Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(66)

Bryn: I loved the song.

I smirked at the screen and started to type.

Emmett: That’s not what you said at my house.

Bryn: My mind was still marinating on it. It was so unusual, I needed time to digest it.

I nodded.

Emmett: It didn’t follow a typical melody.

Bryn: It’s when something is disproportionate that it becomes interesting.

I nodded slowly. I needed to hear that from her.

Emmett: I’m glad it had an impact on you. You don’t realize the impact you’ve had on me.

I blew out a sigh and continued to type.

Emmett: But you’re still holding back. There’s something you’re not telling me.

Bryn: I’m trying. You have no idea how much I want to show you everything. All of me. You and I are so similar, straddling two worlds, and not fitting into either one completely.

Emmett: Why do you prefer to write to me?

I waited for a couple of minutes. There was no response. I creased my forehead and wondered why she was stalling. A response lit up my screen.

Bryn: There is a beautiful disease. It’s called hypergraphia. It’s a compulsive need to write. It’s rumored David Foster Wallace had it. That would help to explain Infinite Jest, why it took a thousand pages of a continual stream of consciousness just to unfold a single layer of his complicated mind.

Some people call the compulsion a curse. Others see it as a gift.

I think there is something beautiful about having that constant lust for words.

I need to write to you. It’s how my emotions make sense to me. It’s how this knot of tunnels in my mind all unravels.

I wouldn’t mind having hypergraphia.

I would love to drown in a sea of words.

I felt myself nodding along to her words. I completely understood.

Emmett: I feel that way about music. I need to play in order to make sense of a million jumbled thoughts. It’s like meditation. Or worse, a security blanket.

Bryn: I don’t think it’s a security blanket. I think it’s about vision. It’s about seeing more than what’s right in front of you. Once you learn to do that, you start to see beyond what’s there and you spill over into seeing what you imagine is there. Or what you wish was there. I’ve had this problem ever since I was young.

Emmett: Problem? It sounds like a gift.

I tapped the edge of the screen. There was a question gnawing at the back of my mind. I typed slowly.

Emmett: What are you afraid of?

I hit send.

Bryn: I’ve always been afraid I won’t get my fill. I go to bed every night, starved. Wanting more. Wondering what I’m missing, and why I feel trapped. I don’t know what could satisfy this feeling—a place? A person?

Emmett: I think you’re afraid to take a risk. You’re brave, but only when you’re in control. Like on the volleyball court. But taking a physical risk in one thing. You might get a broken bone or a bruise, but you’ll get over it. That doesn’t make you fearless. It’s taking risks with your emotions, with your heart involved—that’s what makes you brave.

Bryn: You’re right.

Emmett: So what are you waiting for? Go all in with me. If you’re not all in, then what’s the point of anything? If you hold back what are you going to gain?

Bryn: You don’t understand that I see it from the flip side. I still see everything I have to lose. I can’t explain it to you right now. That’s why I write to you. This is where I’m at my best.

I breathed out a heavy sigh and sank back into my pillows. I didn’t understand it, but I was willing to wait. Her words were gasoline to me, and I was playing with fire. There was only one thing left to say.

Emmett: I wish you would think out loud more often. I love this side of you.

I stared at the word love and hit send. I was going too far. But I knew it was too late.

Bryn and I emailed every night for the rest of the month, while we were on the road or she was traveling for games. But I realized the problem with words. They were too stationary. They contained you. They held you at a distance. And nothing worthwhile happened at a distance.





Chapter Twenty-Six


CeCe


Nothing was normal now. Left became right, up became down. Everything that was wrong felt right.

It was early in the morning when our team bus entered the Field House. The parking lot was empty. The campus had the sleepy look of a village under hibernation, resting beneath a layer of ice and snow, trying to stay warm and insulated until spring. The bookstore windows were edged in frost, like silver-white stenciling. A few kids scurried on the sidewalks, in puffy coats, their chins tucked beneath zippers and scarves, their skin pinched against the driving cold wind.

When we got back to the Church, I made the excuse that I needed to run to the store. I zipped up my coat and hurried through the cold air to Emmett’s house. The fresh fallen snow crunched under my boots. I turned onto his street and my heart started to pound. I dug my hands deep in my jacket pockets.

I mentally gave myself a pep talk that I could do this. I had to do this. I had to tell him the truth. I wanted to be there, saying these words next to him. I wanted to see his reaction, to feel the energy of his presence. The black and white words I had been writing to him weren’t sustaining me anymore. I was craving so much more.

I slowed down when I noticed a girl in a black winter coat and impossibly long legs walking up the front steps. I stopped behind a giant snow bank and peered around it. I watched as the door opened. Bryn walked inside.