by Jordan Ford
Once again his bag got flung across the room. He threw his gym clothes into his laundry basket and cursed, hating the idea that he’d be the one to have to clean it all later, hating that his dad’s laundry would be piled up near the washing machine as well.
“I’m not your mother!” he shouted at his closed door. Lashing out with his foot, he knocked the trash can over. Balled-up paper and a few gum wrappers tumbled onto the carpet along with two crumpled cranes.
His shoulders slumped, breaths spurting out of his nose as he knelt to the ground and collected them up like they were delicate petals.
“You can’t sacrifice your life for her,” he whispered. “If she’s stuck in that tower, nothing could ever come of it. You’ll never be able to take her out. You’ll never be able to do anything with her!” He squeezed his eyes shut and smashed his teeth together. “But I hate the idea of never seeing her again.”
Then why are you in your room and not climbing my tower right now?
Her posh accent made the words ring in his mind. Her eyes would sparkle as she said them, a slight exasperation tinging her tone.
Jumping to his feet, he gently laid the cranes down on his desk before yanking his door open, nearly tripping as he sped down the stairs. Not wanting to get spotted by the baseball boys, he snuck around the back of his garage and stayed low, climbing up the edge of the tower so as not to get spotted.
The window was a little ajar and he wrestled to shunt it open, hoping none of the kids would look up from what they were doing.
The sound of their shouts and laughter floated over him as he struggled to squish through the little gap he’d created. A few grunts and a lot of upper-body exertion later, Tristan was lying on the attic floor.
Craning his neck, he looked around the room, hoping to spot the girl who’d captured him, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Helena?” he called as loud as he dared.
Nothing.
He spun onto his stomach, pushing off the floor and jumping to his feet.
The attic door was half open. He crept towards it, straining to hear voices. He thought he heard the faint sound of laughter.
Laughter.
Joy…in spite of the crazy.
She was only doing what she thought was right. Hadn’t he done the same by choosing his father? Pressing his forehead against the door, he closed his eyes and muttered a soft curse.
He’d been such a dick about the whole thing.
He wished he could go down and see her, apologize on the spot, but her mother would flip out. Helena had to know he’d come though.
Rushing to her desk, he shuffled some papers around until he found a writing pad. Tearing a fresh sheet from the back, he grabbed a pen and scribbled her a note.
Your decision scares me. I worry that you’re throwing your life away.
I’m worried I won’t get to see you again.
Sorry for being faint-hearted.
Help me find a new name, Helena. Please.
He scribbled down his email address, which consisted of his first name, middle initial, and last name. Very boring. Hers was probably princesshelena or shiningstar—if her mother even let her have an email address! He cringed, hoping she did. He hated the thought of leaving things unresolved for a second more than they had to be.
Folding the note in half, he wrote her name on it and slipped it inside the book on the coffee table. All he could hope was that the dragon lady didn’t find it before her daughter did. He needed Helena to know he wasn’t giving up on her. As petrified as he was of seeing her—connecting with her again—he was more scared of never looking into those green eyes or smelling that hint of jasmine in her hair.
15
My Heart Doth Swoon
Darkness had settled in for the night. Dinner had been served and the dishes rinsed. Tristan could vaguely hear the whir of the dishwasher as he sat up in his room and tried to read the next scene from Romeo and Juliet. The soft glow from his computer, plus the amber lamplight, illuminated his desk. He hunched over the tattered book, his thumb playing with the bent corner of the page he was on.
“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright,” Tristan mumbled. “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!” Dropping the book with a sigh, he scrubbed his face. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Scanning the rest of Romeo’s little paragraph, Tristan tried to decipher what he could but was distracted by a bleep from his laptop. Moving the cursor to his mailbox, he clicked on the icon.
His stomach twitched, a smile cresting over his lips.
PrincessHelena - he’d been right.
Pointing the cursor on Helena’s email address, he double-clicked and leaned towards the screen.
What does the A stand for?
~ H
That was all the message said. No greeting, no farewell, aside from a letter. It was a very random start to what would no doubt be a very entertaining conversation. It took Tristan a moment to work out what she was asking and it wasn’t until he spotted his email address that he realized what she meant. With a little snicker, he rested his fingers on the keyboard and typed:
Alex. Tristan Alex Parker.
~ T
He pressed Send and waited, tapping his finger over Romeo’s lines.
An eternity passed—Tristan was sure of it—before his inbox dinged again.
You’ll be pleased to know that Alex means defender of men…a fine name and one that will fit you well. But I have better news yet…Tristan means a knight! So, my faint-hearted adventurer, I am pleased to inform you that your name officially means a knight and defender of men. How absolutely perfect! The wheels were set in motion the day your parents named you. All you need to do now is start living up to such a magnificent title.
~ H
Tristan’s eyes danced with wonder, his heart blooming in his chest as he replied.
