Dear Adam (The Pen Pal Romance Series)

by Kelsie Stelting

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Anyway, I think the trip sounds fine. You probably know your way around the capitol.”

  She nodded.

  “Cool. So...” I checked my binder. “Our first assignment is to describe our ideal voter. I was thinking we should aim more toward the underclassmen. Like the freshmen who are still figuring things out.”

  Her lips quirked up like she liked the idea but didn’t want to give me too much credit. “That could work. Get to them while they’re still vulnerable.”

  “Whoa.” I lifted up my hands, and her eyes went to my IV. “I didn’t say that. I just meant, they’re probably the people who would benefit most from whatever stance we take. You know, since they’ll be here longer. And there are more of them.”

  Now she set a bashful smile on me, and damn, it was cute. How could a girl be such a snot and still look like a total babe?

  I caught myself wishing more girls would be like ThePerfectStranger, honest and open and down-to-earth. Her personality with Nora’s looks? She’d be a knockout.

  But Nora started talking, so I paid attention. She helped divide up the assignment, then packed up her bag and stood to leave.

  At the door, she hesitated and looked back. “I’m really sorry you were injured. And I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “But I will be.” And I hoped that was true.

  Her lips twitched up but fell again, and she turned to leave.

  The second she was out the door, I pressed the call button and asked for pain medicine. Two more minutes with Nora, and I would have screamed. But when I said I wanted to be the best partner she’d ever had, I meant it. Being all doped up on Oxy didn’t exactly line up with that plan.

  The nurse brought the pill, and I slept for a couple of hours before pulling out my computer to check my emails. I hoped to hear from The Oklahoman and ThePerfectStranger. But I only had one from ThePerfectStranger.

  I clicked it open and read the message. I had to read it twice.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  I know this is going to sound crazy, but what if we met in real life? I want to see the person who’s been writing me all this time.

  ThePerfectStranger

  I scrubbed my hand over my face, down over the stubble on my jaw. Shit.

  She wanted to meet me. In person.

  The problem? I wanted to meet her too.

  Well, that wasn’t the only problem. Actually, I’d probably need all my fingers and toes to count out all the reasons it wouldn’t work. Problem number one, if I revealed my identity to anyone before graduation, I could kiss my high school diploma goodbye. Mrs. Arthur said so herself. Also, ThePerfectStranger was...perfect. Or, at least, that’s what she was to everyone else, which meant she probably had a nice family, lived in a decent house. I couldn’t exactly ask a girl like that to come hang out on my garage futon and make out between a lawnmower and a bag of fertilizer. And what would she say when she knew my dad was a convicted felon? Huh?

  No, I couldn’t meet her. Even if I wanted to. Even if she was the one person who knew me better than anyone else, including Wolf.

  I had to retype the message three times, but I finally came up with something. The truth.

  From: ADAM

  To: ThePerfectStranger

  Hey Stranger,

  I’d love to meet you. But I don’t know if I can or if we should. Hearing from you has been the best. Really. But could something like this actually exist in real life? When you can see me for who I really am? Maybe a relationship like this needs to stay on-screen, before it can get messy and I can screw it up.

  Signed,

  Adam

  She didn’t respond until late that evening, but I got it.

  From: ThePerfectStranger

  To: ADAM

  Dear Adam,

  I’ve already seen who you really are. You’re kind, understanding, thoughtful, caring. Seeing you in person won’t change that. But I won’t push you. Just know that whenever you’re ready, I’m ready. And I hope you’ll be ready soon.

  ThePerfectStranger

  The rest of the week passed like that—working on homework with Nora in the morning, making up assignments during the day, working on the advice column after school hours, and emailing ThePerfectStranger in the evening. I didn’t know what would drive me crazy first, the free time or the pain, but it was pretty neck and neck. They finally released me on Friday, and Uncle Ken said that his insurance would pay all medical bills and cover my wages while I was in recovery, which would last months, according to my doctor.

  I begged Uncle Ken to let me go work at the shop again—to do paperwork or something—but he said the wheelchair would get in the way. So, for the first time since grade school, it was just school and home for me.

  Wolf made it his personal duty that first week to wheel me from class to class, even though I easily could have pushed myself. And he only ran me into other students a couple of times.

  But on Friday, Wolf came up to Nora and me in American Government and said he wouldn’t be able to give me a ride home because his band had a last-minute gig.

  “You can’t drive me home first?” I asked. “Mom won’t be off work ’til eight. And Linda’s busy with her own kids.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” Nora said.

  I almost didn’t believe she was talking, because her eyes were still on the position statement I’d written.

  Wolf and I gawked at her, and she looked back at us, annoyed. “What?”

  Wolf raised his eyebrows. “Nothing. Thanks.”

  He slouched off before I could argue. A ride home with Nora? That was like ice taking a ride with a ring of fire. Something bad was bound to happen to one or both.

  “You don’t have to,” I said.

  Her lips tugged back, like she was tired of me distracting her. “Are you planning on wheeling yourself home?”

