Paper Cranes (Fairytale Twist #1)

by Jordan Ford

34

  The Perfect Poem

  Miss Warren’s words were comforting, uplifting even, but the emotion didn’t last for long. The next morning he biked to school, heavy with Helena’s burden. The look of fear on her face when she said it was over haunted him. He couldn’t let that be their last encounter. He couldn’t let her think that he’d just walk away so easily.

  He needed to see her again, but it was risky, and the visit had to mean something. It had to be magical, epic, the kind of visit worthy of Helena’s romantic heart.

  Mikayla slapped her locker shut, snapping Tristan out of his daydream. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you. It’s not your way or whatever, but Tristan, I’m here if you need me, okay?”

  Her words were slow to register. Gazing down at her petite face, he forced a smile, feeling bad for continually ignoring her. For someone so small, she sure had a lot of determination. She wasn’t giving up on him anytime soon.

  He wanted to tell her to stop wasting her time. He wasn’t friend material, but he was pretty sure the statement would hurt her feelings and he didn’t have it in him to damage anyone else.

  “Thanks,” Tristan mumbled, brushing past her and heading for the cafeteria. He didn’t feel like eating, but his stomach was telling him otherwise. He’d grab a quick bite and then go hide out in a quiet part of the school.

  “Mr. Parker,” Miss Warren called down the corridor. People around him shot curious glances over their shoulders as his English teacher wove her way through the lunchtime traffic.

  He edged to the side, finding a small pocket of space against the wall.

  Her smile was sweet and motherly as she approached him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about your friend last night. Your story really touched me. What you want to do for her is…beautiful, even if she doesn’t want your help right now.”

  Tristan managed a half smile and nod of thanks, dropping his gaze to the floor when a trio of jocks passed them. The big one muttered something and the other two snickered. Tristan bit the inside of his cheek.

  “Anyway…” Miss Warren spread her hands. “I thought of a solution for how you could keep your promise and respect her wishes at the same time.” She held out a brown leather book. “I don’t understand everything that’s going on, but I do know this could bring her the peace she’s looking for.”

  Tristan stared at the cover, his face bunching with confusion.

  She smiled. “I want you to borrow this. It’s a collection of poetry by E.E. Cummings.”

  She shook it, encouraging him to reach forward and collect the offering. With a tentative hand, he took it from her, running his fingers over the title imprint.

  “It’s a first edition, so be careful with it.” She winked.

  He shot it back towards her hand. “I can’t. This is too precious.”

  She crossed her arms, refusing to take it back. “It’s only a loan, and trust me, you want this book. It might hold the answer you’re looking for.”

  He frowned in confusion.

  “It’s one of his 1952 poems…about the heart. You’ll know it when you see.” She winked.

  Rendered speechless, Tristan watched his teacher spin on her heel and clip back to her classroom. A few curious onlookers gave him quizzical stares. He ignored them, brushing through the crowd and heading to the library. Lunch could wait.

  Sneaking into the quiet space, he headed for a table in the back corner and perched his elbows on the polished wood.

  He thumbed through the old pages and found the collection of poems Miss Warren was talking about. He scanned for the word heart and found the title easily. He figured it must be the one she was talking about. Opening the book wide, he winced as the spine crackled, but then he started reading. He began mumbling the words, and then his lips parted with wonder before rising into a very slow smile.

  Placing the book on the table, he spread his hand over the old pages and leaned back in his chair. It was a great promise. It was full and emotional and said way more than a sixteen-year-old should.

  Tapping his finger over the text, he pursed his lips. Giving it to her would be a huge commitment on his part, but he’d want to follow through. He didn’t want the decision to be spontaneous and based on emotion. When he gave her the poem, he wanted to mean every single word.

  Pulling the book off the table, he read the text again.

  “And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart,” he murmured, his smile growing again.

  Yeah, decision made. He had to give Helena this poem, and he had to give it to her that day. Snatching his bag off the floor, he pulled out a sheet of blank paper and a black pen.

  Going slow, he copied out the text in his best handwriting and blew on the ink to dry it. He was about to fold it like a standard letter but paused before making the first crease. With a playful grin, he set about folding the paper with a little more meaning. His face bunched with concentration, his eyebrows making a tight V as he fumbled through the task.

  Pressing his hand over the creation, he shook his head and muttered, “That’ll have to do.”

  The end of lunch bell rang and Tristan looked over his shoulder at the clock on the wall.

  He’d never played hooky before in his life, but there was no way he’d be able to concentrate anyway.

  Hitching his bag onto his shoulder, he sauntered out of the library and snuck out of school. His hands shook as he unlocked his bike, praying he wouldn’t get busted. As soon as the lock was free, he jumped on his bike and started pedaling.

  It didn’t matter what kind of trouble awaited him the next day…or even at the hospital. The only thing that mattered was giving Helena a paper crane.