You have a way with words that enchants me. I’ve never thought the meanings of names had any significance until I met you. You are a shining light and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, because my world is dark when you’re not near.
~ T
He cringed, the cursor hovering over the Send button as he reread his babble. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the mouse and bit the inside of his cheek.
Well, well, I’m turning you into a poet. This is indeed a hanging crane moment.
~ H
He snickered, rubbing his hands together and leaning over his keyboard.
I doubt you could ever make a poet out of me. I’m trying to read Romeo and Juliet right now and it’s painful! Why couldn’t Shakespeare just talk like a normal person? His writing is so hard to understand. I’m drowning in ’doths’ and ‘thous,’ and random words tacked on to the end of sentences that don’t make any sense!
~ T
Shakespeare was a genius! And Romeo and Juliet…my heart doth swoon!
I love that play! Yes, it is hard to decipher, but don’t rush through it. There is beauty in those words. A beauty that has been lost throughout the years, replaced with words like ‘forshizzle’ and ‘true dat.’ Don’t get me wrong, those words can still make me smile, but they’ve not been kissed by magic.
~ H
Sitting back in his chair with a bewildered smile, Tristan snorted a puff of air out his nose and shook his head.
She was seriously like no one he had ever met in his life. An old-fashioned fairytale, trapped in a world that would never understand her.
Skimming his fingers over the play, his eyes landed on Romeo’s final two lines.
“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight,” he murmured, “For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
A smile grew on his lips, broad and unfamiliar.
Are you still there? I was hoping you could tell me about your week.
~ H
Tristan made a face, his lip curling as he bent over h
is keyboard and started tapping.
My week. You don’t want to hear about my week. It’s been awful.
~ T
Well, now I’m intrigued and you must share it with me—every miserable detail.
~ H
Sitting up a little straighter, Tristan gave a pensive frown, then poised his fingers over the keys and went to work, describing everything he could, but mostly focusing on his particularly heinous day. He tried to pepper it with sarcastic humor, but she read right through it.
It was a good thing you came to see me, then. I’m sorry I was not there to hug you and tell you that ‘tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it.’ I got that one from Anne of Green Gables, in case you’re wondering, although I’d love to claim it as my own. Such an inspiring line, don’t you think?
Each day, a brand-new start. A chance to do things better. To make things right.
Promise you’ll come to see me straight after school. It is imperative I hug you.
~ H
The idea of wrapping his arms around the slender girl turned his muscles to melted marshmallow. A grin skittered over his lips as he nervously typed back.
Why?
~ T
Oh, Tristan. Don’t you know?
Hugs are one of the most underrated acts of kindness on this earth. They make everything better, if only for a moment.
~ H
A smile tugged at his lips, pulling the right side of his face north.
Then I will most definitely be climbing through your window tomorrow afternoon.
Until then, sleep well, sweet Helena.
~ T
Sweet Helena—how can I not have the world’s most charming dreams after being called that by a handsome knight?
~ H
He couldn’t reply. Instead he ran his fingers over her words, his heart thumping a loud tune that he’d never heard before.
16
A Random Hug of Kindness
Tristan couldn’t wait for the end of the day. A hug from Helena. It sounded so innocent, so sweet—so incredibly what he needed. His life had been tainted with so much bitterness and anger over the past two years, torn between two people who claimed to love him yet couldn’t look past their own hurt to actually see him.
Helena, with her beguiling green eyes, was pure light, a rainbow after a storm. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to her.
Tristan bought a sandwich at lunchtime and headed out to the bleachers to eat in peace. He didn’t need the company; he could hang out with Helena and get his fill that afternoon.
The sun was vivid in the sky, making the white bleachers blinding. Tristan squinted, wishing he’d remembered his shades, but he wasn’t about to complain. Spring was on its way and he was ready for the warmer weather. The freshly cut grass of the field was a vibrant green, the smell wafting up his nose and reminding him of summer ball games.
Plunking onto the second to top tier, Tristan yanked out his sandwich and quickly unwrapped it. He was about to take his first bite when he heard a faint sniff, then a shuddering breath, followed by a soft whimper.
He cringed, wondering if he could just ignore it, or maybe even sneak away without being noticed. That would be a really jerk thing to do though, and if it slipped out around Helena, she’d probably tell him off for being heartless.
With a sigh, he tucked his sandwich into his bag and bent down to peer between his legs. Beneath the bleachers, huddled against the side, was Mikayla. Her skinny arms were wrapped around her knees, clutching them to her chest like a teddy bear. Her face was red and blotchy, her freckles covered with wet tears.
Tristan’s gut twisted uncomfortably, his reluctance turning his legs to lead. He glanced up, staring at the baseball diamond in the right-hand corner of the field. It’d be so easy to jump down and jog away, touch home plate and disappear back into the school, but…
Do the right thing, man.
Clenching his jaw, he snatched his bag, trotted down the stairs, and ducked beneath the bleachers.
