Page 137 of Faux Real
Or too old.
“I forgive you,” I say, placing a hand on her heaving shoulders. “I forgive you, okay?”
“You do?” she weeps. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say, reaching for my phone to call Ollie. “I’m tired of hating you. It’s very exhausting.”
She blinks through her tears. “I’m pretty easy to hate.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “But you can change that, you know.”
“How?”
I shrug. “With a bucket and a mop.”
She gives me a curious look. “What?”
“You’ll figure it out,” I say, dialing Ollie’s number.
forty-two
What the Heart Wants
OLIVER
I’malmostwaitingforthe other shoe to drop.
For something bad to happen. For everything to disappear. Vanish. Because it always does. Nothing good has ever lasted for me. The good moments in my life have been like those shitty animal tattoos they give to children at fairs.
Washable. Removable. Temporary.
At a young age, I learned to prepare for the worst andexpectthe worst. Always. It’s ironic really. You’re in school for the first eighteen years of your life, constantly learning, constantly being lectured, and then you’re done. You’re an adult. Expected to stand on your own two feet, hoping your education has given you the tools to succeed.
But I think that’s totally backward.
From primary to secondary school, we’re taught how to behave, what’s proper, what’s acceptable, what’s normal. We’re packed into classrooms with people of different personalities, different upbringings, different strengths, and we’re expected to be the same? To have the same values? Ambitions? Views about the world?
It’s absurd.
I think school is forunlearning. For shedding the blanket futures educators drape over our shoulders when we’re six. For peeling away expectations that there’s only one path toward success. For silencingtheirvoices and opinions, and instead, finding our own. It’s for carving our own paths.
As I step out of the school into the warm spring air, reinstating documents in hand, I’m confident that my path will lead me to where I need to go. To where I’m meant to be. Not all paths are linear. But those are boring anyway. I think my path is curved, maybe even a labyrinth.
There might be rocks. Branches. Obstacles. But that’s okay. I’m ready. I can still prepare for the worst, that’s smart, but I’m choosing to, from now on, hope for the best.
Optimism is a decision. And I’m deciding to be happy. Me. It’s in my hands. It’s always been my hands. I’ve always been capable of changing my mindset. It just took a mildly mental girl with a heart of pure fucking gold and a face that would make angels jealous, to finally figure it out.
I’m happy. I really am.
“Fuck!”
My head darts toward the bottom of the staircase, my gaze landing on Sawyer who’s slumped over, fingers crossed over the back of his head as he mumbles under his breath.
Well... I suppose we can’t all be happy, can we?
“Oi,” I call out, grabbing his attention as I saunter toward him. Poor bloke. Rough year for the All-Star. “You good?”
“Fucking fantastic, thanks for asking,” Sawyer grumbles, gripping his phone in his hand.
