Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“No, thanks. I don’t want to mess up your melancholy-based nostalgic interlude.” George rolled his eyes and held up a hand when I started to protest. “I see things, Simon. You’ll go downstairs, sneak a couple more cookies, eat Mom’s roast, talk sports with Dad, and shoot darts at that dive bar on Colorado with your high school buddies. The same bar you, Aiden, and Kenny used fake IDs to get by the bouncers when you were teenagers. Nostalgia central.”
“No, it’s not.” I kicked his foot and growled.
“Is too.”
“Is not,” I snapped, barely controlling the urge to tackle him on the spot.
“Okay, fine. Whatever you say. I guess that means you’re all wound up about…Topher?”
I wasn’t ready to admit that I was lonely, confused, and freaked out about my future. Nor was I ready to admit that his friend felt like a lifeline. I didn’t understand it myself.
“I’m not wound up about anything. I’m just trying to keep my shit together.” I sighed, took a bite of one of Mom’s cookies, and offered the other to him.
George went silent for a long moment. He chomped the cookie and set it on his desk. “How long are you gonna wait for that call? Two weeks, a month, a year? It seems like you’re torturing yourself.”
“Football is what I do,” I snapped. “It’s all I know how to do.”
“Si, that’s not true. You’re smarter than you think.”
I stood abruptly, shoving the rest of the cookie in my mouth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m brilliant. But…Topher is smarter. I need him. What should I do?”
My brother regarded me thoughtfully. “Help me move tomorrow.”
I snorted derisively. “How is that gonna help me?”
“Topher will be there. You can plead your case while doing some heavy lifting. But don’t dress like that.” He pointed at my shirt as he reached for his cookie.
I glanced down at my Dodgers T-shirt. “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Too sporty. Sporty guys make him nervous.”
“Hmph. I’ll have to take my chances. I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“You can borrow one of my T-shirts.”
“I won’t fit in one of your T-shirts,” I huffed.
“Sure you will. Your ultimate goal is to get him to relax, right? If he thinks you know the difference between matter and energy, he won’t be nervous.” George grinned. “Just a quick reminder. You are matter…until you multiply yourself by the speed of light squared. Then you’re energy.”
I squinted so hard I gave myself a headache. “Is that geek humor?”
He snickered. “Good one, huh?”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t come here to talk dork. I just need a few tips on how to get along with your friend.”
George sobered immediately and fixed me with a searching stare. “Interesting phraseology, Si. Quit overthinking. Show up tomorrow at the house, lift a few boxes, tell him you’re sorry—”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Tell him you’re desperate.”
“I’m not desperate.”
“Okay. Well, figure that part out yourself. Once you get him back on Team Simon, ply him with food.”
“Huh?” I scratched my head in confusion.
“You heard me. Topher likes weird culinary combinations, like potato chips with Nutella, peanut butter and pickles, popcorn and marshmallows. And he drinks natural carbonated water. Nothing store-bought. He can’t concentrate when he’s too cold, and your house is a little frigid. Either turn your heat up or offer him a sweater.”
“O-kay.”
“One more thing. Toph loves research. If you can think of a topic you’re curious about…no matter how random, don’t google it yourself. Let Toph do it. How do caterpillars become butterflies, why is ice cream topped with fudge called a sundae and why is it spelled differently from the day of the week? Think random. He loves to learn. That’s what makes him such a cool guy.”
I smiled at the note of affection in his tone. “Thanks.”
“Give it a month,” George intercepted. “Even if it doesn’t work out with Topher…you have more options than you think. You can be anything and you can do anything. Don’t give up.”
I swallowed around the unexpected ball of emotion in my throat, then steered the conversation to his upcoming move and the likelihood of Mom sending him off with a month’s worth of premade casseroles for his freezer.
When she yelled up the stairs to announce that dinner was ready, George widened his eyes comically and mouthed, More food, before heading to the bathroom to wash his hands. I popped the last of the cookie he’d left on his desk into my mouth and headed for the door.
I paused at the landing with a wall of family photos behind me and glanced down the hallway toward my childhood bedroom. On a whim, I veered right to peek inside my old room.
Nothing had changed. It was a simple space…bed, dresser, desk, and a bookshelf filled to capacity with trophies I’d collected over the years from T-ball, Little League, basketball, soccer, and flag football. I think there was one from a spelling bee in grade school too.