  35

  I’ll Carry Your Heart

  Tristan locked up his bike and walked into the hospital, trying to look as though he belonged there. Ambling up to the counter, he shone the receptionist a pleasant smile and asked which room Helena Thompson was in. She looked it up and told him visiting hours finished at seven.

  He nodded and headed for the elevator, nerves skittering through him. His hands shook as he pushed the button for the third floor. It took two attempts before the button lit. He rode up with an old man who kept sniffing and a lady with spiral curls whose nails tapped on her phone screen the entire time. He stared at his shoes until the elevator dinged.

  Ducking into the corridor, he headed for the neurology ward and room ten. He slowed down near the door and peeked inside, sucking in a breath and ducking out of sight. Mrs. Thompson was by the bed, leaning back in her chair and staring at her daughter with a desolate expression.

  Tristan didn’t get a chance to see Helena’s face, just the tips of her feet beneath the blankets. He scuttled back down the hallway, setting up position against the wall—out of sight, yet with a clear view of the door.

  All he had to do was wait until Mrs. Thompson left the room.

  He rolled his eyes. That could take forever, but surely she’d have to use the bathroom at some point.

  Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he shoved his hands in his pockets. The crane crumpled beneath his touch and he winced, pulling it out and trying to resurrect the dented bird. It really was a pitiful attempt, but it held more meaning than anyone could fathom.

  Helena would get it though.

  His lips twitched with a smile.

  “Excuse me, young man?”

  Tristan glanced up at the soft voice and jerked tall, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

  A nurse with light mocha skin and jet-black curls stared at him curiously.

  “Are you waiting for someone?” She slid her pen into her green scrubs pocket.

  “Just visiting a friend,” he croaked.

  Following his line of sight, she glanced over her shoulder and then turned back with a knowing grin.

  “I see.” Her lips pursed to the side, but then broke into an easy grin. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Tristan, would it?”
>
  He licked his bottom lip, dreading what was about to come. Before she could kick him out, he stepped forward, his face creasing with a pleading look. “I just want to talk to her for a minute. I swear I won’t stay long.”

  “There’s no way you’re going to get past her mother.”

  He slumped back against the wall with a sigh.

  “But I’ll see what I can do.” She winked.

  He frowned, his head tipping with the silent question.

  She chuckled and shook her head. “That girl in there has it pretty bad for you. Apparently she murmured your name throughout the night, and when I caught her crying this morning she confessed a little. I think it’d do her good to see you.”

  His blue eyes sparkled as he mouthed, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We still need to get security out of the room.” Her eyes rounded with a comical look that made Tristan snicker. “Wish me luck.”

  Tristan shifted on his feet, resting his butt against the wall and gripping the insides of his pockets.

  It was a nervous ten minutes, but eventually the nurse popped out with Mrs. Thompson.

  “I really shouldn’t leave her.”

  “Ma’am, you will do your daughter no service by starving yourself. You head on down to the cafeteria. I’ll keep an eye on her for you. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’ll just be fifteen minutes.” Mrs. Thompson’s voice trembled. She looked so small and fragile next to the robust nurse.

  “You take your time.”

  Mrs. Thompson stopped and gazed back at the door.

  “Please, Mrs. Thompson. Do this for Helena. She needs you strong and well in order to face this journey ahead.”

  The woman’s eyes rounded, her chest sinking in as her shoulders slumped.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she finally whispered, sucking in a fearful breath. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  The nurse gave her a tight smile, ushering her towards the elevators. Tristan turned his head as they walked past, but as soon as the coast was clear, he darted into Helena’s room.

  She was gazing out the window, her pale face on the pillow looking fragile and lost. Her brow creased and she closed her eyes, swallowing slowly before inching them back open.

  Tristan’s heart spasmed as he clutched the end of the metal bed.

  “Hey,” he whispered, managing a half smile that would hopefully hide his anguish.

  With a sweet gasp, she whipped around to face him, her eyes lighting and her lips rising into a weak smile.

  “You came back.” Her laugh was breathy and surprised. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  He stepped around the bed, perching his butt on the side and gently taking her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. “Of course I came back. I couldn’t let that be the last time I saw you.”

  Her expression was sweet and tender, her jade eyes trying to shine, yet not quite making it. That low-lying fear still remained.

  “How are you?” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

  She sucked in a shaky breath. “Mother desperately wants me back in our castle. She won’t stop talking about it. Her anxiety is growing more each day. She’s been arguing with doctors over whether or not she should allow me to undergo surgery. She’s convinced the anesthetic will kill me. The doctors aren’t pleased and insist I stay here for further testing and observation.”

  “Will the surgery help you walk again?”

  “They’re not sure.” Helena shrugged. “They say I have a lumbar spinal fracture. An operation might help, but there are no guarantees.” Her voice caught on the last word.

  “But if there’s even a chance, you have to take it.” Tristan frowned.

  “I’m only fifteen. I need her consent.”

