Dear Adam (The Pen Pal Romance Series)

by Kelsie Stelting

  I pulled up one corner of my mouth. “You too.”

  The first thing I did when I got to my room was check my computer for another email from Adam. No matter what Dad thought of advice columns, it was helping me to have someone to talk to. But Adam hadn’t emailed me, so I did the next best thing. I texted London and Grace and asked if they wanted to meet at a coffee shop down the road. They suggested we go to the mall. I said okay.

  I went downstairs to doublecheck with Mom and Dad, and they said it was fine as long as I was back by 5:30. Dad wanted us all to go out for supper together.

  Within half an hour, I was dressed, out the door, and at the mall. Grace texted me and said they were already in London’s favorite store: Victoria’s Secret.

  With cheeks just as red as the front mannequin’s brassier, I walked into the store, searching for my friends. Personally, I felt embarrassed walking in the place. So much lace I had no idea what to do with. And there were just as many guys as girls in there. Did a guy see a girl walking into the store and wonder what she had under their clothing?

  Somewhere between ultra-padded bras and barely-there underwear, I found London and Grace fawning over some sweatpants with PINK written down the side.

  When London caught sight of me, she squealed and pulled me into a tight hug.

  Despite my morning, I smiled back, then extended my extra arm so Grace could get in on this.

  We all hugged for a little while, then pulled apart.

  Grace rubbed my arm. “I can’t believe you’re not out curing cancer or something!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Free day. But Dad’s taking us out to supper later.”

  London raised her eyebrows. “He’s actually home?”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  Grace looked confused. “I’m surprised you wanted to come hang out with us then. Did something happen?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

  London shrugged, seeming appeased. “Okay, so our mission today, should you choose to accept it, is to find a prom dress.”

  “What?” I looked between the two of them. “Prom’s not ’til April.”

  Setting down the sweatpants, London said, “And it’s already February. Spring always gets crazy for seniors, and I have state cheer coming up, and Grace has church stuff, and you have plenty to do, Madam President. This might be our last chance to prom shop together, and we’re taking advantage.”

  She had a point. Even though it felt like forever in the moment, high school was flying by. It would be the end of the year before we knew it. They would be off to their awesome futures—London cheering at a state school in Kansas and Grace going to West Texas A&M with her friend Fabio—and I’d be...here.

  Shaking off the sinking feeling in my core, I looped my arms through both of theirs like old times and led them straight out of Victoria’s Secret. We wouldn’t be finding anything remotely appropriate in there.

  After sorting through racks and racks of gowns, I was starting to wish I’d insisted on the coffee shop. My arms were tired, my hair staticky from pulling dresses on and off, and London showed no signs of slowing down with the constant stream of dresses she sent my and Grace’s way.

  This latest one was enormous. There had to be at least fifteen layers of tulle under the skirt, and the sleeves were puffy.

  “London!” I cried and came out of the dressing room.

  Both she and Grace were wearing equally ridiculous poofy gowns. I took them in, London’s chest almost spilling out of her dress, petite Grace looking like she was getting swallowed by a taffeta mouse trap. And then I cracked up laughing.

  London grinned, showing off a set of fake Halloween teeth, and I laughed even harder.

  “What?” she said, crossing her eyes. “Is there thomething in my teef?”

  She picked at them. “Spinach mayhapth?”

  I clenched at my stomach. “Stop.”

  She came up closer, baring the teeth in my face. “Help me check, doll fathe.”

  I fell to the floor in a pile of tulle, still laughing, and they sat on the floor with me. I took their hands in mine. “I love you guys.”

  London spit her teeth into her hands, curled her lips around her actual teeth, and stuck the plastic ones out to me. “But do you lub me enough to clean my dentures?”

  When I finally stopped crying from laughing, I found the dress. Well, Grace found it for me. As we shopped, we didn’t talk about boys or breakups or parents, and it was perfect. Like I could escape my life for the first time in a long time. Shopping with the girls had been just what I needed.

  I came through the front door to my house with my garment bag over my arms, ready to show Amie my new find, but I stopped and gaped at the living room couch.

  Trey was sitting there with my dad, wearing khakis and a navy blazer.

  At the sound of the closing door, they both turned their heads toward me.

  “Hey, Nora Bug,” Dad said.

  “Hello?” I looked at Trey. “What are you doing here?”

  Dad chuckled uncomfortably. “Is that how you usually greet your boyfriend?”

  Oh. Right. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you.”

  Dad gripped Trey’s shoulder. “I invited him to supper with us.” He grinned proudly, like I should be excited.

  Trey watched me, looking almost scared. “Is that okay?”

  My lips twitched into a smile. “Yeah. Of course.” I lifted my arm toward the stairs. “I’m going to get changed.”

  Dad nodded. “Wear a dress. Probably not that one.”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  I ran up the stairs to change. I couldn’t believe Dad had invited Trey without asking me. The last thing I wanted this weekend was to spend time with Trey or share the limited time I had with my dad. I hardly got to see him as it was. And whenever Trey was around, Dad only wanted to talk to him about basketball and the school newspaper. Never mind that Amie was excelling in ballet or that Opal had just gotten her green belt in karate. Or that Esther and Edith missed their dad and just wanted time with him.

