Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Before we part ways near the park, Tamika says, “Y’know, if it bothers you, maybe just think about all the people who’ll read the story and feel a rush of hope and relief that you’re safe. You’ll be putting smiles on so many faces, Noah! Can you imagine? You’re like the happy ending no one realized they needed today.”
I know she’s trying to help. But the thought of having all that attention on me, all that pressure, all that spotlight, I might as well be right back on that high school stage again, humiliating myself in front of Mrs. Joy and the theatre department. Except it won’t just be a high school auditorium; it’ll be the whole town.
“Oh. Are you okay?” she asks. “You’re breathing funny.”
My eyes flick to hers. “I am?”
“Yeah. Like you’re hyperventilating, only … in a weird way.” She winces. “Did I say something wrong?”
I relax my body, deflating like a balloon, and lean against the park bench next to me. “I’m not sure about anything right now.”
“I can help you write the article,” she offers. “Though, to be honest, I think that’s where you excel. At the computer with your photos and your words. You’re a great storyteller, Noah.”
I look at her. “I am?”
“You just gotta believe in yourself some more. Keep that big, brilliant mind of yours open to possibilities. Hey, what if this story causes your career to take off?” She gasps, a hand to her mouth. “Imagine what everyone will say! They will all want to know more about the amazing Noah Reed and your brave hero Cole …”
Me, the damsel in distress. And Cole, the hero in shiny armor, defending me against the evil onslaught of falling wooden squares and rectangles.
She smirks. “I bet they’d even ship you guys. Aww, wouldn’t that be cute? ‘A near tragedy turns into a love story …’ Now that’s sure to get some readers around here excited.”
I make a face and look away, staring off at the trees swaying in the wind. Even Tamika is writing headlines in the air. Ships, whether figurative or literal, couldn’t be farther from my mind.
Besides, he didn’t even know I existed back in high school and hasn’t had a thing to do with me since. Until today. It’s a statistical certainty that people like Cole Harding don’t think twice about awkward, forgettable nobodies like me.
Chapter 4
Cole
“Oh my goodness, you silly thing, it might as well have been a paper cut.”
I gape at my grandma. “Nan!”
“What? I was in the middle of talkin’ to Beth, y’know, the real Strong matriarch, Nadine’s mother-in-law, she’s in town for some kind of somethin’-‘r-other, and she was inches from givin’ me her sugar raisin spice muffin recipe, when I get the news that my own dear grandson was in critical condition down at the clinic. Critical condition my ass! I left you alone for five seconds.”
I peer down at my forearm. The entirety of it is swallowed in bandages. I guess when I arrived, my arm looked a lot worse than it was. Once the blood was washed off, it was just a matter of some skin getting scraped up from landing so roughly on the pavement. “Good thing ya did what ya did,” Dr. Emory had said, “otherwise I might be treatin’ that other guy for a concussion—or worse.”
The notion sent me into a what-if spiral of imagining far less favorable outcomes of today’s events.
I don’t care if I just embarrassed the crap out of myself in front of the whole town by fainting the way I did. I’d do it all over again if I had to.
I’m just glad Noah Reed’s okay.
“They’re callin’ you a hero,” says my Nan, stirring me from my thoughts. “Isn’t that somethin’?”
I smirk. “A hero with a paper cut, apparently. What were you doing with Beth? I thought you’d gone off to talk to Dorothy.”
“I did. Then I found Beth. I hardly get out of the house lately, I had a lot of social business to attend to.”
The pair of us are slowly walking home from the festival arm-in-arm, figuring we can come back tomorrow, too, since the event goes on all weekend. Our street is quiet, the noise and murmur of the festival far away now. I find myself glancing back as we walk, despite not being able to see a lick of the festival from here. I had wanted to catch up with Noah, to see if he’s okay, to maybe have a drink with him, buy him some lunch, anything, just for an excuse to talk to him. Someone directed me to Biggie’s Bites, saying they saw him there with a few people from the newspaper, but by the time I was out of the clinic, they must’ve left. I ended up offering to help Martha and her husband (and moody son) clean up the fallen picture frames, just to loiter around the scene with the off-chance that I might spot Noah again, but there was no luck. Also, Martha insisted that I not help, considering my “mummy-wrapped arm”, and demanded that I go someplace to rest. That someplace ended up being back home, my Nan decided on my behalf.