Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
But I knew him better than he thought, better than anyone else.
And I knew his heart was good.
I popped up with mock offense, sticking out an exaggerated pouty lip. “Wow. So what does that mean for me? I’m not your friend?”
“Nope,” he said instantly, skipping over to where I stood. He shoved his hands in his pockets and did a little shimmy side to side with his shoulders like a little kid. “You’re my girlfriend.”
I rolled my eyes, trying and failing not to smile.
And then Aleks mirrored my grin, sweeping in swiftly to kiss my cheek. “Get some sleep, Strings. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
I flushed when he pulled away, thankful his back was to me as he made his way toward the door.
“Thank you,” I said when he was next to James. “For the nightcap.”
He winked. “Anytime.”
Aleks tipped an imaginary hat at James before letting himself out.
And I stood there in a daze, my hand on my cheek where he’d kissed it, wondering how that boy still had so much of my heart in his hands after all this time.
A Love Song to Myself
Aleks
My first summer in Chicago passes like a fever dream.
Instead of a vacation filled with hiking and bonfires and game nights with my foster siblings, I’m thrown into orientation with my new team, as well as getting to know my new home and surroundings. Training camp doesn’t begin until September, but that doesn’t mean I’m not practicing every day on my own. Mr. Conaway gets me set up at a local rink with private practice times along with a few of my other teammates, and together we spend at least three days a week there.
Before I moved, the school counselor warned me about culture shock. She encouraged me to talk to my mom when I felt homesick, to be aware of signs of depression or anxiety.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that all the signs of depression had been present in my life since I could remember.
I suppose I do feel a little bit of culture shock. Chicago is different from Berne in nearly every way. But between getting settled at the Conaway house and familiarizing myself with the USHL and how my team will work, I don’t give myself much time to dwell on any of it.
Any extra time I do have, I try to spend with Mia.
“How about, ‘You light me on fire, you awaken my heart. I feel you running through me… like a really good fart.’”
“Aleks!”
Mia splashes me from where she’s clinging to the side of her parents’ pool, her slim body supported by a foam noodle under the water. It’s sunny and hot and we have nowhere to be today. She has a notebook spread out on the travertine tile, a pen in her hand, and a pair of sunglasses sliding down her nose.
“What? I think that’s the most romantic line ever created.”
“And I think you’re disgusting.”
“You got something better?”
She tilts her head up, mouth pulling to the side as she taps her chin with her pen. I’m wading through the water with it cresting just above my shoulders, unable to take my eyes off her.
It’s been this way since the first time I saw her sitting at the kitchen island.
She was shy the first couple of weeks I was here, her cheeks always flushing when I’d talk to her. She would answer my questions with one-word answers — which was fine, because I’m not much of a talker, either.
But the more time we spent together, the more her sass came out.
And the more I liked being around her.
She’s kind in a way I’m not used to — not performative or self-seeking, but natural. She’s helped me with my English when I say something not quite right. She’s pulled out her yearbook to explain the school to me before I attend in the fall, pointing out people she gets along with as well as those to stay away from. She’s helped me fit in when her parents host dinner parties, showing me how to dress and which fork to eat with first.
Sometimes, I like to joke with her, to rag on her a bit just to see her get all worked up.
Most times, I like to stare at her, to watch her as she watches the world.
She’s cute. I’ve known that since the first time I saw her. But the more time I spend with her, the more I find myself thinking of other adjectives to describe her.
Funny.
Talented.
Creative.
Kind.
Sexy.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking that last one, but I can’t help it — especially in times like this, when she’s wearing nothing but a light blue triangle swim top and string bikini bottoms to match. It brings out the blue in her eyes, the color blazing against her tan skin.