Chapter 15 | Hurricanes Are Named After People
“From the moment I met you, not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you.” ― Attack of the Clones
“Please?” I ask Dr. Watson the following morning, giving her my best pouty face- the same one I always give my mom whenever I ask her for something. Granted, it hardly ever works on my mother, but still, I can try.
“Sawyer, I just don’t feel very comfortable discharging you from the ward just yet—especially not for something as trivial as a date. This is only your third day being here, you know,” Dr. Watson reminds me.
“But I really wanna go,” I tell her and I think that it comes out sounding a little bit whiny but at this point, I really don’t care. “I promise I’ll be back before bedtime,” I add, hoping that that’ll sway her. I’ve been here in her office for about half an hour now, trying to convince her to let me go out with Graham tonight.
“If this George guy really likes you and you really like him, what exactly is the problem that you have with waiting until I formally discharge you in a couple of days before you go out on your little date?” She questions me with a sigh and I can tell that she’s growing tired of this conversation but if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a quitter.
“His name is Graham,” I remind her, running my fingers through my hair and leaning back in the comfy chair that sits across from her large, mahogany desk. “And I don’t have a problem with waiting and I’m sure he doesn’t either but I really wanna go out with him tonight.”
Dr. Watson is quiet for a few minutes and I take that to mean that she’s actually thinking about it, which is good news. I’ve asked her about fifteen different ways since I’ve come in here and each time, she’s quickly said no. Admittedly, I really am pretty excited about Graham asking me out, which is why I’ve decided that I don’t really care what Dr. Watson says. If she doesn’t agree to discharge me for the night so that I can go out with Graham, then I’m just gonna sneak out.
If Alice is working tonight, it shouldn’t be all that hard either, because she’s just such a dumb bimbo. Mind you, she’s the rude Vogue-reader who allowed Flynn into the crazy center yesterday to see me because she didn’t check the restriction list. Like I said though, I’m not all that great at being sneaky, so I don’t want to have to sneak out, which is why I’m asking permission first, but if I have to sneak out, then I will. Hopefully it won’t come to that though because I’d probably get caught.
“You have to be back before 9 o’clock, Sawyer,” Dr. Watson informs me after deliberating on it for a few minutes.
“I will be—I swear it,” I assure her with a nod.
“And I usually don’t let patients leave this early in their stay, so you’ll be on kitchen duty next week,” She tells me.
“What’s that?” I wonder, raising my eyebrows.
“It’s when you help out in the kitchen during breakfast, lunch and dinner. You know, washing dishes and whatnot.”
“Oh, well, yeah, I can totally do that,” I decide.
“And of course, I’ll have to call and check in with your parents to make sure it’s alright,” Dr. Watson explains then.
“Okay, well, can you call my mom and ask her? My father is mean and he hates me, so he’ll say no,” I inform her.
“I’m sure your father doesn’t hate you, Sawyer,” She replies. “But sure, I’ll try to get in contact with your mother first. In the meantime though, you have a visitor.”
“I do?” I ask curiously, slightly surprised. It’s just after 12 o’clock and usually, the visitors don’t start coming until around 1 or 2 o’clock. Not that I’m complaining or anything though because I’m definitely not. Ava is like, extremely sick (she thinks that she got mono from her boyfriend yesterday, but I seriously doubt that) so she’s been confined to her room until she gets better, which means that I’ve had no one to talk to all day, so having a visitor will be nice. Well, depending on who it is. I really doubt it is Flynn though.
“You do,” Dr. Watson confirms then with a nod. “Well, if they aren’t here yet, they should be here soon,” She adds.
“Well, who is it?” I question, hoping that it isn’t some doctor or someone like that because I just don’t really feel like talking to anyone that’s not Graham, Beckett or my friends.
“Your psychiatrist,” She replies as her iPhone pings on her desk. She picks it up and her eyes scan over the screen. “And apparently he just checked in and is waiting for you.”
“Dr. Fontana is here?” I query, confused. “But aren’t you a psychiatrist?” I wonder. For the past few days, I’ve had sessions with Dr. Watson, so I’m not sure why he’d be here.
“He is and I am,” Dr. Watson nods, answering both of my questions. “But he knows you better than I do and he says he wants to see how you’re handling all of this,” She says.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll just go talk to him then,” I reply with a small sigh.
“Once you’re done, come back and I’ll tell you what you mom said, yes?”
“Alrighty then,” I nod in agreement before walking out of her roomy office.
I make my way down the long corridor and back into the common room, which is mostly empty. Surprisingly enough, it’s not snowing outside right now and I think that the temperature is actually slightly above freezing for the first time in forever, so a lot of the patients in my sector section thing are taking advantage of that fact and are out there playing basketball and whatnot. I, on the other hand, have not been out there and I don’t plan on going because anything less than like 50 degrees (Fahrenheit) is cold to me.
I spot Dr. Fontana (he’s pretty tall and there’s only three other people in the common room, so he kinda stands out) sitting at one of the tables with his customary clipboard, wearing his white coat. I’m not quite sure why exactly he wears it though because it looks more like something that a cardiologist (not a psychiatrist) should be wearing, but he wears it anyway.
I walk over to the table, running my fingers through my hair before I sit down across from him. I’m usually not so self-conscious about my hair but like I said, I can’t have my straightener here with me at the crazy center. In fact, the only thing that they do let me have is a brush and I’m just paranoid about how craptastic my hair looks.
“Hello Sawyer,” Dr. Fontana greets, looking up from his clipboard and over at me then.
“Hello,” I respond in a chipper tone, crossing my left leg over my right under the table.
“How are you?” He wonders.
“Terrible, actually,” I tell him.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Dr. Fontana notes. “What’s wrong?”
“This place is stupid and I wanna home, that’s what’s wrong.”
“But what’s so stupid about it?”
“Everything about it is stupid.”
“That’s not a very reasonable answer, Sawyer,” Dr. Fontana scolds.
“Well, that wasn’t a very reasonable question, Dr. Fontana,” I reply.
“Let’s just talk about your father.” Dr. Fontana suggests, changing the subject. “How do you feel about him being back?”
“Well, he still hates me,” I inform Dr. Fontana. “I mean, Beckett is happy that he’s back home but I just want him to go.”
“Does that mean that you’re not interest in repairing your relationship with him?”
“Exactly. Tom is garbage and I don’t want nor do I need him in my life,” I explain.
“Do you think that your issues with your dad have anything to do with your inability to trust people?” He randomly asks.
“No, not at all,” I deny, shaking my head. “I think that Flynn’s the reason why I don’t really let myself trust many people.”
