3:13 am: I’m home.
Sawyer (3:14 am): Goodnight, Teddy. Sweet dreams.
Sawyer (4:31 am): Call me when you wake up.
But real talk: Why was that boy awake at four-thirty in the morning? Of course, this was the least of my questions.
What the hell was a Gabby? Why would he lie about a girlfriend? Why did he kiss me?
I dialed the number.
He picked up on the first ring.
“I am so sorry.”
Sitting up in bed, I pulled my knees up to my chest. I replied, “Don’t be sorry. Are you…are you okay?”
“Better now. Keenan told my mom, obviously, so she’s making me stay home until she’s positive that I’m not concussed.”
I smiled, “You didn’t tell you the sister of an almost-certified nurse said you most likely don’t have a concussion?”
His laugh made the tension I didn’t know I had release it’s grip. He replied, “Something tells me she wouldn’t take my word for it.”
“Damn. So what are you going to do all day, if you can’t go out on this chilly Saturday?”
“Talk to you.” His voice was soft, and I wonder if he was still half asleep.
I liked the sound of that, so I embraced the idea of camping out in my room all day. Turning on my laptop, I opened up my music files; what was I in the mood for?
I asked, “What are you listening to right now?”
“Ah. Let me look.” He hesitated while I searched for just the right thing to wake me up and get me moving, “The Police.”
“Roxanne, you don’t have to put on the red light.” I sang softly, phone still glued to my ear as I rolled out of bed to stretch my legs, turning on…ah, yes. Perfect. ‘Smooth Operator’ played softly as I stretched out my arms.
He sent the question back to me, “What do you have queued up this morning?”
“Sade.” I replied, dancing around my bedroom.
“Not very punk rock of you.” He joked.
“Says the boy listening to Sting.”
He objected humorously, “Hey now. The Police are a rock band.”
“Okay, but what do you have if you don’t have soul?” I asked, not waiting for him to finish, “Shit. You have shit.”
“Fair enough.” He sounded far away, and I spun in circles, danced around in my oversized t-shirt and flannel shorts. My hair flew everywhere, but I felt awake. Alive. He spoke, “Sing it for me.”
I could feel myself blush. I shook my head, “No.”
“Come on. I won’t laugh.”
“That’s exactly what someone who will laugh would say.” I pointed out. He sighed loudly, showing his growing impatience, though it was feigned. I caved, starting the song over, closing my eyes and letting it fill the room.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be
Teen FictionI'll Be Theodora Alt takes herself too seriously. Theodora Alt has to prove herself. Teddy Alt plays electric guitar. Teddy Alt loves to shake things up. One girl, with more passion than a paperback novel, will keep her head together. Even when the...
