Twenty
There’s no way her ex just said her relationship with Nathan was fake! I mean…it was fake, but still—he had no right! My fingers gripped the corners of the book as my mouth flew open. Boys and their audacity .
As I continued scanning the pages of Dungeons and Drama by Kristy Boyce, my jaw dropped lower and lower as I read through each sentence. The sound of my door being ripped open and slamming against the back wall caused me to hurl my book into the air as I scurried to catch it again.
“I did it!” my mom cried while rushing into my room.
“Jesus!” I shouted with an exasperated sigh as the book landed back in my hands. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“Heard of it, yes? Do I care? No.”
“Wha—” My words died in my throat as my mom plopped down on the bed next to me. “Oof!”
“I finished writing my book!”
“Really? Can I read it?”
“Would you be my unofficial editor if you didn’t?” She handed me the manuscript, smiling fiercely.
I set my current read down, replacing it with the thick stack of papers clutched in her hands.
For my mother’s last three books, I had taken up the mantle of part-time editor, reading her manuscripts before she sent them off for review.
Her stories were geared toward women in their thirties or older, but that never once deterred me.
Her words had a way of grabbing hold and pulling me in deeper.
Maybe I was a little biased—she was my mom, after all—but damn, she could write.
For as long as I could remember, every room in our house overflowed with books.
Shelves upon shelves were crammed with romance novels, dictionaries, poetry collections, and forgotten works of literature.
It didn’t matter if the covers were worn or the spines cracked—the real beauty was in the words hidden inside.
I guess I had my mom to thank for my ever-growing love of reading.
Jessie used to call me a grammar nazi, always poking fun at how I constantly corrected her wording whether through texts or in conversation. But deep down, I think I always wanted to be an editor.
When I was accepted into the University of Charleston, I spent hours combing through their website, weighing my options, until I finally settled on a communications major with a minor in journalism.
That was when it clicked—I could turn my hobby into a career.
Meredith never expected me to go to college.
She always insisted that higher education was a waste of time.
That’s why I never told her about my major.
In fact, I hadn’t told anyone—except my parents.
“So you figured out a way to end the story?”
“Yeah. Not the typical ending I would go for, but it seemed right.”
“Cool. Give me a few hours?”
“I’ll be downstairs. Let me know when you’re done.”
I stretched my legs and lifted my arms above my head for the long emotional journey that was bound to unfold within the pages of her story.
Leaning to the side, I blindly rummaged through my nightstand, pulling out a few highlighters, a pen, and some sticky notes.
When my mom closed the door behind her, I got to work, dissecting her manuscript.
When Hands Touch by Sarah Taylor.
You’d think a book about childhood sweethearts should be cavity-inducingly sweet, right?
Well, fifty pages in, my heart ached. One hundred and eleven pages in, I longed for a hand to hold.
One hundred and sixty-two pages in, my eyes welled with tears.
Two hundred pages in, I started to picture Elliot’s face.
Two hundred and eighty-four pages in, I was a heaping, crying puddle of a girl.
A faint scratching sound grated against the outside of my door, yanking me from the hyper-realistic world my mom had so perfectly crafted. I sniffled, swallowing a sob as I wiped away my tears. God, I hoped my crying hadn’t been loud enough to summon my parents.
I pushed myself off the bed and cracked the door open, allowing a blur of orange fur to slip through the gap.
Cleo. She leaped onto my bed, circling a few times before settling into a cozy spot.
I peered into the hallway, quickly rubbing my face to erase any lingering evidence of tears.
No one needed to see how pathetic I looked right now.
With a soft click, I shut the door and climbed back into bed beside Cleo.
I stared ahead, bracing myself for the next wave of heart-wrenching words.
Glancing at Cleo, then back at the manuscript, I suddenly scooped her into my arms. She let out a sharp, indignant ‘meow’ in protest, but I just held her tighter and kept reading.
What began as a childhood bond between two inseparable elementary school kids took a heartbreaking turn when the boy traded their friendship for popularity.
Sound familiar, much? They were friends on the cusp of something more, but their relationship ended when he became the bully she never imagined that he could be.
Fast forward ten years—they’re adults, and fate brings them back together when they have a chance meeting at a bar.
