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I’LL COME

I never run. I’m going to die, but if it has to happen someday, it may as well be with Bea.

17

BEA

I’m flying high from my recent date and the flurry of cute texts we just shared.

That’s the only explanation.

Regular Bea would never have sat down to write a song, gotten upset about how Octavia had been so cavalier about making me lose the contest, and then sent an email to her, demanding she meet me for lunch. By the time I brush my teeth, put on my pajamas, and hop into bed, she’s already replied. My hands are trembling when I click on her reply.

Great. Name the place. My treat. Noon.

-Octavia.

Between the twinges of a new song taking form inside my head, and my nerves about tomorrow’s jog and lunch, I can’t sleep. I toss. I turn. And finally, Iwake up and drag myself into the family room. With a pencil in my mouth, I start working through what I’ve got.

No words.

Not a single one.

I have no idea what it’s about yet, but the song—it’s bright. Sharp. Clear. It’s equal parts anger and joy. It’s beautiful and furious. It’s a tumult, like how I feel inside. It’s a combination of my rage at my family and my joy in meeting Dave and Seren and Jake and Emerson. It’s the relief that I’m loved and the fury that I was abandoned.

I’ve never written a song that’s bright and dark in equal measure.

Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard one close enough to compare this to. I scrawl one word across the top of the music once the gist of it is out—BIPOLAR. I finally collapse into bed and pass out.

That’s probably why I struggle so much to wake up—that, and the fact that I usually roll out of bed around noon. Of course, as I down a glass of orange juice, which is about all I can tolerate before I go for a jog, the stupid song comes back. This is how it works for me. Until I can get the song finished, it’ll yell at me in waves.

I’m pulled out of the fiddling of my brain when Jake comes banging out of his room, bleary-eyed and cranky. “That’s my toothbrush.”

I pull it out of my mouth slowly and stare. “It’s not.”

“It is.” He holds out his hand, glaring.

“Jake, I bought this a week ago, and I have several more just like it right here.” I open the top drawer and show him the package.

He swears under his breath. “Well, sorry.”

“Sorry?” I arch one eyebrow.

“I’ve definitely been using it.”

I spit and rinse my mouth. “Really?” I huff.

“I said sorry.” He shrugs. “But, like, didn’t you say you had a few more?”

I toss the toothbrush at him and shoot out the door.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Easton’s coming over to go for a run with me.”

“Of course he is. Is he bringing his golden retriever?”

I ignore the jab. He may be jealous, but Eastonisthe perfect guy. A golden dog would fit. “Do you want me to make you some coffee before I go?”

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