Project Smile

Nineteen

Sunlight streams through the window, but I don't want to move out of this spot. I've been awake for about two hours, and I've done nothing more than lie in the floor and listen to the song until I've memorized every single word. It's still playing but tuned out of my brain now, though I occasionally find myself mouthing along.

   The dream hasn't left my head for a single second. Just thinking about it gives me the chills, brings a smile to my face, and makes me want to cry all at the same time. Zach's face floods my memory, making me grin a little and increasing my heartbeat.

   Across the hall, Pete's still asleep. I hear him snoring slightly, and I listen to that for a few moments. I wonder how he'd react if he suddenly woke to find me in here. Then I shake my head, not sure that I want to think about that.

   Slowly, I turn my head and look towards the window. Reaching for it, I pull the blinds away and look outside, where frost covers the ground. It makes the woods look especially beautiful. As I look, it reminds me of three years earlier, when there was not only frost but about four or five inches of snow on the ground (the town record), and when three teenagers decided to host their weekly book club out in it. It reminds me of another good day, the one when those three teenagers began planning for the future they wanted together.

   Staring into those trees, the memory comes alive once more.

   It was about twenty-five degrees outside, but I was burning up in my heavy winter coat. Three thermoses of hot chocolate were shoved against my ribcage and a bag of books was balanced on my arm. Beside me, Zach and Pete carried chairs over their heads, both of them out of breath as they walked up the hill to their usual spot.

   "How much longer?" asked Pete, stopping for a moment to catch his breath.

   "Only a couple more minutes," I promised, and he sighed. "Hey, at least you're not the one carrying all of the hot stuff and a sack of nine books that feel like they're breaking your arm."

   "S-She's got a p-point, Pete," laughed Zach, seemingly in good spirits. Pete jokingly glared at him for a moment, then continued to walk. Zach caught up to me. "Is your a-arm okay? I c-could help, if y-you want me t-to."

   "That's okay," I smiled. "I got it." He smiled back and continued to walk beside me. The frigid wind continued to blow, and it felt good against my sweating face. It also blew more snow onto the both of us, sticking on our hair and clothes and bringing more of a smile to all three of us.

   We finally made it to our spot, and Pete sat his chair down first. Zach put his first one down, then moved to make sure the other one was of equal distance. The chairs now made the shape of a perfect equilateral triangle. I sat down in the first one I saw. Pete and Zach followed, and then I tossed them both a thermos and their three copies of the books.

   "Whose idea was it to host a weekly book club outside, anyway?" muttered Pete. "Now it's really cold."

   "To the last I recall, it was yours," I say, looking at him.

   "Well, I don't remember that," he replied, scoffing and crossing his arms over his chest.

   "I d-do," Zach chimed in, laughing.

   "Anyway, who's going first today?" he asked, trying to divert the attention from himself. "And what would you like to discuss first? To Kill a Mockingbird, The Bell Jar, or The Catcher in the Rye?"

   Both Zach and I stopped to think for a moment, looking down at the books spread out on our laps. Then I glanced over at him and noticed that all of his books had been well-read throughout the years, with dog-eared pages and broken spines. Pete's looked brand-new, and if I didn't know Pete well, I would've thought that he didn't bother to touch him. Zach and Pete were two very different people when it came to the condition of their books. Zach didn't mind if his spines broke or if his pages yellowed a little, because it showed the love that the book received over the years. Pete couldn't stand it, and he hated even opening his book all the way. Instead, he cracked it open just enough for him to read the whole page, keeping both hands on it carefully so the covers would stay together later. Personally, I was in the middle, which seemed to bug them just as much as they bugged the other.