“And why is that?” Dr. Fontana questions and I roll my eyes because it’s a really stupid question.
“Because I thought that he was my friend, so I trusted him and he basically broke me,” I mutter.
“So, is there anyone you feel like you can trust or no?”
“Well, yeah, there’s a few people.”
“A few people like who?” He asks.
“Well, like, my mom, Beckett, Aspen, Sienna, Piper, you and Graham,” I list.
“Graham?” Dr. Fontana repeats, looking at me with a surprised expression.
“Yeah, he’s my friend,” I remind my psychiatrist. “So, yeah, I trust him,” I add.
“Uh huh,” He replies with a nod, taking a small pause and writing more stuff. “Do you kiss all of your friends then?”
“What?” I squeak, my eyes going wide as a mortified look finds its way onto my now flaming face. Obviously, I didn’t tell Dr. Fontana that Graham and I kissed last night—that’d be so weird on so many different levels. I mean, I know that I’m supposed to tell him stuff since he’s my psychiatrist but there are limits.
Speaking of which, I haven’t told anyone about last night, actually, because the only people that I’ve talked to since then have been Meryl- an orderly, Dr. Watson and now Dr. Fontana, so I have absolutely no idea how he could possibly know about it. Unless, of course, there are like, secret hidden cameras in my ward room, which seems like something the psycho workers here would condone.
“I said, ‘do you kiss—” He starts to repeat, which is just totally unnecessary because I clearly heard him.
“No, no, I heard you,” I assure him, interrupting him mid-sentence. “How’d you even know about that?”
“I know everything, Sawyer,” Dr. Fontana casually informs me.
“You realize that saying that makes you sound stalker-y yes?”
“I do,” He confirms with a nod. “I also realize that you’re avoiding my questions.”
“I am not avoiding any of your questions,” I deny with a scoff, crossing my arms.
“Well, it sure seems like that’s what you’re doing,” He observes.
“Well, that definitely isn’t what I’m doing,” I assert with a shrug.
“Just so you know, the longer you take to talk, the longer I’ll be here and the less time you’ll have to get ready for your date,” Dr. Fontana informs me.
“Did you like, have my room bugged before I came here or what?” I query, raising my eyebrows because that’s really the only reasonable explanation.
“No, I didn’t have your room bugged, Sawyer—that’s illegal,” Dr. Fontana laughs.
“Then how else can you know? I haven’t even told anyone about it,” I inform him.
“When they transferred you here, I asked the orderlies to keep a close eye on you, since I couldn’t be here the first few days,” He admits.
“So, it was Jenny,” I state, remembering how she so rudely interrupted my and Graham’s amazingly perfect and wonderful kiss last night.
“It was. And Dr. Watson called me a little bit ago and said that you were requesting discharge for a date, so I put two and two together.”
“So, that’s why you’re here? To talk about Graham, I mean.”
“Not entirely, no, but I do think that we need to discuss it.”
“But why?” I groan with a loud sigh.
“Because three weeks ago you sat in my office and you told me that you had no romantic feelings towards Graham whatsoever but it looks to me like that’s changed, yes?”
“Yeah, I guess it has changed,” I murmur, deciding to just go along with this incredibly uncomfortable talk with Dr. Fontana about my blossoming love life so he’s go away.
“And you’re finally admitting your feelings for him to yourself?”
“This is a very uncomfortable conversation, Dr. Fontana,” I wail.
“It’s only uncomfortable because you’re making it uncomfortable,” He assures me.
“Okay, Dr. Fontana, yes, I am admitting my feelings for Graham to myself,” I mimic.
“I’m glad you can admit it,” Dr. Fontana tells me. “But what exactly makes you think that Graham won’t hurt you like Flynn did?”
“Well, I guess there’s no guarantee—you think you know people and then they surprise you. Graham’s different though,” I say.
“Different how exactly?” Dr. Fontana inquires curiously, looking up at me from his clipboard.
“In every way,” I answer, pulling my legs up in my chair and curling myself into a little ball, resting my chin on top of my knees and hugging my legs. “So, I guess I’ll just start with Flynn. He’s been in my life for about as long as I can remember, you know, since he and Beckett were best friends just up until the end of last year. I guess I just thought since he was around and was always pretty nice to me, that he was my friend. I thought that I knew him, you know?” I pause then because I don’t know how to verbalize my thoughts.
“I know what you mean,” Dr. Fontana assures me with a nod, gesturing for me to continue.
“I mean, looking back on it now, I realize how idiotic it was for me to believe that he was my friend or that I could trust him. Especially considering the fact that there’s a four year age gap between us. It never really registered in my mind though, I guess. Anyway though, I feel like now that he’s back here in Andover, he’s made it his sole purpose to make my life as awful and terrible as he possibly can. I know that he’s still really mad at me for getting him kicked out of Brown and sent to jail (even though he was there for a month) along with taking out the restraining order against him. I try to be brave and not like, show my emotions that much around other people but I really am scared of him,” I admit.
“And what about Graham?” He wonders, still writing stuff on his paper. I have no idea what he even writes and it used to annoy me but now it’s kinda comforting, not knowing it.
“Graham’s completely different,” I state. “He’s just everything that Flynn isn’t. He’s nice and he’s sweet and he’s just a really great person. It’s kinda funny though because he’s a little bit weird but not even in a bad way. Like, he only listens to all of this 80’s rock music and he’s super popular except he doesn’t even care. Plus he honestly has had just the worst life ever up until pretty recently but he doesn’t even let it phase him or get him down or anything. Not to mention the fact that he’s pretty much the only person in my life who doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy. My mom does it—unintentionally, I think, but still. My brother does it—probably unintentionally, but still. Even my friends do it, but subtly.”
“You know who you sound like right now?” Dr. Fontana asks me once he’s done writing, looking up at me.
“An awkward seventeen year old who has awful conversational skills and an inability to verbalize thoughts?”
“No,” He laughs, shaking his head. “You sound like my daughter, Evie, did when she was about sixteen or seventeen and had just started dating this new guy. I mean, she was completely smitten with this guy—Keegan, that’s his name. All she ever did was glorify him and talk about him like he puts the stars, the moon and the sun in the sky. And do you wanna know what happened to them?”
“What happened to them?” I question.
“They got married,” He informs me matter-of-factly.
“Are you saying that you think that Graham and I are gonna get married?” I laugh.
“Hey, you said it—not me,” Dr. Fontana points out with a small chuckle. “On a serious note though, what do you want?”
“Why do you ask such open-ended questions?” I ask him with a sigh, noticing how he almost never asks me just a normal yes or no question.
“It’s a part of the job description.”
“Okay, well, I dunno, happiness?”
