Page 54 of Tilly in Technicolor
I suck in a deep breath. I can do this. I can believe in myself enough to tell people about the thing that makes me happy. The thing I lose myself in. Even if nothing will come from it. Even if it’s the world’s biggest pipe dream. Writing is still something I love, and I’m allowed to love it openly.
“At first, I started with fanfic—”
“As God intended all great writers to start,” Darcy says.
I beam at her. “AO3 has me in a five-year choke hold with no hope of letting go. It’s both my greatest joy and the bane of my existence. I’ve been waiting like, fourteen months for the next chapter of this Steve/Bucky fic that left on a tumultuous sexual cliffhanger involving the metal arm. The. Metal. Arm. Who writes 148,000 words and is about to make my laptop melt from the sexual prowess of Bucky freaking Barnes using said metal arm then leaves the public hanging?”
“Oh. My. Gawd,” Darcy says, eyes widening as she reaches across the table and grips my hand. “Are you talking aboutBucked by Barneswritten by LexiProse22?”
My mouth dangles open for a solid twenty seconds. “Do you want to be best friends?” I blurt out. Wow. Smooth. Very subtle.
I wait for the awkward look. That signal that I’ve crossed a boundary or been too forward and made her uncomfortable. It’s the usual response when my mask slips off.
Darcy, Earth angel that she is, doesn’t miss a beat as she nods and grins. “I think we already are, darling.”
“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harrysays, giving us a dimpled grin. “But what’s this website you mentioned?”
“Ready for some bionic arm smut, are you?” Cubby says, giving him a wink.
“Can’t knock something till I try it, now, can I?”
We go on for another half hour, laughing and screaming about our favorite fandoms and ships. At first, I’m worried that I’m being too much. Too loud. That I’m misreading them and infodumping way too hard on strangers. I glance at Ollie, who hasn’t said much, nervous I’m being embarrassing in front of his supercool sister. But his eyes are scanning over me, a soft smile tilted on that stern mouth that makes an absurd giddiness rush in my chest. Darcy, Harry, and Cubby seem equally enthusiastic, fighting over some obscure band that apparently has a very heated love triangle.
I can’t stop all the excited words tumbling from my mouth, and, for the first time, I feel like what I’m saying in a conversation actually enhances it. That my volume, or the speed I talk, doesn’t matter. That I can deep dive or bounce from topic to topic like a rubber ball and the people around me won’t give me weird looks, but keep pace. Spur me on.
Maybe it isn’t that I’ve been bad at conversations my whole life, but that I haven’t been having conversations with the right people.
“What do you write about now, Tilly?” Darcy asks when we’ve all finally calmed down enough to think straight.
I shrug. How do you answer that? Everything? Nothing? I want to bare my soul on a page while simultaneously locking away every word that tries to pour out of my heart.
“I guess, at this point, I write about, uh, life? Which I know sounds incredibly vague and kinda dumb but it’s true.”
“I don’t think that sounds dumb at all,” Cubby says, reachingacross the table to squeeze my wrist. “It’s kind of the whole point of writing when you think about it, isn’t it?”
I nod. “I just want to write something that makes people feel seen,” I say quietly, chewing on my bottom lip.
There’s another sentence on the tip of my tongue. I want to be brave. I want to say it. But can I really?
I glance at Oliver, and he’s still looking at me. And something about that look makes me feel incredibly brave.
“I have ADHD,” I say, curling my toes tight in my shoes.
No one bats an eye and… Wow, admitting it so casually feels like throwing back the curtains from a window in my chest and letting sunshine stream through.
“I like writing about how it shapes the way I see the world. How it makes some things harder. Some things more beautiful. I don’t know. I’m probably not explaining myself super well.”
“Tilly has an incredible blog,” Ollie says.
“Do you?” Darcy says, eyes lighting up. “Can I read it? Sorry, is that like, incredibly rude of me to ask? You’re just such a laugh and I’d love to see how you put that into writing.”
I glance at Ollie, and his look is soft, his smile a gentle push for me to be brave one more time.
“What’s your WhatsApp?” I ask, turning back to Darcy. “I’ll send it to you.”
Chapter 26Rubber Meets the Road
OLIVER