  I paused.

  “I didn’t think so.” She made yet another note with her colored pen and handed the page back to me. “This is a decent start.”

  “Really? Because it looks like you bled on it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Blood isn’t pink.”

  I snorted. “Are you sure? I bet yours could be.”

  Her lips pursed in this cute, frustrated way. “Whatever.”

  Wait. Did I just think of Nora Wilson as cute? Again? Without insulting her after? What the hell was going on with me?

  I coughed. “I’ll get this fixed up.”

  She nodded. “Good. And will you read over my audience analysis?”

  What had happened to Nora Wilson, and who was this girl in front of me? Was she seriously asking my opinion on her paper? But I didn’t want another withering stare—even if it was kind of hot—so I took her paper and read it over.

  When the bell rang, she turned on me. “Look,” she said. “I have to get my sister to ballet practice in like ten minutes, so I don’t have time for you to wheel yourself. Is it okay if I push you?”

  I looked up at her. She had to be, what? Five-three? And she definitely weighed less than a buck twenty. Compared to me, she was practically one of those little yellow guys Janie liked to watch on TV.

  “Can I?” she asked impatiently.

  I lifted my hands. “Sure.” This should be fun.

  And to be fair, she did pretty well. But her sister was already waiting by the car when we got there, tapping her foot.

  She looked at me. “What’s going on?”

  Nora pushed me by the passenger door so her sister had to jump out of the way to keep from getting run over. “I’m giving Emerick a ride home after I drop you off for ballet.”

  Amie met my eyes, and I gave her an apologetic wince. This was painful for both of us.

  She shrugged and got in the backseat.

  After I got in, Nora lifted the wheelchair in the trunk and hopped in the driver’s side. And, let me tell you, she drove exac
tly like I thought she would. One mile under the speed limit, three-second pauses at every stop sign, and never once trying to make a yellow light. I could practically feel Amie’s impatience in the back seat.

  Amie got out, and Nora turned to me. “What are you smirking about?”

  “Uh, nothing.” Okay, that sounded stupid.

  “Seriously.”

  “No.” I snorted, thinking over her pulled five feet behind the stop line. “You’re just a very...cautious driver.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You want another injury?”

  I gestured at my leg. “This didn’t happen driving, you know.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Wolf said a car fell on you?”

  I told her the painful story, and her eyebrows went up even further.

  “See?” she said. “Texting while doing other activities can be very hazardous.”

  “I wasn’t texting. I was checking my email.”

  She snorted, a delicate sound. “That makes a difference.”

  Indignant, I said. “It does. And stopping on the actual stop line isn’t going to kill you.”

  “Maybe, but speeding might,” she huffed.

  “Oh really? Even three miles over the limit?”

  She gripped the steering wheel and started backing out. “My driver’s ed teacher said she got a speeding ticket once going one mile over the speed limit. And my parents told me one ticket and they’d take my license away.”

  Typical parent move. “Yeah, but then they’d have to drive your sister to practice.”

  Her mouth went slack, like it was the first time she’d ever considered the actual consequences of breaking the rules, but she didn’t elaborate. “Okay, where’s your house?”

  I told her the cross streets, and she nodded. “Mind if we stop by my house first? I forgot my polo.”

  “What?”

  “I volunteer at Mercy Hospital, so I have to wear a polo there.”

  I sat back in my seat. “That’s fine.” Not like I had anything to do anymore anyway.

  We rode in silence for about fifteen minutes, and then she entered a gated neighborhood. The kind where each house was bigger than the last. My uncle’s whole house could have fit into one of these five-car garages. Thinking about these rich pricks made me mad. Did they seriously need this much space?

  But then we pulled up to one of those big houses, and I realized the girl driving me home was one of those rich pricks. Except she wasn’t, entirely. Just the daughter of one. And she’d taken time out of her day to give me a ride.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and jogged into the house.

  I tried to imagine the life she led inside. Her parents who cared about her, her dad who made the news for doing good things, her siblings who got to do fun stuff like dance and karate. And I tried to stifle all the jealousy I felt. Did they even appreciate all they had?

  Nora jogged back out and got in the car, wearing her plain blue polo with the hospital’s name embroidered right above her chest. “Okay.”

  She got going down the road, and we sat in silence with me occasionally giving her directions.

  “So,” she said, “are you excited for the field trip Monday?”

  I shrugged. “It definitely won’t be my worst day at school.”

  We pulled up to Uncle Ken’s house, and I tried to see it through Nora’s eyes. What would she think of the plain grass yard, the seven windchimes Aunt Linda hung on the front porch? Of the old, rusted station wagon sitting out front?

  People like Nora and her dad acted like they served “the people,” but how could they when they didn’t know how people really lived?

  “I’ll get your wheelchair,” Nora said and stepped out.

  When she came to my side, I hopped down on one leg and settled myself in the wheelchair.

  “Do you need help getting inside?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “You’re good to go.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Oh,” I said, “and thanks.”