“Can you elaborate?” He requests.
“Well, I know that you didn’t know me before the Flynn stuff happened but before that, I was just really happy and now I’m not and I wanna be.”
“So, in your current state, would you say that you’re sad or no?” Dr. Fontana queries.
“I’m not sad,” I deny, which is true. “As long as I’m not alone for too long, I’m fine. It’s just that when I am, I have all of these flashbacks,” I state.
“Flashbacks are almost always common in people suffering from depression and PTSD and since you were diagnosed with them both, I’m not surprised,” He replies, checking his fancy looking Rolex. I don’t know what it is about Rolex’s that are so cool but nearly all of the adults that I talk to wear them—My mom, Dr. Watson and Dr. Fontana. “I’m proud of you for opening up because I know that you didn’t want to. I have a lot of notes though and it’s a good thing because when I see you again on Monday, we’ll have a lot to talk about and discuss,” He explains then and I’m a little confused because I thought for the time being, I’d be talking to Dr. Watson. “And I have something for you,” He tells me.
“Something for me?” I echo, slightly surprised because I have no idea what it could be.
“Yep, something for you,” Dr. Fontana repeats with a nod, reaching into the pocket of his white jacket thing and retrieving a pair of keys, handing them to me.
“My keys?” I question, instantly placing them. I have this sorta weird but sorta cute keychain that Aspen got me last year in Greece and it just kinda stands out.
“Your keys,” He confirms with a nod, standing up. “This is me officially discharging you,” Dr. Fontana adds.
“Just for tonight, you mean?” I ask, looking up at him with an incredibly confused expression on my face.
“For good,” He corrects. “You don’t belong here, Sawyer, I think that’s pretty obvious,” He explains.
“Can you even do that?” I wonder, cocking my head to the side. “I thought only Dr. Watson could?”
“Your mental health became my responsibility when your mother hired me. I’m not saying that you don’t need psychiatric attention, you just don’t need it here.”
“Wait a second, so what you’re saying is that I don’t have to come back here ever?” I ask him for clarification because I don’t want to get the wrong impression.
“Not unless you just wanna come back to visit or something,” He replies. “That’s the other part of the reason why I came here—to talk to Dr. Watson,” He says.
“I take back every single time I’ve ever called you annoying,” I inform him with a giddy giggle because I didn’t think that I was getting out of here anytime soon.
“Yeah, I think you should,” Dr. Fontana laughs in agreement. “Oh but there’s one little condition that comes with the terms of your early release,” He informs me.
“What is it?” I query, giving him a suspicious look.
“You have to promise me that you’re going to start coming to every session. You can’t continue to just miss them because you don’t feel like coming,” He states.
“I’ll be at every single one—I swear,” I assure him before turning and practically running out of the psych ward. I’ll be back though—I have to come and get my stuff (my iPad along with the other stuff that my brother brought here for me) and also to visit Ava. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, so I’ll probably come back on New Year’s Day to get my stuff and hopefully Ava isn’t still sick then. Even though I haven’t known her all that long at all and she’s incredibly vulgar, she’s been a pretty good friend to me while I’ve been here.
✿✿✿✿✿✿
“Are you nervous?” Aspen asks from behind me as she loosely wraps a strand of my hair around my curling wand.
“I’m so nervous that I think I might throw up,” I admit, expelling a shaky breath as I cross my left leg over my right.
“Don’t do that,” She advises. “I’m pretty positive that won’t turn Graham on tonight at all,” She casually informs me.
“You are ridiculous, you do realize that, don’t you?” I ask my weirdly blunt friend.
“If by ‘ridiculous’, you mean ‘rad’, then yes, I do realize that, actually,” She chirps.
It’s been roughly six or seven hours since I left the psych ward earlier today and up until about an hour ago, I’d been doing just what I do best—being lazy, eating junk food that I will surely regret in a couple of years when my metabolism slows down and watching Netflix.
Right after my makeshift dinner with my brother though (our mom isn’t home yet and Beckett and I can cook about as well as we can fly, so we ordered Chinese take-out), Sienna and Aspen showed up, saying they were here to help me get ready for my date.
Piper wasn’t with them though, which is just a little bit weird and unusual. Both Aspen and Sienna said that they haven’t been able to get in touch with Piper all day though, so I’m assuming she’s just with Jason or something.
Anyway though, I have no idea how Sienna and Aspen even found out about my date with Graham tonight because I sure as hell didn’t tell them about it. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell them, it’s just that I was planning on waiting until after the date before I told them (or anyone else) about it.
I guess you could say that I’m a little bit of a paranoid person because I legitimately believe in that whole ‘jinx’ thing. You know, whenever you’re planning for something to go really well but because you’ve told everyone about it, it has a bad effect on it and ends up being the word thing ever? I just didn’t want that to happen tonight.
Okay, well, that sounded better in my head and now that I think about it, it sounds stupid but I know you know what I mean. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I have a little trouble with my thoughts.
Anyway though, I’m assuming that Graham must have called Sienna sometime today, since they’re like, long-time friends or whatever, and asked her opinion about where to take me tonight. That’s really the only way that they could know about it, I think.
He apparently didn’t mention the kiss though, which I’m thankful for because if my friends (Aspen, mainly) knew that Graham and I kissed (and practically made out, before stupid Jenny walked in) they would definitely have lost their minds because they’re dramatic.
“I didn’t mean rad at all,” I inform Aspen with an airy laugh as I glance over at my alarm clock. It reads 7:50 and Graham said that he’d be here at 8 o’clock, so it’s almost time.
“You say such hurtful things to me,” Aspen sighs, feigning offence as she continues to loosely curl my hair. Sienna, who’s currently lying on my bed, did my make up a bit ago.
“My sincerest apologies,” I sarcastically reply. “Hey, Sienna?” I call over to her.
“Yep?” Sienna calls back in, her attention fixated on the screen of her iPhone.
“Do you happen to know where Graham’s taking me tonight?” I query, realizing how much anxiety would be relieved if I knew where we were going—Graham refused to tell me.
“I do,” She confirms in a singsong voice and I feel the urge to throw my hairbrush at her because she’s known this entire time and didn’t tell me, which makes her a sucky person.
“Well, where’s he taking me?” I ask when she doesn’t elaborate.
“I can’t say—I was sworn to secrecy,” Sienna replies in response.
“Graham swore you to secrecy?” I query, seriously doubting that.
“Well, no, but he did ask me not to tell you, so I won’t,” She says.
“Well, can’t I have just one teensy, tiny hint?” I ask her hopefully.
“It’s gonna be super sweet and super romantic and super cute.”
