Read Online How to Be Brave by E. Katherine Kottaras - Free Book Online Page B

“I want to. I just have to think for a minute.”
    We cross the street and walk for another half block in silence. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Look, I could say what everyone tries to say: That it’s all going to be okay, that everything will be fine. I’m a realist, and I won’t lie to you. It’s hard. It’s the worst thing in the world. My mom was my best friend, and losing her ripped me apart.” I’m trying not to cry. “Before she died, I couldn’t imagine how I would ever smile again, or laugh again, without her. When she died, I sunk hard, for a while.”
    â€œHow’d you get out of it?”
    I feel the list in my pocket. “Well, let’s just say I made this kind of promise to her, that I would live and be brave and just keep moving forward as much as I can.”
    â€œI wish I could get him to be brave.”
    I shake my head. “You can’t control him. You can’t change him.”
    We keep walking. It’s totally silent and weird between us now, and I feel like that’s the absolute worst thing I could have said to him. Shit.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know your dad. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    â€œNo,” he says. “You’re right. I need to hear it. No one else in my life really knows what it’s like, having a parent who’s really sick. It’s good to talk to you about it. Thanks.”
    Okay, phew.
    I can feel it. Now’s the time to do it. Now’s the time to ask him out: #13.
    Then, before I can muster the words, he points across the street. “Well, here’s my train. I have to get to work. Where are you headed?”
    Oh, right. Where am I headed? Anywhere, as long as it meant being with you. Say it, Georgia.
    Be brave.
    #13.
    Instead, I consult my mental map and construct a quick lie. “I have to go to the library.”
    â€œIsn’t that like, eight blocks down? You’re not taking the bus?”
    â€œYeah, no…” I stumble over my words. “It’s a beautiful day. I like to walk.” Especially when I’m dressed like a dead, neurotic poet and am carrying a fake bird.
    â€œOkay, then. Well, it was nice talking to you.” He says this formally, and he puts out his hand like we’ve just finished a job interview.
    #13. Ask him out.
    Georgia: Ask. Him. Out.
    I chicken out, though. I ignore my promise to my mom. I put my sweaty hand in his.
    â€œI suspect I’ll see you tomorrow in Marquez’s class,” he says to me, shaking my hand, “if not before.”
    â€œYes.” I nod. “I suspect that’s true.”
    And then he leaves. He walks up the steps to the El and disappears in the throngs of people.
    I walk for another two blocks toward the library, and then I duck into a McDonald’s for about ten minutes, just in case he happened to be watching where I was headed.
    I wish.
    I order a hot-fudge sundae, extra nuts, collapse into a booth, and take out my phone.
    Liss has texted about fourteen times:
    so?
    so?
    so?
    so?
    update?
    call me?
    didja do it?
    #13?!
    when’s the date?
    did u kiss him?
    tell me u kissed him.
    omg, ur kissing him right now, rn’t u?
    #15! YEAH!
    Ugh.
    Oh, how I hate to disappoint her. She’s so goddamn optimistic.
    I text back: No dice.
    Shit.
    I chickened out.
    Okay, Georgia. Glass half-full.
    Positive Thought #11: Hey, Mom, I’m getting closer.
    *   *   *
    â€œWe’ve been missing you these past few weeks, Miss Askeridis. Here one day, gone the next.…” Mr. Marquez gives me a knowing wink, like he’s been spying on us as we run around town getting high on Evelyn’s brownies at the beach and on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, or at the top of the Sears Tower and with the languid dolphins at the Shedd Aquarium now that it’s started to get cold. He’s exaggerating.