Page 51 of Dream with Me

I lift the enormous bag of gum out of the backpack. Three hundred fifty pieces. One pound. My heart races in my chest, my breath hitching. Chiclets.

When did I look in here last? I wrack my brain and realize that it wasthenight. The night I had dinner and studied, and... well, the night at Troy’s. I drop to the floor, still holding the gum, the vibrant colors blurring through the tears welling up in my eyes.

I’m not sure how long I kneel there after the tears start to fall. I must look a sight, clutching a bag of sugary chewing gum and sobbing on my living room floor. At some point, it strikes me to look in the bag and see if he had left a note. When I find it, I hold it in my shaking hands and stare at my name, written in Troy’s familiar handwriting, on the front of the envelope.

When I finally open it, it takes me a few seconds to slow my tears long enough to be able to read.

Dear Chiclet,

I thought you could use these as you study for your tests. Not that you’ll need them. You’re still that brilliant, beautiful girl who took my breath away when I first saw you waiting for me in the library. Still, I know you, and you’ll be nervous even though I have no doubt you’ll crush these tests.

Remember how you earned your nickname? You used to incessantly chew these things the day before a big test in high school? Or when we were practicing for your driver’s test, and I swear you survived on nothing but these things for a week? I’ll be honest. That’s the only test I ever worried about you not passing ;) Just kidding. I knew even then that nothing could ever hold you back.

Anyway, I want you to know that I’m proud of you for not giving up on this. I hope chewing this will help settle your nerves as you finish preparing and take your tests. Let them remind you there is nothing you can’t accomplish.

I hope someday you can have as much confidence in yourself as the rest of us have in you. Go get 'em, chiclet.

Love,

Troy

I don’t know how many times I re-read the card before Scrappy’s whining pulls me from my ‘read-cry-repeat’ cycle. I lift my exhausted body from the floor and walk to the back door to let the pup out. I stare mindlessly outside until he trots back in.

There’s nothing left in me to put any time into studying tonight. If I don’t know it by now, cramming won’t help. So, I fill my water bottle, grab my card and bag of chiclets, and head up to bed. Leaving my gift from Troy on the nightstand, I muddle through brushing my teeth and washing my face. When I finally crawl into bed, it’s ten thirty p.m.

I’m emotionally drained and need to sleep. My review class starts at eight a.m. tomorrow, followed by my first test the next day and my second the day after. What was I thinking scheduling a review class and four lengthy tests all over the course of eight days? It’s no wonder I can’t settle down.

Yeah, right. That’s what’s keeping me up. Not.

It’s the one thought that keeps running on repeat through my mind.

He still sees me. He’s always seen me.

It strikes me then that it’s been several days since Troy must have snuck these into my bag. Since the night we came together, unable to deny our desire for each other. Since then, I’ve avoided being alone with him and not thanked him for the kindest gesture I can remember from anyone in years. Sure, I didn’t find the gum until tonight, but he doesn’t know that.

The tears start flowing again.

I can’t stand the thought of him not knowing how much I appreciate it. I reach for my phone and glance at the time—eleven. He’ll be asleep, but I could text, and he’ll see it in the morning. That’s what I’ll do.

Me: Thank you...

I hit send and watch for a minute or two, but it still shows as “unread.” Of course, it does. There’s no way he’s awake.

As I reach over to place the phone back on the nightstand, I jump when the phone rings with Troy’s ringtone. Instead of answering right away, I stare at the picture of him that comes up. On the third ring, I sniffle and answer.

I try to speak, to say hello, but nothing comes out.

“Shannon?” Troy’s voice is groggy on the other end.

“Yeah,” I manage to whisper. I can’t stop myself from sniffling.

“Babe? Are you okay?” He sounds more alert now, concerned.

“I-I’m okay. Sorry if I woke you,” I force out.

“Don’t worry about that. Tell me what’s wrong. You’re crying.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just... I found the C-C-Chiclets.” Now, I’m not only crying. I’m practically sobbing.

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