“Sienna, that’s not a hint!” I wail in complaint to my best friend.
She opens her mouth to respond but before she can get a word out, the sound of the doorbell ringing downstairs crescendos through the house and I know that Graham’s here.
“That’s Graham,” Aspen chimes. “Just in time too because I’m done,” She replies, switching my curling wand off.
“Do you think he’ll hate me forever if I cancel right now?” I question, looking at my hair in the mirror. It looks amazing but I’m just way too nervous about this date with Graham.
“Yes,” Sienna simply states at the same time that Aspen speaks.
“If he doesn’t, I sure will,” Aspen states. “I don’t know why you’re so nervous—Graham obviously likes you a whole bunch and you just admitted to liking him so what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem,” I truthfully reply. “I’m just nervous.”
“Well, stop being nervous,” Sienna demands, sitting up from my bed. “Aspen and I will go downstairs and stall and you get yourself together and be downstairs in two minutes.”
“Okay,” I agree as the two of them leave my room. Honestly, I have no idea why I’m so nervous about going out with Graham. I mean, as Aspen just stated, he obviously likes me and I obviously like him, so really, there’s no reason for me to be so nervous. On the other hand though, I’m just so incredibly awkward and I’ve never been on a real date before.
I hear Aspen and Sienna going down the stairs and then into the living room, greeting Graham. Obviously, I can’t make out their words but I can hear their voices. It dawns on me then that Beckett must have been the one to let Graham inside, so he’s probably giving him an earful right now and that’s just not okay because Beckett is…well, he’s Beckett.
I stand to my feet and then pad across my carpeted floor to my closet, pulling it open and searching for a pair of shoes. I don’t own too many high heels because like I said, I hardly ever dress up for anything. I find a suitably cute tan pair after a few seconds of searching and then slip them on. Then I walk over to the floor length mirror in my room.
I really don’t know how but some sort of way, I actually got to pick out my own dress for tonight. Aspen and Sienna both brought over about ten dresses of their own for me since we’re all pretty much the same size but they weren’t exactly…first date appropriate. Well, not for me. They were all pretty short and skimpy and Beckett literally would’ve murdered me if I even dared walk downstairs wearing one of them.
The dress that I picked out is really adorable though. At least, I think that it is and my friends didn’t give me any grief over it, so I assume they agree. It’s a short-sleeved off-white lace dress that stops maybe about three or four finches above my knee. The heels that I’m wearing are a pair of tan platforms with a heel that’s maybe about six or seven inches and I’m pretty sure that by the time the night is over, I will have severe foot pains because they’re not completely broken in but hopefully, tonight will be totally worth it.
I’m also wearing a pair of rose gold colored diamond stud earrings that my grandmother bought for me about two birthdays ago. They were so expensive and they’re so fancy, which is exactly why I hardly ever wear them- I would have a heart attack if I ever lost them. I have on the necklace too, the elephant one that Graham got me for Christmas. I haven’t taken it off since Christmas, actually, now that I think about it. My hair is in soft waves courtesy of Aspen and my makeup is light—I have on a light layer of mascara, a thick coat of eye liner (not like, Taylor Momsen thick, but thick nonetheless) and foundation.
I decide then that it’s best to just go on downstairs now, before Beckett can scare Graham off or anything. He really can be incredibly intimidating when he wants to be, Beckett can. I grab my little tan clutch bag that has my iPhone, breath mints, lip gloss and my money in it before exiting my room, making my way down the stairs. As I’m descending the stairs, the thought of falling and breaking my neck is occupying my mind. I don’t know why, I just have a strange and very real paranoia of falling down the stairs in my house.
Thankfully though, I make it down the stairs without falling on my face, which is great.
“—she has a really hard time trusting people but for some reason, she trusts you, so don’t fuck this up,” I hear Beckett tell Graham and I inaudibly groan because he’s so awful.
“I won’t screw it up,” Graham assures Beckett and I decide to listen for a few more seconds before I actually walk into the living room and disrupt their stupid little conversation.
“Good because if you do, I will find you and I will incapacitate you,” Beckett adds.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind,” He states with an awkward laugh and a weird cough.
“Are you sick? Because if you’re sick, I don’t think you need to be taking my sister out on a date.”
“I’m not sick,” Graham responds, clearing his throat. “Do you know if she’s almost ready?” He asks and I can tell he’s ready for his conversation with my dumb brother to be over.
“I don’t—” Beckett starts to say but I interrupt, walking in the room before he can finish his sentence.
“I’m ready,” I announce, walking over to the door, which Graham and Beckett are standing near. “Hi Graham,” I greet chirpily then, trying to disguise any nervousness in my voice.
“Hi Sawyer,” He replies with a relieved sigh, averting his eyes away from Beckett and down at me. Since I’m wearing the heels though, our height difference isn’t by all that much.
“No,” Beckett randomly states, turning around and looking at me.
“No, what, Beckett?” I ask with an exasperated sigh.
“That dress. No. You need to go change,” He informs me then.
“I’m not doing that Beckett,” I tell him, irritably rolling my eyes.
“It is way too short, Sawyer,” He replies. “Not to mention we’re in the middle of winter in Andover, Massachusetts—if you go outside in that, you’re gonna freeze,” Beckett adds.
“Beckett, stop being such a drama queen,” I sigh, rolling my eyes at him. “It’s not that short,” I truthfully reply.
“It’s really not,” Aspen comes to my defense. “You should have seen the dresses we brought her,” She states.
“See? Now, please move out of the way so we can leave,” I say, trying my best not to get too annoyed at him.
“Fine,” He grumbles, stepping out of the way when he realizes that I’m not changing just because he wants me to. “Seriously though, have her home by 10 o’clock, Cambridge.”
“It is only 8 o’clock right now, Beckett,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I know that—what do you need more than two hours for?”
“I’ll be home before my curfew—which, mind you, is at 1 o’clock,” I inform him, disregarding his question. I love my big brother, I really do but he’s just annoying overprotective.
“Well, fine,” Beckett relents with a sigh. “Have a good time, then.”
And with that, I wave goodbye to my friends and then Graham and I walk out of the house. I pull the door shut behind us and we walk together down the driveway to his car.
“Sorry about my brother,” I apologize on Beckett’s behalf. “He’s…weird,” I explain.
“Don’t worry about it,” Graham lightly chuckles, walking me around to the passenger seat of his shiny, black car and pulling the door open for me.
“So, are you gonna tell me where we’re going now?” I ask him hopefully after he walks back around the front of his car and gets in the driver’s seat.
“Nope,” He denies, shaking his head with a grin as he starts his car and backs out of the driveway. “What I will tell you though, is that you look very beautiful,” He informs me.