Even after all the years that have passed by, the guilt of abandoning her still eats him alive.
He tries to apologize for his past mistakes, but she refuses to acknowledge his pleas for forgiveness.
After a while, their conversation becomes heated, but to both their surprise, no matter how much venom is laced within their words, beneath the bitterness, passion still simmers, leading to a one-night stand.
But she hasn’t forgiven him for leaving her.
Despite this, he’s determined to win her back.
He goes all out with grand, outrageous gestures—reciting a heartfelt poem dressed as William Shakespeare, stuffing her a car with an overflowing cascade of roses, declaring his love in the middle of Times Square.
He even gives her a list of all his regrets, the biggest one of which was treating her so badly.
But no matter how hard he tries, she keeps him at arm’s length.
Until one day, she doesn’t. She finally lets him in.
But their love is fleeting—because the real reason she kept him at a distance all along was that she had a secret: she was terminally ill.
Three hundred pages in, I buried my face in Cleo’s fur. Three hundred and seventeen pages in, I started to picture my face opposite Elliot’s. And three hundred sixty-three in, I knew I had to tell Elliot how I felt…before I lost the chance, just like Jessie lost hers.
All thanks to this goddamn book because popularity be damned, we could literally die tomorrow.
As I closed the manuscript, I realized I would need to re-read the entire thing because her words captured me far too deeply, making me blind to any grammatical errors. Wow . Sarah Taylor struck again. The gentle vibration of my phone signaled a new notification as I placed Cleo down on the sheets.
As soon as she was free from my grasp, she immediately lunged off the bed, scurrying to the opposite side of the room. Welp. I think I had just emotionally scarred a cat. Flipping over my phone, I read the screen. It was a new text message from Kendra.
I sighed, resting my hands in my lap. For a while now, I could feel the metaphorical crown slipping from my head, inching closer to falling completely. I couldn’t let that happen. If I had to, I’d glue the damn thing to my hair. I was determined to win Prom Queen—but this time, on my own terms.
No fake friends who cared more about their social standing than real relationships.
No shallow boyfriends who only listened when my outfit was revealing enough.
No staying silent while people tore me down with their cruel words.
If Meredith wanted a battle for the crown, I’d give her one. Glancing at my phone, I tapped out a message in The Breakfast Club 2.0 group chat.
My jaw loosened as the muscles on the side of my face went slack.
Elliot lied.
He wanted to spend time with me. The fluttering in my chest picked up, a smile pulling at the sides of my mouth.
I placed the flat of my hand on the manuscript my mom had written.
So he did feel the same way. My phone jostled in my lap, causing me to tear my gaze away from the unpublished papers.
Elliot’s name flashed at the top of the screen.
“Hi, Abercrombie.”
“Hey, Princess.”
“What’s up?”
“I was just thinking—”
“Careful. I know that’s difficult for you. Don’t strain yourself.”
“Wow, and here I thought we were starting to like each other.”
We are. I hope. “Eh.”
“Anyways…I was wondering if you wanted a ride to school tomorrow.”
“A ride?”
“We’re supposed to be dating, right? Makes sense if we ride together every once in a while.”
“True,” I said, tugging at my lip with my teeth. “Sure, why not, then?”
“Great. I have a surprise for you, too.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Not much of a surprise if I tell you.”
“Lame.”
“See you tomorrow, Princess,” he drawled.
I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
Oh, no. Why did I let myself think about his face?
His smooth skin. Those piercing blue eyes that pulled me under with every glance.
The way his cupid’s bow framed his lips so perfectly.
They looked so soft. Without thinking, I touched my own lips.
They felt soft. Shit . I was spiraling. I needed to snap out of it, but my mind was already tangled in thoughts of him.
And then, like a bucket of cold water, reality hit me—I hadn’t told him about the party.
“Oh, wait!” I yelled into the speaker. “I almost forgot to tell you.”
“That I’m extremely charming and handsome? I already know.”
Yes. “Abercrombie,” I deadpanned. “Seriously.”
“Fine. What is it?”
“Ryan’s having a party this Friday. I thought it would be a good idea to go for Prom Queen campaigning and stuff. Did you wanna come or…?” The line crackled as silence filtered through the air. “You don’t have to. I was just—”