Read Online One Week by Nikki Van De Car - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nikki Van De Car
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years ago.”
Jess lets out his breath in a rush. “Yeah. That’s not saving dolphins.”
My half-laugh is almost real this time. “No, it isn’t.”
“Still…” he says, and gives me a cautious look. “I’m not saying there is anything that would ever make it all right, but maybe it would be worth it just to check. Not right now,” he says quickly. “But maybe someday.”
“Maybe someday,” I agree. And for the first time, it seems possible.
Jess gives me a quick smile, and after a moment I smile back. “This got really heavy really fast,” he says. “Perils of late night conversations.”
“Yeah,” I agree, like I have so much experience with them. “Do you think you can get to sleep?”
As I ask the question, there is another stream of curses, punctuated by more breaking glass. Jess grimaces, and shakes his head. “I doubt it. You?”
“Not a chance. I’m not really a very good sleeper under the best of circumstances.”
Jess stretches out on the bed and looks up at the ceiling. “Well, what do you do when you can’t sleep?” he asks, yawning.
Um. “I, uh, make up stories about my stuffed animals,” I say, embarrassed.
Jess laughs. “Really? That’s what you do?”
“It’s from when I was a little kid,” I explain defensively. “I get really bored.”
Jess sits up against the pillows and folds his legs. “So tell me one.”
I shake my head.
“Come on,” he says. “What else are we going to do?”
I can’t just think of one on the spot like this. That is, I guess that’s what I always do, but I feel like such an idiot. I can’t believe I told him that. I wrack my brain for a moment, then settle on an old favorite.
“So Piglet and Mr. Spectacles decide to rob a liquor store…” I start.
* * *
“That’s the kind of story you used to tell yourself to get to sleep?” Jess asks when I’ve finished. “No wonder you’re an insomniac. It’s Toy Story meets Reservoir Dogs .”
“Someone should pay me the big bucks to write the screenplay,” I agree.
Jess snorts. “Yeah, right. With Christopher Walken as Mr. Spectacles. You had some messed up stuffed animals there, Bee.”
I nod sleepily, and glance at the clock. It’s after 4 a.m. I let out a yawn, and stretch my arms behind my head. “Your turn,” I say, and lie down on the bed. “Tell me a story.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could top that,” Jess says drily.
“You don’t have to,” I say, flapping a hand at him. “I know it’s impossible. Just do the best you can.”
Jess’s story isn’t nearly as well-plotted or evenly paced as mine, nor are the characterizations as precise. In fact, it’s kind of boring. I feel my eyes start to droop closed, and while I still hear his voice, I’ve lost track of what he’s saying. I drift in and out, not really asleep, but not really awake either. I feel Jess shift around in the bed, and I murmur a bit about going back to my room, but he shushes me. Which is good, because I really don’t want to move.
I’m half-dreaming, but I think I feel Jess’s hand on my hair and shoulder, brushing it gently. I wonder if I should pull away. I wonder if I want to.
And then a car alarm goes off outside the window and I jump and Jess sits up and the moment is over. Which is probably for the best.
Neither of us can get back to sleep after that, and we just kind of chat about nothing until the sun starts to come up. We look out the window, watching the darkness get grayer, and I realize I’ve never seen the sun rise with anybody else before. It seems like it should be significant.
DAY THREE
“I don’t think I can face daytime without some seriously strong coffee,” Jess says, and closes the curtain. “Do you want to go find a Starbucks or something?”
“Sure,” I say. I glance down at myself. I’m still wearing Jess’s T-shirt and sweatpants. “I’ll just go get dressed,” I say sheepishly. “I’m sure you’d like
Jess lets out his breath in a rush. “Yeah. That’s not saving dolphins.”
My half-laugh is almost real this time. “No, it isn’t.”
“Still…” he says, and gives me a cautious look. “I’m not saying there is anything that would ever make it all right, but maybe it would be worth it just to check. Not right now,” he says quickly. “But maybe someday.”
“Maybe someday,” I agree. And for the first time, it seems possible.
Jess gives me a quick smile, and after a moment I smile back. “This got really heavy really fast,” he says. “Perils of late night conversations.”
“Yeah,” I agree, like I have so much experience with them. “Do you think you can get to sleep?”
As I ask the question, there is another stream of curses, punctuated by more breaking glass. Jess grimaces, and shakes his head. “I doubt it. You?”
“Not a chance. I’m not really a very good sleeper under the best of circumstances.”
Jess stretches out on the bed and looks up at the ceiling. “Well, what do you do when you can’t sleep?” he asks, yawning.
Um. “I, uh, make up stories about my stuffed animals,” I say, embarrassed.
Jess laughs. “Really? That’s what you do?”
“It’s from when I was a little kid,” I explain defensively. “I get really bored.”
Jess sits up against the pillows and folds his legs. “So tell me one.”
I shake my head.
“Come on,” he says. “What else are we going to do?”
I can’t just think of one on the spot like this. That is, I guess that’s what I always do, but I feel like such an idiot. I can’t believe I told him that. I wrack my brain for a moment, then settle on an old favorite.
“So Piglet and Mr. Spectacles decide to rob a liquor store…” I start.
* * *
“That’s the kind of story you used to tell yourself to get to sleep?” Jess asks when I’ve finished. “No wonder you’re an insomniac. It’s Toy Story meets Reservoir Dogs .”
“Someone should pay me the big bucks to write the screenplay,” I agree.
Jess snorts. “Yeah, right. With Christopher Walken as Mr. Spectacles. You had some messed up stuffed animals there, Bee.”
I nod sleepily, and glance at the clock. It’s after 4 a.m. I let out a yawn, and stretch my arms behind my head. “Your turn,” I say, and lie down on the bed. “Tell me a story.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could top that,” Jess says drily.
“You don’t have to,” I say, flapping a hand at him. “I know it’s impossible. Just do the best you can.”
Jess’s story isn’t nearly as well-plotted or evenly paced as mine, nor are the characterizations as precise. In fact, it’s kind of boring. I feel my eyes start to droop closed, and while I still hear his voice, I’ve lost track of what he’s saying. I drift in and out, not really asleep, but not really awake either. I feel Jess shift around in the bed, and I murmur a bit about going back to my room, but he shushes me. Which is good, because I really don’t want to move.
I’m half-dreaming, but I think I feel Jess’s hand on my hair and shoulder, brushing it gently. I wonder if I should pull away. I wonder if I want to.
And then a car alarm goes off outside the window and I jump and Jess sits up and the moment is over. Which is probably for the best.
Neither of us can get back to sleep after that, and we just kind of chat about nothing until the sun starts to come up. We look out the window, watching the darkness get grayer, and I realize I’ve never seen the sun rise with anybody else before. It seems like it should be significant.
DAY THREE
“I don’t think I can face daytime without some seriously strong coffee,” Jess says, and closes the curtain. “Do you want to go find a Starbucks or something?”
“Sure,” I say. I glance down at myself. I’m still wearing Jess’s T-shirt and sweatpants. “I’ll just go get dressed,” I say sheepishly. “I’m sure you’d like
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