  “But it’s your—”

  She raised her hand to silence him. “You don’t have to argue with me. I know it’s my body, and I should have a say. But she’s sick, remember? She can’t hear reason like the rest of us can.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the pillows with a weary sigh. “There have been so many phone calls and whispered conversations outside the door. No one will give me a definitive answer, and I don’t know what’s going on.” Her lips wobbled. “It frightens me.”

  He squeezed her hand but she wriggled her fingers free, running them down her long braid and picking up the end. She wound the hair around her finger, her small nose twitching while her chin trembled.

  “I don’t like this fear, Tristan. I don’t want to live like this, but I can’t seem to find any kind of light or hope in this brewing darkness. All I see before me is despair.”

  His face crumpled and he took her hand back, pressing it against his cheek. “I wish I could make it better. I wish I could change it.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “There’s nothing you can do. What’s done is done and I will learn to live with it. It’s not like much will really change. I already spend my life trapped in a house.” Her voice petered away, the last few words only just audible.

  “It doesn’t have to stay that way.”

  “Oh, Tristan, stop it.” She looked away from him, gazing out the window. Two birds were playing on the sill, their tiny feet bobbing up and down before their wings spread and they dashed into the air.

  Helena swallowed. “I have to learn to accept my fate. Empty promises of hope won’t help me do that.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, her face awash with despair. “It won’t take away the dread…the crushing reality.” She sucked in a ragged breath, her eyes firmly fixed on the window. The light shining through was pale and dull, the sky a sad blue. “You should probably go before Mother returns.”

  Tristan stood from the bed, dropping her hand with a light sigh.

  He checked the door and then looked down at the girl he loved. His heart swelled with agony before cresting with an overwhelming desire to take her fears away.

  “I—I brought you a gift.”

  Her smile was small but instant, lighting her expression before she had time to stop it. “What is it?”

  Digging into his pocket with a nervous snicker, he pulled out his feeble excuse for a paper crane.

  “Sorry it’s not folded very well.” He winced as he handed it to her.

  She took it, gently fingering the wings. “It’s beautiful.” She held it up to her eyes, frowning at the scrawled writing. “I can’t read the words.”

  “Oh, I wrote a poem on the paper and then folded it.”

  A familiar sparkle danced in her eyes when she looked at him. “You wrote me a poem?”

  “Well.” Tristan tipped back on his heels with a bashful chuckle. “I didn’t actually write it, I just copied it, but it’s…it’s like a promise.” He looked down at her legs, running his fingers gently over the white hospital blanket. “Because no matter what happens, whether you have surgery or not or…even if you never walk again…or if your mother traps you in that big green house, I’m going to help you leave a footprint.”

  His eyes flicked up to meet her gaze. Her pale-faced wonder was beautiful.

  “How?” she whispered.

  “It’s in the poem.” He cleared his throat and sat down, rubbing his hand up her thigh.

  “Can you read it to me?” She passed him the crane.

  “Uh.” He gazed at the crane, nerves skittering through him. He wasn’t one for reading aloud, especially a poem like that. He was kind of hoping she’d read it once he’d gone.

  A family group passed the door, their wave of laughter catching Tristan’s ears and making him spin to take a look. For a second he thought her mother was coming back, but it was safe. No one was coming in and he had no excuses not to follow through on her request.

  “O-okay.” He gingerly took the crane and unfolded it, careful not to rip the paper. He flattened it out against his chest, his cheeks burning with color. Scratching his chin, he cleared his throat again, glancing up to peek at her face.

  A closed-mouth
smile was perched on her lips, her eyes brimming with a look of adoration.

  Shuffling on the bed, he held the paper in his hands, trying to ignore the way it trembled. He scanned the first line and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  The pads of her fingers brushed his hand, skimming over the skin and forcing the words from him.

  “I carry your heart with me,” he croaked, his voice husky and foreign. Clearing the tickle from his throat, he shook his head and softly smiled at her. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go you go, my dear; And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling.” He swallowed, his eyes starting to smart as a tremor shook his voice. “I fear no fate – for you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world – for beautiful you are my world, my true.”

  Her fingers pressed into his hand and he looked at her, the glistening in her eyes making him want to cry. He sniffed and gazed back at the paper, refusing to look at her again. He’d never make it through the poem if he did.

  Shifting his shoulders, he found his place and continued reading.

  “And it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you. Here is the deepest secret nobody knows. Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; Which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.” His voice caught. Pressing his lips together, he sucked in a breath, ignoring the tear gliding down his cheek. “And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart…I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.”

  He swiped at his tears and sniffed, feeling like a fool as he dropped the paper onto her legs. A few fresh trails trickled out the corner of his eyes, dripping down his nose. He sniffed again and rubbed them away with his knuckle.

  “That’s your promise to me?” Her voice shook and he had to break his resolve and take in her watery smile and quivering chin.

  He nodded, unable to speak as emotion clogged his throat.

  She let out a little chuckle, tears streaming down to her chin as she reached for his face. He leaned into her, letting her capture his cheeks and gaze into his eyes with a look of pure love so strong and true that he forgot how to breathe.