The Truth About Alice(47)

“Are you home alone?” I ask him.

“My grandmother is at church,” he says. “Wednesday night fellowship.”

“Of course,” I say with a grin.

“So,…” Kurt says. “I got your note.”

“The one I slipped into your locker?”

Kurt nods yes. “I was wondering where you got that clever idea.” He chuckles at his own joke. I love it when Kurt is silly. When he is, it’s like this perfect mix of doing something that seems totally out of character but is actually totally in character once you get to know him.

“So you read it?” I ask.

“Yes,” Kurt says, and I wonder if he has also memorized the words I chose so carefully the night before. Here’s what it said: Dear Kurt. Dearest Kurt. My dear Kurt. I want you to know that none of what happened before matters. I want you to know it’s okay you didn’t tell me about Brandon sooner. I want to tell you that I’m sorry for anything I said that hurt you and that you were right. That it wasn’t fair for me to react the way I did. Because you’ve been everything to me this year, Kurt. You’ve been my friend. And I want you to know that I don’t want to be friends with anyone else but you. I think I just needed some time to come to terms with all of it. To think it all through. This isn’t nearly as poetic or adequate as if you had written it, but what I’m trying to say is that all is forgotten and all is forgiven. Not that there was ever anything, really, to forgive you for. If anything, I need to ask your forgiveness. I’ll come by tonight at 7:30 exactly and if you answer your door when I knock, I’ll know it means you feel the same way and we can be friends again. If you don’t answer the door, I’ll never bother you again. Thanks for everything. Alice.

“Alice, I want to explain—” Kurt starts, but I cut him off.

“There’s nothing to explain, Kurt,” I tell him. “Honestly.” I notice he has a scar on his knee. I’ve never noticed it before. I remind myself to ask him later where he got it. Suddenly, I have a million things I want to know about Kurt Morelli. “Kurt, I want you to know, I’m just so sorry for anything—”

“Alice, I read your note, remember?” Kurt says, and now it’s his turn to cut me off. “I’ve missed spending time with you, Alice. Tremendously.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I say. “And I’ve missed your vocabulary.”

“Tremendously?” he says wryly.

“Oh, yes, tremendously,” I answer.

I’ve got this certain kind of feeling about Kurt Morelli. I think I first realized it existed when I sat down to write him that note. Or maybe I first realized it during those miserable few weeks when we weren’t friends. Or maybe I recognized it when Elaine O’Dea and I talked that afternoon at the Curl Up and Dye. Maybe I don’t know when exactly I started feeling it. Maybe it’s sort of like the way the Healy heat comes on so steadily you don’t realize it’s there until one morning you wake up and it’s 102 degrees at seven in the morning. It seems like it happened overnight, but when you look back, you realize it was building slowly all along.

I think that’s the way it’s been for me and Kurt.

I know Kurt won’t, so I reach over and take his hand, and I like the way his fingers lace up with mine, like we’ve held hands a million times before. I’m surprised at how sure his grip is and at how fast my heart is pumping. We sit in the silence of the Healy evening, surrounded by the comforting chorus of cicadas.

“Thank you, Kurt, for being here,” I tell him.

“Thank you, Alice, for the same thing,” he says back, his voice almost a whisper.

And then Kurt looks at me with his big, sweet eyes and he smiles at me with his nice, warm grin.

It’s the kind of grin you can trust. The kind of grin you want to keep on seeing. The kind of grin you wear on your face when you know you’re going places in this life.

Because Kurt Morelli is going places.

Someday, so will I.



Acknowledgements


Huge thanks to my amazing agent Sarah LaPolla for absolutely everything. That call on the beach changed my life, and it wouldn’t have happened without your guidance, support, and willingness to cheerfully put up with my neurosis. I owe you so much. Thanks also to Nathan Bransford for taking a chance, Sonya Sones for telling me I could, and Liz Peterson for reading early drafts and providing valuable feedback. Many thanks to everyone at Roaring Brook Press, especially my editor Nancy Mercado who works with a wise and gentle hand. Much love to my mom, dad, brother Christopher and sister Stephanie for calling me a writer long before anyone else did.

And to Kevin, who suffered through rejections and revisions alongside me and served as the world’s best sounding board through many late night talk times. Texas-sized love to you and Elliott forever.