“Thanks,” I reply with a small giggle as my face blushes bright red. Thankfully though, it’s dark in the car, aside from the glow of the lights on the dashboard, so he can’t see me. “And you look very amazing as well,” I inform him, which is very true. I mean, I only got a short glimpse while my brother was interrogating him but still.
Graham’s wearing a pair of black dress pants (slacks, I think they’re called) along with a form-fitting crème colored button down shirt, which is neatly tucked into his pants. He’s wearing a tie too, which I wasn’t expecting (it matches the color of my shoes, so I know that Sienna must have filled him in). I didn’t get a look at shoes but I’m sure they’re nice.
“Thanks,” Graham chuckles, speeding down my residential road until he hits the main road. “I was babysitting Jackson today and the doorbell rang, so I went to get it but there was just this box on the doorstep and inside of it was the clothes that I have on, along with a note from Sienna,” He informs me.
“I’m not even surprised—that totally sounds like something Sienna would do,” I reply with a small laugh and thankfully, I can feel some of my initial nervousness flood out of me.
Graham opens his mouth to reply but before he can, the song by Queen that’s playing on the radio ends and a new one begins. The radio isn’t up very loud but it’s loud enough for me to actually hear the songs. I don’t really listen to Queen at all, because rock music really isn’t my kind of musical genre, but I do know the song (Bohemian Rhapsody) just because it’s a pretty popular song and I think that just about everyone knows it. The one new one that starts though, I have only heard it a few times but I don’t know the lyrics.
“This is that song that you like, isn’t it? Comfortably Numb?” I ask, suddenly remembering the name.
“Did I tell you that?” He questions, turning the song up a little bit. “I don’t remember telling you that.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” I assure him. “It was one of the songs on that Pink Floyd album you gave me like, a month ago though,” I explain then.
“You actually listened to it?” Graham queries, glancing over at me for a second with a surprised look on his face before looking back at the road.
“Yeah, I told you that I was going to,” I reply with a nod. I really only listened to about half of the album but in my defense, it had a lot of songs.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you actually would,” He admits with a chuckle. “Did you like it?” He asks.
“It was…certainly something,” I note, hoping that that doesn’t come off as sounding rude or anything.
“That sounds like the nicer way of saying, ‘no, I didn’t like it’,” Graham replies.
“No,” I giggle, playfully rolling my eyes. “I did like it,” I truthfully tell him then.
For the remainder of the car ride, we mostly listen to the music (I guess this an exclusively rock station or something because almost all of the songs are Pink Floyd, Queen, Black Sabbath and a bunch of other bands from around that same time). We talk a little bit too, about nothing in particular.
After about thirty minutes or so of driving, he gets off of the highway and then we’re in a small town called Beverly. Well, it’s not small but it’s smaller than Andover. I know we’re in Beverly because I’ve been here a few times before and also because there’s a sign that says ‘Welcome to Beverly, MA’. I don’t know what’s in Beverly though, aside from Graham’s beach house. I know I said that I’ve been down here a few times but that’s just because Aspen knows a club down here that doesn’t I.D. people. We used to go there a lot (I’m the designated driver) but it’s been quite a while.
“Is this the place?” I query once Graham pulls into the parking lot of a huge building, parking in the back of it. I’m pretty sure he only parked back here so that I can’t tell where we are. Or maybe the place—whatever it is—is super crowded. I don’t know but that’s a reasonable assumption because there’s a few other cars that are also parked back here.
“This is the place,” Graham affirms, turning his car off and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Stay there,” He instructs before taking his car keys out the ignition and getting out of the car.
“And you still aren’t gonna tell me what it is?” I question after he opens my door for me and offers me his hand, helping me out of the car and then closing the door behind me.
“You’re so full of questions tonight,” Graham observes with a grin as I loop my arm through his and we walk towards the building together.
“That’s because I like to know what’s going on,” I defend. A cool breeze by and I realize that Beckett might’ve been right about me freezing.
“Well, you’re gonna have to continue to be oblivious for another minute or two,” Graham tells me.
“I guess I can handle that,” I respond with a dramatic sigh.
“You kinda don’t have any choice but to,” Graham laughs.
When we reach the front of the building a few seconds later, I glance at the top, where the name of the place is written in fancy black calligraphy and then let out a small gasp.
“Oh my gosh, no—we can’t go in there,” I inform Graham, who is now holding the door open for me, looking at me with a confused expression.
“What, you don’t like Italian?” He wonders.
“No, I do,” I tell him. “But Alessandra’s is way too expensive—I’d have to sell my car and maybe my house to afford the Veal Marsala,” I explain.
“That is so far from the truth, Sawyer,” Graham laughs. “Besides, Tucker has a tab here, so I already told them to charge our bill to that tonight.”
“And Tucker won’t be mad about that?” I wonder.
“Tucker never really gets mad,” Graham supplies.
Alessandra’s is probably the third most expensive restaurant in all of Massachusetts (maybe even in New England). There’s on in Boston called The Lion’s Den and that one is super extravagant. I went there once like, four years ago with my grandparents for my birthday and the prices were actually insane. It’s an American eatery though and it’s in Boston, so that’s why I think it’s probably the most expensive. Then there’s on in New Bedford called 10065 and I heard it’s crazy expensive there. Back to Alessandra’s though. Even the outside of the place looks super fancy—it’s dome shaped instead of being rectangular like most restaurants and that’s because it apparently used to be a planetarium.
“Sawyer?” Graham calls, getting my attention.
“I would’ve been fine with McDonalds, you know,” I tell Graham with a small laugh as I walk through the open glass door.
“I wasn’t gonna take you to McDonalds for a first date, that’s just weird,” He says, walking in after me. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time?” I echo, looping my arm through his again as we walk up to the podium, where I guess you wait at. “Who said there’d be a next time?”
“I’m pretty sure there will be a next time,” Graham replies with a boyish grin.
Before I can reply with a witty comment, the couple before us (they’re really old, like 80, and adorable) are escorted by a male waiter towards where the tables and booths are.
“Welcome to Alessandra’s, how may I help you?” The female maître d’ behind the podium asks in a polite tone as Graham and I step forward.
“Reservations for Cambridge,” Graham answers.
“Okay, Mr. Cambridge, your booth is ready,” The maître d’ (her name plate reads Sharon) informs him after looking down at her little tablet thing, which I guess shows her what tables and booths are available along with the reservations and such. Man, this place is swanky. “Eduardo will show you the way,” She adds, gesturing towards the male waiter who just left to take the elderly couple to their table / booth. I guess they were seated pretty close to the front because he got back up here pretty quickly. “Have a nice time.”
