Everything.” I sighed and plopped down on my bed. I closed my eyes and took in how rich and calm and perfect his voice was. It was right there, in that moment, when he called my nickname again, that it hit me. I was in love.
“Daisy?”
I blinked, snapping back to reality. “Yes, I’m here. It’s just... nice to hear your voice. It feels real.”
“What does? Did you not think I was real before?”
“Sometimes you seemed like a dream too good to be true,” I admitted. He grew quiet, causing me to prompt him. “Gatsby?”
“Is it crazy to say I love you?”
“No.” I breathed heavily, trying to contain my fluttering belly.
“Good, because I don’t care either way.”
For the next four hours, we talked over each other, like we were afraid that if we didn’t get the words out, we’d never have the chance to speak to each other ever again.
“And one day, when I’m grown up and a part of a company, I hope to dance at the Tennant Opera House. My mom and dad both danced there. ”
It was where they met, actually.
“I’d love to see you dance, Daisy. I’ll do everything in my power to help you get to that opera house.”
I started to giggle, but he cut me off.
“You think I’m joking. I’m not. Daisy, your messages every night are the only thing that makes me happy. You’re... my green light.”
I was his green light?
We talked until my phone began to beep, telling me the battery was going to die.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” I asked quickly, before we were cut off.
“Maybe. It depends on if my mom is home or not. If she’s home, I can’t.” He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. He wouldn’t say why, but he hated his mother. Maybe in time, he’d tell me.
“Okay, well. Thank you for this. I—you’re my green light too, Gatsby,” I rushed. It was like our very own language that only he and I knew. The green light meant more to us than anything. It’s what kept us hoping, kept us alive.
“Good night, Daisy.”
“Good night, Gatsby.”
He hung up, and I looked at the clock. It was well after midnight. I had to be up early for morning practice. I snuck the phone downstairs to the charging base and then tiptoed back to my bed where, for the first time in ages, I slept well.
Gatsby’s name rested on my lips, and the green light that was our love for each other danced in my dreams.