“Hey,” he said softly, easing onto the ground beside her.
“Hi.” Her short word came out as a near squeak, tears making it hard for her to talk.
She slashed at them, sniffing and swallowing.
“What’s up?” Tristan tipped to the side, lightly knocking her shoulder with his arm.
She shrugged, her chin trembling. “Oh, you know, just the usual. Owen trying to make my life hell.”
Tristan sighed, anger and pity flittering through him. “What’d he do this time?”
“He posted a picture of me on Instagram and Facebook and Twitter and Tumblr! It’s been doctored and makes me look like I’m naked in his bed.” She swiped a finger under her nose. “He wrote a post about what we got up to, but it’s all lies. I never slept with him! That’s why we broke up. I wasn’t ready and he got really pissed off with me, so I dumped him…and he won’t let me forget it.”
“He’s such an asswipe.” Tristan’s voice cut through her tears, an angry whisper that made her laugh. It was a watery, pathetic sound. She nodded, a fresh wave of tears convulsing her body.
“I know I shouldn’t care what anyone thinks, but he’s kind of popular in this school and now he’s got them believing we slept together. So the girls who like him hate me and the girls who hate him are disgusted with me. Catcalls and whispered gossip have been following me all day.” She sucked in a sob. “My mom’s on Facebook. What if she sees it?”
“I’m sure they can take that kind of thing down. You could report it somehow.”
She nodded. “Yeah, probably. I just hate that I even have to.” Her words were punctured with breathy jerks, her stomach still spasming after her sob-fest.
“Hey.” He nudged her softly. “You haven’t done anything wrong. He’s the asshole.”
“Then why do I feel so dirty?” New tears flooded her eyes and she covered her face with her hands, a little whimper shooting out of her mouth.
Tristan didn’t know what to say or how else to comfort her. He hated the sound of her tears. He wanted to pummel Owen into the ground for being such a dick, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to fight, especially if the fight wasn’t his.
Mikayla rested her forehead against her knees, her small body still convulsing.
Hugs are one of the most underrated acts of kindness on this earth. They make everything better, if only for a moment.
Helena’s sweet words whispered through his brain and before he could stop himself, he raised his arm and gently nestled it around Mikayla’s shoulders. She leaned into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder and whimpering again.
Tristan squeezed a little tighter, perching his chin on the top of her head and whispering, “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She nodded and pressed her face into his chest. Her arm snaked around his waist and she held on like her life depended on it. Tristan rubbed her back, not saying a word as her body jerked against him.
It was kind of nice holding her. She didn’t smell like jasmine. Her hair had a citrus freshness to it, but her tiny arm around his waist, the way her head felt against his shoulder, that part was sweet. And the part that made it sweet was that Tristan was doing the right thing.
Mikayla’s tears dried up, her quaking body stopped spasming, and after a while she went still in his arms. A light breeze snuck between the bleachers and ruffled Mikayla’s fine hair. It tickled his chin and he leaned back, brushing the tendrils away.
“Thanks, Tristan,” Mikayla whispered, squeezing his waist and sitting away from him. “Thanks for listening.”
“Yeah, sure.” He nodded.
An awkward silence landed on him and he twitched his lips, not sure what he was supposed to do.
The bell saved his life, beckoning them back to class. He jumped up, probably too quickly.
“Are you coming?”
“Yeah, in a minute.” Her eyes were puffy and swollen, her nose still fire engine red.
He hitched his bag onto hi
s shoulder and smiled down at her. “Maybe you should skip this period.”
“I’ll think about it.” She shrugged, forcing a brief grin.
Tapping her boot with the toe of his shoe, he winked at her. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you.”
“Thanks.” A smile didn’t reach her lips, but it brushed her eyes for a second.
He ducked out from under the bleachers and walked away, unsure what else to do or say. It felt good knowing he’d done the right thing. He’d hoped it was enough. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he bobbed his head, smiling as he touched his foot on home plate.
Yeah, it was something.
It had been enough.
17
Romeo Rewritten
Covering for Mikayla was easy. The teacher bought his lie about her feeling unwell without even batting an eyelid. Curious stares followed him to his seat, as per usual, but he held his head high, unflustered by them. He’d done the right thing and damn, if it didn’t make him feel good. He couldn’t wait to tell Helena.
He biked home from school in record time, dumping his bike and backpack next to his father’s car and racing across the grass. He didn’t think to check the trellis or the fact that each time he climbed it, it grew a little weaker. All he could think about was reaching Helena, stepping into her embrace and feeling her arms wrap around him. Jasmine would envelop him and he’d be lost and found all in the same moment.
Stretching high, he reached for his normal spot on the trellis, throwing his weight into it and sucking in his breath when it snapped. His foot slipped and he gripped the other side, swinging around. He crashed into the wall, his arm twisting painfully. Without meaning to, he glanced down, a sudden vertigo seizing him.