  I changed into a skirt, blouse, and elbow-length blazer. Then I touched up my curls with a curling iron and went downstairs.

  Dad and Trey took me in, but they had totally different expressions on their faces. Where Trey lit up, the crease between Dad’s eyebrows deepened.

  “You don’t have a longer skirt?” Dad asked.

  I looked down at the one I was wearing. It came to my fingertips. “Is this not okay?”

  He shook his head. “Knee length. Why do I have to keep telling you and Amie this? You’re setting a bad example for Opal.”

  Opal looked up from the couch where she sat in a long skirt and beautiful, jewel-toned shirt.

  I sighed. Opal didn’t need help. She practically came out of the womb looking like the picture-perfect governor’s daughter. On my way up the stairs, I passed a thoroughly disgruntled Amie wearing pants. That wasn’t a bad idea.

  Finally, we were all dressed, out the door, and squeezed into Mom’s minivan. With Trey along, we filled every seat. He and I sat in the middle next to each other. He held my hand under the cover of night, running his thumb back and forth. The touch felt warm, familiar. And it grounded me in the moment.

  Dad pulled up to one of his favorite restaurants. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it had booster seats for the younger two, plenty of healthy options for Amie, and massive booths so we could all sit together.

  The place was loud when we walked in—most of the noise came from a group of guys sitting at a corner booth.

  Dad’s lips pursed, but he didn’t say anything. He was good at making people think he liked them—his number-one rule of politics.

  Edith squirmed in Mom’s arms, reaching for me, and I let go of Trey’s hand so I could hold her. Trey frowned—he wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings.

  The closer we got to our table, the more I recognized the group in the corner. In between one
guy with blue hair and another one with gauges the size of my thumbnail, was my social studies partner: Emerick Turner.

  Nine

  Emerick

  Wolf’s friend Blue nudged my shoulder. “You know her, Rick? She’s hot.”

  He must have followed my eyes, seen the girl I was watching hold her younger sister, standing next to Mr. “Dog’s bitch.”

  Wolf talked through a mouthful of burger. “That’s his social studies partner.”

  Blue ran his hand through his neon hair. “Wouldn’t mind studying her.”

  Ace, their other band member, shook his head, narrowly avoiding impaling himself on his spiked collar. “Dude, you’d ruin her.”

  Blue nodded like that was a good thing, and my gut flopped.

  I took a bite of my own food, trying to ignore the weird feeling spreading in my chest. Yeah, Nora was a stuck-up, judgmental Barbie doll dating demented-asshole Ken, but these twenty-something-year-old guys had no business checking out a high schooler.

  “Okay.” Wolf stood up in the booth, and I looked around, waiting for a waitress to come tell him off. He held up his cup of Mountain Dew. “A toast. To the Copperheads.” He lifted his cup toward me, and Mountain Dew sloshed over the edges, splattering on the table. “And their roadie.” I rolled my eyes. “May our strings be tight, may our girls be hot, and may our music rock forever.”

  Blue lifted his cup. “Hell yeah!”

  Ace banged his forks together, and I laughed, holding up my own half-empty water. Wolf hopped to the ground from the booth and headbanged over an air guitar. “And now, we rock.”

  We dropped money on the table and jogged out behind him, rushing past Nora’s family staring at us exactly the way she had when she found out we’d be partners.

  On my way out the door, I almost ran into a couple guys holding microphones and cameras. I glanced back toward Nora’s family, and our eyes locked. She looked just as surprised about the cameras as I was.

  In the back of Ace’s station wagon, sitting between the drum set and guitar cases, my guts twisted even more. Did her family just go out for a photo op? My friends might have been stupid, but at least we could go out just for fun.

  It felt like I was cramped up in the trunk forever. Del City wasn’t exactly a short drive from where we lived in Warr Acres, a little suburb of Oklahoma City, but eventually we parked behind a grungy joint with a neon sign that spelled Otto’s. Except the t’s were burnt out, so it just spelled Oo’s.

  I helped the guys carry in the drum set, and some bartender who barely looked older than me led us to a little stage up front. We set up the drums, guitar stands, and amps, then I went to sit at the bar while I waited for them to do their thing. Blue had a voice like Kurt Cobain, Ace was one of the best drummers I’d ever heard, and Wolf never went anywhere without his guitar. Together, they formed this cool blend between metal and alternative that people ate up.

  I asked the bartender for a beer, and he served it up without checking my ID. This was the slow part of the show—before the music really started, but after they needed my help. So I pulled out my phone and went to my email.

  One new message from ThePerfectStranger.

  The bartender put a beer on the counter, and I took a sip before reading it. Mrs. Arthur had made me advice columnist, for whatever insane reason, but ThePerfectStranger would have been way better at it. She had a way of cutting through all the crap and the excuses. And she was right about people being the worst when they did things they didn’t want to.

