Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“You have?” she said, humor dropped and her nerves showing stronger if the shuffling of her legs were any indication.
“No,” I said, smirking, “but I’d like to.”
June playfully bumped her arm against mine. She stared down at her hand. I noticed she did that sometimes. She stared at her reflection for long periods of time too. It appeared to me like she was sometimes seeing a stranger staring back at her. I hadn’t asked her about it yet. I didn’t want to upset her.
We both had issues we hadn’t spoken about.
June curled her hand into a fist and slowly relaxed it, then looked back to me and said, “Then I…I suppose we could call each other that.”
I placed my hand on my chest. “I felt the love then, Junebug. I’m bowled over by your blatant and enthusiastic affection for me.”
June laughed loudly, then, meeting my gaze, said, “You know how I feel about you.”
And it was true—I did. But I wanted her to tell me. I had no problem telling June, but she was a lot more reserved than me, and sometimes she left me wondering what she really did think of me—of us.
“And how’s that?” I asked, throat raspy.
June inched closer, then whispered, “You’re my favorite part of every single day, Jesse.”
“Junebug,” I murmured, and turned to put my back to the rest of the courtyard, facing her and blocking her from peoples’ view. “I think I’m gonna have to kiss you now. Okay? You can’t just say things like that and expect me to not react.”
“Okay,” she said, fighting a smile, and held her breath as I moved in. She always held her breath, like every kiss was a great, life-changing event.
It was to me, so I understood the feeling.
“Not again!” a voice said behind us. “Emma, you’re gonna have to start kissing me too so we have something in common with the Chemo Club lovebirds.” Chris—it was always friggin’ Chris. I dropped my forehead to June’s in exasperation.
“I love you, Chris. But I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on earth,” Emma said, and June giggled. I loved hearing that sound.
I turned back to the bench, and Chris and Emma handed us both a drink. We took the offered waters, and they sat beside us.
“This is nice,” Emma said wistfully, enjoying the view of our families talking and spending time together.
“They’ll be more days like this,” I said, and June leaned into my side, clearly thinking the same thing.
“What you said,” Chris echoed, raising his water in the air. “Exactly what you just said.”
I heard the familiar click of a door opening and closing and peeled back the plaid blanket from my lap. June came into view, making a beeline for our egg chair and sliding in beside me. I covered us with the blanket and noticed June was holding her notebook to her chest.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked. I knew she’d begun writing our story, but she’d been shy about letting me read it.
“It is,” she replied, then bit her lip.
“You’re nervous.” I knew her tells by now.
June nodded, then shook her head, like she couldn’t decide. I had no idea what she was feeling. She must have seen my confused expression, as she smiled and said, “I wrote about how we met, all of it, up until the moment we came out here and you told me ‘write me for you.’” She paused then.
“Okay?” I asked, still unsure what was happening to make her so cagey.
She handed me the notebook, but I went to open it, her soft hand on mine stopped me. My eyes immediately met hers. She swallowed then said, “Then I wrote more.” June stared off at the crescent moon. Our five a.m. starts had gotten earlier and earlier until, most nights, we sat out here all night long. It had become my favorite part of the day—just us, on our egg chair, on the porch, under the moon and stars. Everything was quiet and peaceful, and I had my girl right beside me. Illness drifted away from us when we were here—all the sickliness, the pain, the aches, and the fear of getting our first set of results that were quickly heading our way.
Out here, we were just Jesse and June, a couple of seventeen-year-olds falling quickly for the other. It was simple. Easy.
“Junebug?” I said, and she settled back into me.
“I kept going,” she said, and I waited for her to go on. June put her hand on the notebook next to mine. “Once I started”—she tapped her chest—“it just poured from me, my heart guiding my fingers until I had written beyond how we met.”
I stared down at the notebook, at our hands side by side, like they were protecting our fledgling love story inside.