Ten minutes later, when I climb up into the treehouse, Noah is there, crouched in front of the newest wall of memories, writing with his sharpie. I crawl beside him and rest my head on his solid shoulder. “Hi.”
“Everything go okay?” he asks me, his hand finding mine and squeezing it.
“Better than that. They’re okay with it. With us.”
He puts the cap onto the pen and looks at me. “You’re serious?”
“Yep.”
A smile breaks out on his face. He tackles me then, kissing me, nudging me down onto the cushions. There may be more bumps in this road, but as long as I’m with him, I know we can overcome them.
“You know something,” he whispers into my hair as his fingers slide under my tank top and over my ribcage. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
Lying under him, my heart beating in time with his, I shake my head. “Luck has nothing to do with what was always meant to happen, Noah. And this was meant to happen.”
I sigh as he kisses my neck, savoring his warm lips on the hollow of my throat, and scan the wall. There are new words written there:
I wandered a road in search of a place, but my home was nowhere.
My home was not a place, a person, a thing.
It was intangible, otherworldly, more than a thousand universes.
My home is an angel, the other half of my heart.
And fate brought me back to her.
You are where I belong, Ari. Now and forever.
#
I weaved my way between a few parked cars, and noticed the enormous trailer on the property, behind the trucks. It was white, with racing stripes on the sides. A small awning extended from one side, like a makeshift porch. Some rusty lawn furniture was set out, and I could see two platinum pigtails bobbing joyfully in the sunlight. A young girl was attached to them, and she was jumping about nearby, without much reason, deeply involved in her own make-believe game. The door to the trailer opened, and this kid emerged. He had a can of Doctor Pepper in his hand, and was looking pensively at the ground. He was wearing running shorts and white tube socks that stretched to his knees, each with a thick red stripe around the calf. His T-shirt was in only slightly better condition than my own. I nearly rode past, but stopped when he took notice of me.
“Hey, I’m Ari,” I announced, pedaling toward them.
“Noah,” he said quietly, and smiled a bit, sweeping a swirl of chocolate brown hair from his forehead.
I was skinny, but I had height. I was one of the taller kids in my class. This kid was probably a head shorter than me, and nothing but bones. Younger than me, I thought. “How old are you?”
“Ten and a half,” he said to my surprise.
“Hey, me too!” I said, but what I was already thinking was, We’re going to be the best of friends.
Fate could be a bitch sometimes, but sometimes she was awfully sweet.
The End
About the Author
Callie Sparks writes for the hell of it. An office drudge by day, she alternates her time on the east and west coasts, where she has way too much fun messing with fictional peoples' lives. She is the author of HOT WATER and PLAYING WITH FIRE. This is her fifth novel.
Read more at Callie Sparks’s site.
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