  She gave me a small smile, got in her car, and drove away.

  And for some reason I didn’t totally understand, I was sad to see her go.

  Fourteen

  Nora

  Mr. Roberts came onto the bus with a wheelchair, and Emerick hopped up the stairs behind him.

  “Nora’s sitting over there,” Mr. Roberts said.

  I scooted over so Emerick would have room, and he sat down beside me, adjusting his cast under the seat in front of us.

  Thank God it was just a short ride to the capitol. Emerick was already a tall guy, but this cast definitely complicated things.

  After Emerick sat down, Mr. Roberts walked down the aisle and handed out paper packets to each pair. “This is the scavenger hunt I’ve prepared for you at the capitol. You and your partner will work to find the clues, and whichever team makes it to the final clue first with correct answers for the previous items wins. The first-place team will be able to represent our school at a student Q&A with our current governor, as well as a free season pass to Frontier City and White Water Bay this summer.”

  Students’ faces lit up around me. Mr. Roberts should have led with the free amusement park tickets. It seemed like hardly anyone my age cared about politics, even though this stuff would be affecting them for years to come.

  In the seat behind me, Trey spoke loudly with his partner, saying they had it in the bag.

  I gritted my teeth and whispered to Emerick, “We are so winning this.”

  “Yeah?” He tugged off his leather jacket and set it on his lap, sending the smell of leather and cologne over me.

  It made me think of Trey and the eighty-dollar cologne he wore that basically smelled like rich kid. Emerick smelled...real. Earthy. Down to earthy. Okay, I didn’t know a good way to describe his smell, but we had a half-hour ride shoulder to shoulder. Surely, I’d figure it out.

  Emerick looked me over, and I felt naked, even in my sweater and khakis.

  “So,” he said, “what’s our strategy, boss?”

  I kept my head forward to avoid those eyes that understood too much. “The main thing we need to do is think clearly. Everyone’s going to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

  He arched a heavy brow. “You ever seen a chicken with its head cut off?”

  “It’s an expression.”

  “So, no?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. Thank God. You?”

  He shrugged and looked down at the packet. “Maybe we should think through some of the clues.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We huddled over the page, and I furrowed my eyebrows. “What does ‘head for the glasses’ mean?”

  Emerick frowned. “Maybe like a trophy case?”

  “Hmm. It couldn’t be actual glasses, could it?”

  He shrugged. “Does head mean anything?”

  My eyes flew open, and I put a finger to my lips.

  An easy grin transformed Emerick’s features. I never understood how a smile could make someone look so completely different, but I did now. It was like night and day on the same person.

  We spent the rest of the trip quietly talking about the things we’d have to find and some of the major things at the capitol. Once we got there, Mr. Roberts gave us the long speech about us being seniors and needing to act like it, then let us loose. Emerick and I were already at a disadvantage, since he was in a wheelchair, but Wolf helped push him, so that was fine.

  As we got closer to the building, I couldn’t help but be in awe. I’d been there before with Dad, and even then, it seemed every bit as amazing as a cathedral with its enormous pillars and marble facade.

  We went around the handicap-accessible entrance and through the metal detectors. Wolf’s earrings set off the alarm, so Emerick and I ditched him while he got scanned with the metal wand. He needed to join his partner, anyway.

  At the elevator, I pushed the button at least five times. Emerick and I were going to win this. Bu
t more importantly, Trey was going to lose.

  We got to the second floor, and I pushed Emerick past the people taking selfies around the Native American statue. We went directly to the Hall of Governors, where bronze busts of all Oklahoma’s governors lined the wall.

  I couldn’t see Emerick’s eyes, but I heard the realization in his voice. “Which one has glasses?”

  “I’ll look left, you look right,” I said.

  “There!” Emerick pointed to one in the far corner.

  We approached the one bespectacled governor, and Adam read the plaque. “Charles Bradford Henry. Governor of Oklahoma, January 13, 2003 to January 10, 2011.”

  “Selfie?” I asked.

  He nodded, and I lifted up the phone to snap a quick picture. Then I pushed him out of there, casually, acting like we were searching the walls nearby. We didn’t need our classmates piggybacking on our ideas.

  Emerick scanned the packet in his lap and read the next clue. “This is my sad room.”

  “Hmm.” I tried to think over the rooms in the capitol and if I remembered any of them being named after Charles. But he’d been governor so recently, I doubted it.

  Emerick scrubbed his chin. “Okay, let’s think of blue, Charles, and governors.”

  I nodded, racking my brain for all the information I had stored of the capitol. Why wasn’t this coming easier?

  “Is there a private room for the governor?” he asked.

  “None that would let an entire class in for a field trip.”

  “Okay, what about a room named after him?”

  I looked toward the ceiling. Emerick was good at this kind of thing—really good. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “The governor’s office is on this floor. Let’s walk that way.”

  He rested his hands on his lap. “Let’s go.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, your Highness.”