“Thank you,” Graham thanks the lady before we follow the Eduardo guy away from the lobby of the restaurant and to where all the tables and booths are at.
“Does this work for you two?” Eduardo courteously asks us, stopping in front of an empty booth that’s slightly isolated from the rest of the booths and tables.
Graham looks over at me for confirmation and when I nod, he nods at Eduardo with a grateful smile. “It’s great, thanks,” Graham states as we sit down on opposite sides.
Eduardo nods and then pulls a cool looking black notebook thingy out of the black half-apron thing that goes around his waist. “What can I get you guys to drink?” He wonders.
“Um,” I mumble, picking up my menu and opening it, looking for the drinks. “I’ll have the Iced Green Tea Elixir,” I order, reading the name of the first thing I see that’s in English.
“Okay and for you, sir?” Eduardo wonders, writing my order down and then looking at Graham, who hasn’t opened his menu yet, so I guess he’s been here once or twice before.
“I’ll just take the Aranciata Rossa,” Graham explains and I have no idea what that even is but it sounds funny to say.
“Okay and our special appetizer of the night is palpetto—would you like to try it?” He asks, writing Graham’s order.
“Yeah, sounds great,” Graham replies and then Eduardo says that he’ll be back momentarily with it and the drinks before leaving.
“This place is insane,” I murmur in fascination, looking around the incredible restaurant. Like I said, it used to be a planetarium, so not only is it dome shaped but the ceiling is glass. Well, I doubt that it is actual glass because I’m sure that would be a bit problematic whenever we have snow and hail, which is pretty much always around this time of year. It’s transparent though, whatever it is, so you can see the night sky right above your head, which is pretty cool. Surprisingly thought, it’s actually not snowing right now—the temperature is still slightly above freezing, which is the reason, I guess. I mean, I’m no meteorologist but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.
Anyway, the inside of the restaurant is seriously amazing. For starters, there aren’t any overhead lights or anything like you find in a regular Burger King or Red Lobster or whatever. The dining room, which is where the tables and booths are all set up, is dimly lit in a romantic and intimate kind of way. It’s a little bit dark but not so dark that you can’t see or anything.
The only source of light in the room comes solely from candles though, which are ablaze on every table in here. You’d think that that was a fire hazard or something and it actually probably is but it’s so adorable that I really don’t even care. The room is pretty quiet too, aside from the soothing melody coming from a harp player who is sitting in the corner of the restaurant. There’s only about eight other couples in the entire dining room too, which makes it even better because less people is always nice.
“I know, right?” Graham remarks in agreement. “Tucker has a weird obsession with Italian food, so he comes here a lot,” He explains.
“That sounds really costly,” I comment, looking away from the transparent ceiling and over at Graham.
“Remember how I told you he’s not that great at managing his money? This is one of the reasons why,” Graham explicates, chuckling. Before I can reply to his statement, my iPhone, which I sat on top of the table when we sat down just a few minutes ago, starts vibrating and my eyes draw themselves down to it. “Do you need to get that?” He asks.
“No, it’s just Beckett,” I mention, declining my annoying brother’s call and unlocking my phone and blocking his number so that any more calls from him will go to voicemail.
Right after I lock my phone again, Eduardo returns with our drinks and appetizer thing, setting them down and then asking us if we have decided on what we wants for dinner.
“I’ll take the Fettuccine Carbonara,” I decide after looking at the menu and I decide on it for two simple reasons. 1. I’ve had Fettuccine Carbonara and 2. It’s one of the cheapest.
“I’ll have the Veal Marsala,” Graham orders and Eduardo repeats what he said earlier, that he will be back. “So, I heard you got discharged. I bet you’re happy about that, huh?”
“Oh my gosh, yes,” I instantly confirm with a nod and no hesitation. “You would not even believe how happy I am to finally be out of that place.”
“You were only there for like, three days, Sawyer, not three months,” Graham reminds then with a light laugh before taking a sip of his Chinotto.
“I know but it felt like three years,” I say.
“You’re so dramatic,” Graham chuckles.
“Yeah, my therapist always says the same thing,” I blab before internally slapping myself for saying that.
“I didn’t know you had a therapist,” He replies and I internally groan because my psychiatric problems are so not what I wanted to bring up.
“Yeah, you weren’t supposed to know,” I sigh quietly. “I mean, I just wasn’t planning on telling you that.”
“Why not?” He queries.
“Because usually whenever people hear that you have to see a therapist, they think you’re crazy,” I mutter.
“Well, I think that’s just dumb,” Graham replies. “Seeing a therapist doesn’t make you crazy, I don’t think.”
“Maybe not,” I agree then with a small shrug. “But being forcibly committed to a psychiatric ward does.”
“You’re not crazy, Sawyer,” He reports. “I think that if you truly were crazy, they wouldn’t discharged you.”
“I guess you have a point there,” I decide, realizing how true that actually is.
“Of course I do,” Graham chimes with a grin. “Hey, what happened there?” He randomly queries, gesturing to a small scar on the inside of my forearm.
“You are so incredibly random, Graham,” I tell him, laughing.
“It combats your dramatic-ness, I think,” He refutes, grinning.
“Sure it does,” I appease him. “But uh, yeah, Flynn happened there,” I awkwardly clarify, running my finger over the year-old scar that never faded away.
“Flynn did that to you?”
“Indeed he did,” I state.
“I know I don’t know the full story or any of the story really about you and Flynn but that guy seems like a real dick and I kinda just wanna punch him.”
“Yeah, he’s really dick-y,” I agree with a chuckle. “He kinda taught me why hurricanes are named after people but talking about him is so depressing.”
“Well, then let’s talking about something else,” Graham suggests and so we do. Well, Eduardo comes back with our food but after he leaves, we do.
We talk about a lot of stuff too. Surprisingly enough, we don’t even have the awkward small talk conversation that I’ve heard horror stories about via my best friends and my TV. Graham and I talk about stuff that actually matters to us, rather than stupid stuff like the weather or gas prices or congress or other dumb stuff. We talk about our friends and families (not so much about families though because I don’t have much to tell and Graham told me all about his last night).
We also talk about college and future careers and just a bunch of stuff like that. I’m really proud of myself too because as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m super awkward and my ability to carry a conversation is basically non-existent but with Graham, I think that I hold my own pretty well. We talk for a quite a while and eat dinner simultaneously and when we’ve both finished our meals, I’m full and Graham says that he’s full too but we’re nothing if not thorough, so he calls Eduardo back over and we order dessert. Graham and I order something called a panna cotta and I have no idea what that even is but it is delicious and we share it.
