A Date For The Books

Part One

"The one thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough is love." - Henry Miller

The hustle and bustle of the train platform was deafening. Calls between loved ones everywhere, so many 'I miss you's' and 'See you soon's'. He gently wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her into a warm embrace. The train let out a piercing whistle but he couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Go Percy, you have to go." She leaned back from his grasp to look into his eyes. She was mustering all her self-control to not break down in tears and beg him to stay.

"But I–"

"Percy, you have to go. This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance to be something greater, greater than being stuck in this town."

He knows she's right but the thought of him making it alone scares the crap out of him.

"Casey, there's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

Percy brought her close to him, staring into her eyes and not faltering. His heart felt like it was about to explode and he didn't care. Casey was a nervous wreck but she moved even closer to him. Just as people started to board, their lips—

I stopped writing and leaned back in my chair. Every time I write this scene it feels like it gets worse and worse. Groaning and tired, I close the laptop and stare at the ceiling. It's supposed to be romantic and heartbreaking. But when I write it, it feels like I'm picturing some B-rated romance movie that no one watches.

As an aspiring writer, I feel as though I'm losing my sanity. I know all the greats say this is a part of the process and it takes time to find the right words to say, but when you've spent hours, days, months, and years trying to make a story sound perfect, it sucks.

And what sucks, even more, is that my writing is barely even good enough to be considered scholarship money worthy. I've looked at every scholarship around here, and considering the criteria and recent submissions, there's no way I'm getting in. I need a miracle asap.

I thought I had a tranquil five minutes for a small wish on a star before I heard feet scampering down the hallway past my door. It hadn't been but a few seconds before they scampered by again.

"What do you want Ninja Master?" I questioned, knowing my little brother wouldn't answer by his real name, Jacob, as was he sworn into "ninja secrecy" yesterday. The door cracked open and he came, rolling and plopping upright to look at me through his messy mop of hair.

"Dinners ready." And then out he rolled, nearly tripping on his feet. At this point, no one is surprised by his shenanigans anymore. After being bamboozled enough, you're immune.

Mom got remarried eight years ago to a nice Columbian guy, Adrien after she divorced my biological Dad. He's funny and compassionate, and he loves us more than anything, everything my 'Dad' wasn't. But it was a double package, because his little mini-me came with him, earning me a new little brother.

Grandma used to talk about how I had the best of both worlds, my bio Dad being Hispanic and Mom Black, which she was correct. On special nights, we get dishes on dishes, stuffing ourselves until we all fall asleep in the living room.

I prompted myself to start moving downstairs because if not Dad would have started yelling but in Spanish, that's even worse. You can smell the arepas and carimañolas Mom had made halfway down the stairs, which usually meant one thing. Bad news.

I peeked at Dad sneaking a arepa or two to eat while Mom was cleaning whatever spill she made on the counter.

"Well, look who came to dinner, the famous author." Dad laughed with a mouth stuffed with food. Mom took a swift look at me and went back to wiping down the counters.

"What's up with the 'I'm sorry I've done something bad' dinner? Do we have to go back to Mrs. Bull's house?" That's a memory I pray I would never have to relive. I don't feel like massaging an elderly woman's foot again.

"I wouldn't say it'd be anything to worry about Evie." she coaxed, but a wrinkle appeared on her forehead that only comes when she's focused on covering something up, like the time when Jacob's fish died and she convinced him that the fish dyed its scales, which somehow he ended up believing.

"Mom, what is it?" I pleaded with her. I tried catching her gaze but it kept flickering between Dad, the door, and the table. Jacob was squirming in his seat ready for dinner and it was the first time I noticed there were four placemats, one from the china cabinet, only used when someone of importance would make a guest appearance. "Is someone coming for dinner?"

"I guess you could say that." The smirk on her face wouldn't stop spreading until it was a beaming smile. In the back of my mind, I had an inkling of who it could be, but the possibility was below zero percent. "But why don't we sit down already, the food is getting cold." She ushered Dad and me out of the kitchen and to our seats.

However, as soon as I pulled the rusty chair out from under the table, someone knocked on the door. Mom got up and headed for the door, but I beat her to it in a heartbeat. I could feel her breathing on my neck as I swung open the door and there he was. Standing on my doorstep. West Campbell.

"Good evening."