Page 62 of Texting Mr. Stranger

Emily smirks. “Because if that isn’t the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard, my hair isn’t pink.”

“What do you think therealstatement would be, then?”

“I think you’ve found the man of your dreams. I think you’re trying to scramble to find any excuse to back off or imagine why it can’t possibly work. Yet deep down, you know this is for real. It’s forlife.”

“Jeez, Emily,” I say, shaking my head. “When you get in these poetic moods, you say some out there stuff.”

“Or maybe I just know you better than you know yourself.”

“Riiiiight,” I say, along with an eye roll, for good measure. Emily gets in these moods sometimes, gripped by sudden visions of the future and poetic ways to frame the world. It’s one thing that makes her such a passionate, exciting person, but it often gets her into trouble, too.

“I’m going to take it slow,” I tell her.

“Slow?” Emily laughs softly, not in a demeaning way. “I think you’re kidding yourself. I think the idea ofslowwith you and Matt stopped when you exchanged your first text.”

“What if I rush into this and everything turns to dust? What if he’s lied to me? What if he’s worse than he’s admitted?”

“Do you think he has lied to you?” she says.

“That’s the thing with lies. I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” I snap. “I’m sure he’s telling the truth, but I could be wrong.”

It would break my heart.That’s the part I don’t add, but it’s the truth. If it turned out that he was using me or deceiving me, it would wreck me. That’s why I have to try, at least, to keep up the façade. This is all for Mom. If I let this be forme, it feels like I’m risking everything.

“Bella?” Emily says softly.

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking about? You suddenly look sad.”

“Life’s easier when I live for somebody else. I don’t have to think about what I want. Everything is simple. Work, pay bills, help Mom. Now, I have to choose.”

Emily springs up from the bed and walks over to me, leaning down and taking both my hands. “No, Bella, yougetto choose.”

Later, as I’m drifting in and out of a nap, dreams of a should-be-impossible future try to tug at me. I see a sun setting over a beautiful nature scene, snippets of Matt’s smile as he holds something in his arms, or someone—a child, a family—and then there’s a knock at my door. I shake my head as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

What crazy tricks is my subconscious playing on me now?

“Yeah?” I call.

“It’s me. Sofia.”

“Two secs.”

After quickly wiping my sleeping face down with a wet wipe and adjusting my hair, I open the door. Sofia’s sharp cheekbones are drawn into a determined expression, and she’s holding her violin. “I want us to play a duet at the party together. Elio told me what’s happening. You’re going to play to draw out the Gallos. Well, I’m tired of being a spare part.”

“What does Matt think about this?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. If you’re willing to risk it, and you’re not even a DeLuca,Iam, too.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, a bad habit. “What if Matt says no?”

“He won’t … not if you ask him.”

“What difference would that make?”

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