“Are you taking me home now?” I ask Graham about an hour and a half later as we leave the restaurant hand-in-hand and go back to his car.
“Do you wanna go home now?” He questions, staring his car up and pulling his seatbelt on.
“Nope,” I deny, shaking my head. “I wanna go home as close to my curfew without being late as I possibly can because Beckett’s more likely to be sleep then than he is now.”
“Okay then,” Graham chuckles, pulling out of the parking lot and heading onto the main road. “I know where we can go for a little while then,” He explains, turning the radio on.
Surprisingly, the song that plays isn’t one of those old rock songs that he loves. It’s Over the Love by Florence + The Machine, which just so happens to be one of my favorite songs at the moment. I don’t really listen to Florence + The Machine but I did see The Great Gatsby and the song is on the soundtrack, which I bought because I was obsessed. So, I quietly hum along to the song—it’s like, a five minute song, almost, so it’s pretty long—while Graham drives down the road one-handedly. A few seconds—probably about 30—after the song goes off, Graham pulls into the parking lot of what looks like a playground but since it’s dark, I really can’t be all that sure. It’s empty though, the parking lot.
“What’re we doing here?” I wonder curiously.
“Again with the questions,” Graham chuckles.
“I told you that I like to know what’s going on,” I remind him.
“Okay, well, if you must know, every year, on New Year’s Eve, they shoot off fireworks from that old bridge over there,” Graham explains, pointing across the park where I can faintly see the outline of a bridge. Obviously, I can’t see it too well though because it’s so dark and for some reason, that bridge has no lights. Probably because it’s not a driving bridge. “And as you know, tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. So, they do a run through round every December 30th, just to make sure that all the fireworks go off and stuff,” He states.
I’m about to marvel over how cute that is because it really is super cute, that they do something like that for New Year’s, I mean, but before I can, there’s a loud crackling sound coming from the old bridge. Then there’s a cackle and boom and the first fireworks shoot into the sky, erupting into an array of florescent colors. A bunch of them follow after and for the most part, Graham and I sit there in silence (well, not silence because the radio is playing—the acoustic version of Latch by Sam Smith is on right now—but Graham and I aren’t actually talking because we’re both watching the fireworks.
“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Graham randomly queries after about three minutes or so of fireworks.
“Tomorrow?” I echo. “Nothing, I don’t think,” I state. “Well, I might have to go and see my psychiatrist but hopefully not since it’s kinda a holiday. Why do you ask?” I question.
“Because I’m having a party tomorrow night at the beach house and I want you to come to it,” He says.
“You a have a lot of parties,” I observe, remembering how when we first met, he had a Halloween party.
“I like to party,” He informs me with a sheepish grin. “So you’ll come?”
“Yeah, I’ll come,” I nod. “Well, I’ll have to ask but I’m sure my mom won’t mind—she isn’t as stupid and overprotective as her first offspring is,” I explain, referring to Beckett.
“Alright,” Graham laughs. “For the record though, I don’t blame your brother for being so overprotective. If I had a sister as beautiful as you, I’d be the same way, probably.”
“You just like making me blush, don’t you?” I suspiciously query as my face flames red.
“Yes, yes, I do,” He admits. “Because you look very adorable when you blush,” He adds.
“You are an awful person, Graham Cambridge,” I murmur as my face goes even redder.
“I’d say sorry but I’m not sorry,” He informs me matter-of-factly.
We watch the rest of the fireworks then (there’s a whole bunch of them too) and it lasts for about thirty minutes or so. After the last one goes up and disintegrates into the sky, it is 10:30. I hope Beckett wasn’t actually expecting me back home by 10 o’clock because that obviously wasn’t going to happen. I already know that he’s probably going to yell at me or at the very least, scold me for blocking his phone number tonight but I don’t really care because a few scolding words from my brother can’t really spoil this perfect night.
“So, if you’re still not ready to go home, we can go to my house and watch a movie or something,” Graham offers, driving away from the park.
“Okay, yeah, that sounds great,” I agree, leaning back in my seat as another song comes on the radio. I don’t know it, but I think that he does.
So we do, go back to Graham’s beach house, I mean. He parks in the driveway and then we get out (he feigns annoyance when I don’t let him open my door for me) before going inside. As soon as we walk into the house tonight, I realize that it looks a lot different than it did the last time that I was here back in October. Granted, back in October, it was full of passed out drunk teenagers, incredibly loud music and was littered with red solo cups.
I follow Graham through the house and into a room (not the living room, although it could pass for one) where there’s a huge plasma screen TV mounted to the wall. The walls are adorned with antique paintings and being the artistic weirdo that I am, I could probably name them all but that’s weird, so I won’t do that. Also in the room, there is a grand piano, an ‘L’ shaped white couch, along with a matching armchair and a loveseat couch thingy.
“What do you wanna watch?” Graham asks as I sit down on the couch, pulling my heels off and stacking them neatly by the fancy looking glass coffee table in front of the couch.
“Do you have Footloose?” I wonder even though I know the answer is probably no. Graham just doesn’t really seem like the type of person who would watch Footloose willingly.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have Footloose,” Graham chuckles.
“Well, what do you have?” I ask him then.
“Uh, The Dark Knight Rises, The Wolf of Wall Street, Man of Steel, The Internship, Iron Man 3 and Jackson has Frozen, Despicable Me 2 and The Croods,” Graham calls, reading the list of DVD cases that are on the entertainment system thing that’s to the left of the plasma screen TV. “Any of those sound good?” He asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Frozen, let’s watch Frozen,” I immediately plead because after Tangled, Frozen is definitely my favorite Disney movie ever. I mean, I don’t watch many Disney movies but still.
“Somehow, I knew you’d say that,” Graham voices, taking the Frozen DVD out of its case and then inserting it into the side of the TV, which I guess has a build-in DVD player.
“It’s an amazing movie,” I defend as he sits down beside me on the couch and grabs the remote, hitting play.
“Yeah, Jackson’s made me watch it with him about four million times,” Graham explains. “I’m pretty sure I now know every song in the movie word-for-word thanks to him.”
“Oh my gosh, that is seriously adorable,” I tell Graham because it really is and I am so jealous of the fact that he has an amazing, cool little brother and I don’t—it’s not fair.
“It is seriously not adorable,” Graham denies, shaking his head in disagreement.
“If you don’t think that’s adorable, you clearly have no idea what the word mean,” I laugh.
“I know what it means,” He assures me. “There’s a word for it and it’s definitely not adorable.”
