Page 48 of Spelling Disaster

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

“My poetry. When things feel rough and it’s not acceptable to let any of what I feel out…I find an outlet, Yas.” He gestures to the book with his nose. “That’s my poetry.”

How can this guy, this powerful popular guy on campus who plays basketball and makes friends as easily as snapping his fingers, be a poet as well? It rocks my view of him in a way I’m not altogether comfortable with; how are the pieces of him ever going to line up?

“I love words.” Theo takes a seat next to me, close enough for our thighs to rub together. “I find comfort in them. It’s not really acceptable in my family, you know? They look down on anything creative like this. If my dad found out about the poems he’d be pissed.”

There’s raw emotion in his admittance. For me, although I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it, knowing we have something in common makes things a bit lighter between us.

“I used to spend a lot of time in a library.” I huff out a laugh. “Like, alotof time. Words are pretty much my life.” I stare sideways at him. “Reading your work means a lot to me.”

“It means a lot that you’d tell me the truth, whether you like them or not.” He tilts his head. “Somehow I think you always will.”

Uh oh. “Well.” I clear my throat. “I think they’re lovely. You have talent whether your family wants to admit it or not. But I came here to pick you up so we can go study.”

I don’t want to stay in his room too long. Not where we’re alone and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep this mask of apathy and distance.

“I’d rather not go to the library, actually,” Theo admits. He gently pries the poetry book from me. “If you want to improve your reputation on campus, then we need to head to The Shed to start. We can study afterward.”

It sounds like a make-out spot and I shiver. He notices.

“It’s just the local hangout where students go to be seen. To spend time together,” he clarifies, before he takes the book out of my hands. Then he looks at me, really looks at me, and stops. “Holy shit. You did something different with your hair. With your face. Are you wearing makeup?”

I fluff it out a bit to keep from being stiff and uncomfortable. “Just a little bit. Blaire decided I needed an overhaul. Surprise. You like it?”

“You look nice,” he agrees. “But you always do. You don’t actually need makeup. As long as you’re confident and happy, I think it’s great.” He pushes away from the spot beside me and sets me with a look. “Can I take your books?”

I’d let my bag drop when I found the book of poetry. “You want to carry my books?” I ask.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? It’s just the right thing to do.”

This seems more like a fantasy land. Maybe I’d never woken up from my good dreams.

Theo is really getting into this charade.

“Are you sure we’re going to get to study?” I worry my fingers. “You said you wanted to get started tonight. You carrying my books, taking me to The Shed—”

“And we will,” he assures me as he turns and grabs his jacket and a notebook. “We’re just getting started for the night. This is building the foundation for us.”

Us.

He reaches down to grab my bag, shouldering it and opening the door for me with his opposite hand.

The lump is back in my throat and I have a feeling it’s not going anywhere.

“It’s showtime,” I mutter under my breath.

Theo hears me anyway. “Don’t you worry. You’re going to be perfect.”

The door closes behind us.Perfect—yeah okay. The word has me remembering every single instance I’ve ever messed up in my life. Every piece of my mother’s guidance where I thought I’d followed her instructions to the letter and somehow screwed things up regardless.

I’m so far from perfect it’s not even funny.

Has Theo ever accidentally changed a living thing into a rock? Because yeah, I have. It took me all day to change that rock back into a mouse, and Gus still brings it up when he’s irritated with me. Or how about when I mixed the wrong ingredients and turned our apartments into a sewer? The smell took weeks to get rid of.

Practice, Yasmine. It’s Mom’s voice in my head.You have to practice or you’re never going to get better.You’ll squander your gifts.

Theo doesn’t seem to mind that I’m lost in my thoughts, and with my bag bumping his hip and keeping the distance between us, it feels safer. He’s not pressuring me into conversation as he leads the way toward The Shed.

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