  I thought of Wolf and his part-time job at a local burger joint. He was absolutely miserable as a cook there, but on stage, he looked like he was at home, like he belonged there. And me? Well, I wasn’t absolutely sure what I wanted to do. If I was honest with myself, working at Uncle Ken’s shop for the rest of my life wasn’t it. But what would my family think of me if I became a columnist? Not just one who wrote about politics and things that made a difference, but an advice column. The kind that housewives wrote into about their shitty mothers-in-law and their husbands’ drinking problems.

  Even as I thought it, I knew minimizing what I did was a load of crap. No matter what anyone said, the column at school mattered. I’d read enough emails to know that people were hurting, and the thank-you email from Setting Things Straight shifted something in me.

  From: ADAM

  To: ThePerfectStranger

  Hey Stranger,

  I totally get what you mean about people being in the wrong job. I have a friend who works in fast food, but he should totally give that up. Honestly, it’s not hard to slap a burger together, but he still gets complaints. He’s way better doing what he loves. Which happens to be nearly as impractical as writing an advice column. But at least he can play at weddings and quinceneras and stuff. It’s not like I can sit on a street corner asking people to tell me about their problems. But that’s a good idea about The Oklahoman. Maybe I’ll check them out.

  About my parents...It’s complicated. My mom’s very practical, but Dad’s always been into get-rich-quick schemes. (It never works out, for the record.) My dad doesn’t know I’m writing the column, but I don’t think Mom’s too concerned about it either way. They mostly just let me do my thing and hope I stay out of trouble. Which I do. Most of the time. ;)

  So, I was out with my friends tonight, and I thought of you. About how people have different expectations of you just because of who you are. There are people out there who live lives so different from mine, and I wonder what they think when they see me. I know I shouldn’t care about what other people think, but sometimes it gets to me. Sometimes, I just want to know what it would feel like to be someone else for a day.

  But that’s enough existential stuff for now. Tell me about you. Something no one else knows.

  Signed,

  Adam

  PS-Okay. ;)

  I set my phone down and took another drink from the beer. It wasn’t the greatest, but it was wet and warmed my throat.

  The guys started with their first song, and since the crowd was still thin, they didn’t get too much applause. But they kept playing, looking like the stage was their own world.

  I refreshed my email screen and grinned to see ThePerfectStranger had replied.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  What you’ve done with the advice column is nothing short of amazing. Don’t sell yourself short. And do check out The Oklahoman. And other newspapers too.

  Something no one else knows about me? I write to this guy I’ve never met in person, and I look forward to his messages more than I’d like to admit.

  It’s funny that you thought about me tonight, because I thought about you too. I don’t know what people think when they see you, but I know what they think about me. They think I’m just another little Pollyanna with a perfect life, perfect parents, perfect siblings, and the perfect clothes. My parents make sure of that, though. My dad won’t let me leave the house unless I’m dressed perfectly. And my ex even comments on stuff like that sometimes. Like if my fingernail polish is chipped, he’ll point it out. The pressure on top of everything else is crushing me, but I don’t know how to tell them I’m tired of it without just sounding like a pathetic, whiney baby.

  If you could start fresh, how would you want people to see you?

  ThePerfectStranger

  PS-Okay, I’m stopping this postscript now.

  If I was being honest, I looked forward to her messages more than work or school or anything else. And it made me feel a little less pathetic that she felt the same way. Right away, I hovered my thumbs over the keyboard, but I couldn’t find an answer to her question. How would you want people to see you?

  “How are you doing tonight, Del City?” Blue asked into the mic. It was so loud now I could feel the vibrations in my chest.

  People on the little dance floor in front of the stage clapped and cheered.

  “Alright, alright, alright,” Blue said. “My name�
��s Blue, this is Ace, and this is Wolf, and we are the Copperheads.”

  More cheers.

  Wolf began strumming a melody on his guitar.

  “You’ve all heard of ‘Copperhead Road,’ right?” Blue said.

  More cheers.

  Blue chuckled low in his throat. “Well, we have our own version. Same moves, different beat.”

  Wolf went heavier on the guitar, Ace began banging on the drums, and Ace said, “Rick, why don’t you get out here and show them the moves?”

  A grin split my face, and I gave a chin nod to the guys. This was my favorite part of going to their shows. But first? I downed my beer.

  “’Atta boy,” Blue said.

  I stepped to the front of the crowd and began the dance. The rock ’n’ roll version of “Copperhead Road” was way better, in my opinion. I let the music take over, not worrying about what the people behind me thought of my moves or how I looked as I shimmied side to side. I just danced, and at the end, electric energy filled my veins.

  A guy next to me stuck his hand up for a high five, and I returned it, grinning.

  “Hey,” he yelled in my ear. “I want you to meet my girl’s friend.”

  The girl next to him was hot, busty with thick black eyeliner around her eyes, but then her friend stepped forward. She had on a tube top showing off her pierced navel and deep cleavage with lips tattooed right where her breasts swelled out of her shirt. Her hair brushed against her shoulders, and I wanted to push it back, see the length of her collarbone.

  The guy clapped my back. “Have fun.”

  The girl stepped forward, putting her mouth next to my ear. “Heya, handsome. What’s your name?”