Page 6 of Advice from a Sunflower

With a deep breath—inhaling toxic Hollow air, exhaling relief that this will all be over soon—I distance myself from the one thing that seems to attract me like a moth to a flame.

Him.

But he isn’t mine.

Even if he isn’t hers, he can’t ever be mine.

He doesn’t want to be.

And that’s enough to knock those cleansing breaths out of me and kick me back into gear for reaching my lifelong goal of escaping this small town, holding my breath from the poisonous air and running as fast as I can in the opposite direction.

They say love doesn’t have to hurt. Not if you don’t let it. But experience has told me if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t real.

Besides, it’s just puppy love that I’m feeling. That’s what I tell myself. Simply because he’s the only male I’ve ever interacted with and my teenage hormones have taken over. I’ll realize how stupid it all is when I get out of The Hollow and experience something real. I’m sure of it. Without those two, my social life is nonexistent, and I’m content with that. I’ve seen what petty friendships do to people from witnessing Marnie and her fake group and I want no part in it.

There’s beauty in solitude, though. Most people can hardly stand being alone with themselves. They seek out others who are just as lonely as they are, and they make a silent, unspoken promise to never allow each other to be alone for too long. It’s sad, really. They pity me because of my solitariness; I pity them because of their co-dependence.

What’s it like to rely so heavily on someone else for your happiness? What happens when they realize that no one can be trusted; that no one can be relied upon for any period of time. Society is an ugly thing, so I do my best to stay as far away from it as possible.

So, during the day I study, and at night I write. Everything and anything. I write freelance articles about current events to earn extra cash for college applications, journal every menial detail from my boring life, and I’ve even finished a few fiction books throughout the years. No one will ever read them, but it’s an outlet for me. A passion that takes me outside of my miserable existence to the alternate reality I’ve created; the one that’s bearable to be in.

Denise thinks they’re stupid. Once, she invited her church group over after a charity event and they took one of my spiral notebooks out of my room to throw into a bonfire she was hosting for her friends. They all laughed as their beers sloshed around in their cups and shreds of my imagination floated in the air around them. Denise said it was a waste of my time and a poor reflection of character to be writing sinful romances. That I could have been doing something that mattered, like mopping her floors. The comment earned another cackle from her audience and I ran into my room and cried into my pillow until Marnie came sneaking through the window and found me.

“They’re a giant waste of oxygen, Mouse. Don’t listen to any of it. They wish they could come up with something half as good as you have. One day, when you’re a bestselling author and your stories are being made into movies, they’ll be standing with their hands out wishing they hadn’t treated you so badly.”

She had her own doubts about my writing, though. She thought it disconnected me from the world too much and that I was setting my expectations too high for whatever lies beyond these town limits.

“I’m just afraid you’ll get out of here and experience nothing but disappointment. Don’t you think you’re better off setting expectations low so you’ll be amazed at how wonderful it all might be compared to this?”

She was painting her nails on her bed across from me, glancing over periodically as she spoke her cruel, well-intentioned words.

The truth is, I don’t think I’m setting myself up for failure or disappointment or anything else that they might say. I have a strong feeling no place in the world is like The Hollow, and I revel in the fact that no matter what, I can point my finger anywhere on the map and land somewhere better than here.

Outside of our dysfunctional house, the only other person who knows about my writing is Eli. He’s always been fully supportive, even proofreading my articles before I send them over to be published. He always gets this proud glint in his eyes when he finishes whatever it is he’s been reading, handing it over with a toothy smile.

“I can’t wait to see what an amazing writer you become one day,” he always says, and I have to turn away before he sees the blush creeping up onto my cheeks.

I haven’t been around to see the glint or the smile for a long time, but he still proofreads my articles and emails them back to me almost immediately. I try to tell myself our distance is normal, that all friendships end up on this path as they reach the teenage years. That still doesn’t stop the aching in my chest every time I think about him.

Chapter 4

Lyla

15 years old

“How do you think you did on the chem test today?” Eli asks from his bus seat beside me on the way home from school. His dark hair has fallen into his face and he flips his head to the side to get it back into place. He’s grown it out long enough to reach his ears, but it never looks messy or unkempt like the other guys.

I swoon. “I think I did all right. How about you?”

“Probably better than I’m expecting, but I never know with Fifer. I can’t figure out his testing style.”

Eli is a nerd. There’s no getting around it. He has two options for his future: college or the military, like his dad. There’s no way in hell he’s making it through boot camp alive, so naturally he’s thrown everything he has into making it into a top-notch school.

The thing with him is, he wouldn’t be considered a nerd if his situation were different. Girls like what they see when they take the time to look at him. Guys enjoy talking to him when he pulls his head out of his books and interacts. His social status is strictly self-inflicted. He chose to only speak to the weird looking Scott sister and quietly pine after the pretty one. He could have anything he wants, yet he settles on this.

I wish I had the luxury.

“What are you thinking about that’s causing that frown? I’m sure you didn’t do that bad.”

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