Page 61 of Texting My Valentine

Tori:LOL. I’m glad you can joke about that. I put myself through the wringer, thinking you made him up. I honestly believed it. But maybe my friends are right. Maybe I was just trying to avoid how I really feel.

Alex:And how do you really feel?

She doesn’t reply straight away. I know how she feels. I experience it when we kiss and hold each other. I’m sure I can even feel it through her messages.

She feels exactly like I do—like Valentine’s Day did something to us, changed us, even if it makes us crazy.

Tori:I feel like a girl who needs some sleep.

That’s a cop-out, but I decide not to press the issue. I don’t want to pressure her.

We’re way past casual, but I could lose her forever if I push too hard.

CHAPTER 21

TORI

Iwake early and go into the kitchen to make some coffee. I think I’ll be the only one awake until I find Elliot sitting at the table, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he leans over a notebook.

“Uh, hey,” he says with a nervous smile.

I grin and join him at the table. “Hi, Elliot. What’re you working on?”

“Sorry… you’re Tori, yeah?”

“Good memory.”

He smiles. “Thanks. It’s just English homework. We have to talk about this poem, this love poem. What’s it called?”

I give him a moment, then offer, “A sonnet?”

He lights up. “Yeah, that’s it. A sonnet.”

“What is the question?” I ask.

“They want us to decide if it’s a good poem.”

“Hmm. And how are they defining ‘good poem’?”

Elliot’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know. I like math. I know that’s silly because most people hate it, but I like it. I think I’m going to be an accountant. Or an architect. Uncle Alex says both are good jobs, jobs to be proud of, you know?”

“I agree,” I tell him. “When I was your age, I wanted to be a rocket scientist.”

“Whoa, that’s cool. What do you want to be now?”

He asks this with a child’s honest, blunt curiosity. “Happy,” I tell him with the same honesty.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you happy now?”

The question cuts deep. Before Valentine’s Day, I would’ve told him that, yes, I was happy. I would’ve said I was content to go on with my life how I’d been going for years: work at the restaurant, work on my poetry, hang out with my friends, argue, and then make up with Mom.

But then Elliot’s uncle came along and changed everything.

Being here in this family environment makes me think dangerous yet tempting thoughts.

“I’m as happy as I can reasonably expect to be,” I say.

Elliot giggles. “That doesn’t sound very happy.”

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