“You’re so wrong but we will have to continue this discussion later because it’s coming on,” I say, gesturing towards the screen as the movie fades in. I’ve seen it so many times (Aspen, Sienna, Piper and I went to see it approximately 800 times—okay, maybe like, 15 times—when it was still in theaters) but I still get so excited about it whenever I watch it.
✿✿✿✿✿✿
“I really did have a lovely time tonight,” I inform Graham approximately two hours later as we arrive at my house and he puts his car in park.
“Yeah?” He questions, looking over at me with his eyebrows raised slightly.
“Yeah,” I respond in true confirmation with a nod, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“I’m glad,” Graham replies before getting out and walking around opening my door for me.
“You do know you don’t have to walk me up to the door, don’t you?” I ask as we head that way.
“I know,” He nods, lacing his fingers through mine. “I’m going to anyway though,” He explains.
“Okay then,” I reply with a giddy giggle.
We walk up to the porch and stand there facing each other for a couple of minutes without speaking then. From what I’ve seen in movies and from what I’ve heard from my friends, this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss the guy. Or the guy’s supposed to kiss you. Whatever. Pretty much since Graham picked me up from my house a few hours ago, I’ve wanted to kiss him but I couldn’t figure out a convenient time to.
I didn’t think it’d be okay to practically make out with him at Alessandra’s, for obvious reasons and I wasn’t gonna kiss him while he was driving, of course. We were at the beach house alone for two hours watching Frozen, so then would’ve been good but I didn’t want to kiss him while we were in a huge house with literally no distractions because there’s no telling what would’ve happened. And I could’ve kissed him during the fireworks but I actually wanted to see them because they were really pretty.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” He questions.
“Right, for your party,” I reply with a nod.
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Sure, if you’d like,” I awkwardly confirm.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see a light upstairs flicker on and I know right away that it’s the light in Beckett’s bedroom. I decide then that if I want to kiss Graham, then I have to do it fast because knowing Beckett, he’ll be downstairs any second now, trying to coax me back into the house because he’s weird like that. Before I can make the first step though, Graham beats me to it and steps a half a step closer to me, ducking his head down and placing his soft lips on mine.
I loop my arms loosely around Graham’s neck then (which is something I probably wouldn’t do if I weren’t wearing these six inch heels because without them, our height difference is much more significant) and he tangles one of his hands in my wavy hair and the other one wraps around the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. After about a minute or so of slow-paced kissing, Graham’s tongue exits his mouth and gently prods my bottom lip, just like he did last night only this time, there’s no dumb Jenny to ruin it.
However, there is a Beckett.
About two seconds after our tongues collide, the front door swings open and Graham and I pull away from each other immediately.
“Sawyer Jameson, I’ve called you approximately five billion times tonight—did you block my number or something?” Beckett demands.
“Yes, Beckett, I did block your number because you were being stupid and weird and annoying,” I inform him, giving him an annoyed look.
“Did you have a good time?” He asks me then, completely disregarding the fact that I just called him stupid, weird and annoying, which he is.
“I had an amazing time,” I confirm with a nod, stepping inside the house like Beckett gestures for me to do.
“Well, that’s good, even though you completely ignored me telling you to be home at 10,” He states.
“Yeah, well, mom set my curfew at 1:00 and would you look at that, it’s just now 12:59,” I say, checking my phone.
“Okay, so I’m gonna go,” Graham announces, pushing his hands down in his pockets. “I’ll see you later, Sawyer.”
“Wait, Cambridge,” Beckett says, holding his hand out to Graham. “Thanks for showing my sister a good time tonight—she needed it,” He adds, shaking Graham’s hand.
“The pleasure was all mine,” Graham responds after he pulls his hand away. “I’ll see you guys later. Goodnight,” He utters before offering me small wave and heading to his car.
“Goodnight,” I call after him before Beckett closes the front door. “God, Beckett, it is your goal in life to embarrass me?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Beckett nods. “I wasn’t trying to just now though. I just had to make sure everything went okay.”
“It went more than okay,” I reply with a content sigh. “It was probably the best night of my life,” I truthfully inform him.
“Well, I’m glad, baby sister. Go share the details with your friends because they won’t stop calling the house looking for you.”
“Alright,” I reply with a chuckle. “Goodnight Beck,” I say to my brother as I make my way out of the living room and upstairs.
When I reach my bedroom, I decide that I’ll just call my friends in the morning to fill them in on the details of my amazing date with Graham because right now, I’m super tired (it’s a good kind of tired though) and all I really want to do is sleep. I get out of the dress and high heels and get dressed in a pair of polka dotted pajama pants along with a tank top before pulling back the covers of my bed and getting in under them. And for the first time in a long time, I got to sleep without a thought of Flynn floating around in my head and with a smile on my face.
Author's Note: Omg am I actually posting this chapter in the middle of the day instead of the late afternoon? Yes, yes, I am. Anyways, hello beauties! So, I know this is a week late but I have a few good reasons as to why that is. 1. Wattpad has been super weird lately. 2. I was super busy last weekend because I was forced to babysit children. 3. My brother basically stole my laptop on Monday. 4. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday I was basically drowning in homework. I was gonna post this last Friday (4/4/14) but then I decided to wait until Sunday since it was 2 days away, so yeah.
1. This chapter is dedicated to be_lievein_you because I loved her comment the most!
2. Thoughts on this chapter? On Sawyer and Graham's date? Predictions for the next?
3. I've gotten so many comments ever since I started this story asking about when you'll finally find out what happened between Sawyer and Flynn and I've replied back to the comments and told you guys when but I'm sure there are some readers who don't comment and want to know or some people who don't see when I comment back. So, I'll just tell you here that Sawyer's story will be revealed in Chapter 16, aka, next chapter, so brace yourselves for that!
4. Notice the song- Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute- and the picture- Sawyer's outfit for the date!
P.S., I just feel the need to address a certain something. So, after reading the previous chapter, a lot of you jumped to the conclusion that Tom- Sawyer's father- is the one who killed Elliot and I can see where that would come from but that's not what happened at all. Tom's car accident took place six years ago and Elliot died only ten months ago- the two are completely unrelated. I just wanted to clear up any confusion relating to that, so yeah!
P.P.S., Also, I don't know if you have Tumblr or not but if you do and you want to see the character profiles for this story, you can follow me there. Yesterday, I posted Tucker and Jackson's and most of the other characters' are already up but I will be posting more. My Character Profile Tumblr is: the-magics-not-here-no-more.tumblr.com, so yeah <3 Don't forget that the person who leaves the comment that I love the most on this chapter gets the next chapter dedicated to them! <3
Alrighty, that's all I have to say! I hope you loved this chapter and I'll see you next week! <3