And maybe that’s been part of the reason why my paintings haven’t come to life yet.
Alexa
,
It’s way late and I should be asleep, but it’s still summer so I feel okay about bending rules and regulations. I hope you can understand, though, that I’m worried about
Before I can finish it, an e-mail pops up in my inbox. It’s from Alexa.
Hey Jenny
,
Enough of this writing thing. Call me when you get a chance, okay? I wanna know if our voices are the same!
917 555 3717
A “Too Excited to Sleep” M-C
I stare at the phone number Alexa sent, and before I’m even aware of reaching for the phone, I dial it. As the ring sounds, I feel calm and happy. All the fear I had before about possibly not liking her has apparently ducked out for a late-night snack or something.
“I can’t sleep either,” I blurt out to Alexa before she has even said hello.
“Oh my God, we
do
sound alike!” Alexa replies.
I’m sitting on a globular beanbag chair, staring out the window at the night sky as we talk.
“This is so weird,” I say.
“Yeah, weird, but very…”
“Cool,” we say in unison.
Suddenly we are dying of laughter.
I really like how this feels.
After more than an hour goes by, we’re still talking about everything under the sun—school, parents, love, and hopes for the future. I’m so comfortable chatting with her that I can’t believe I was even stressed out about it before. It reminds me so much of how things happened with Tate.
“So describe yourself in one adjective,” Alexa says through a yawn.
“What? That’s way too hard.” I look out the window and see that the sky is starting to lighten.
“Fine, I’ll go first,” she laughs. “Impulsive. The way I see it, if you think about something too much before doing it, the chance to do it may be gone by the time you decide. Okay, your turn.”
I wince a little. This is the exact opposite of how I see things. Thinking limits the element of surprise. Thinking is what you have to do before you can create. Thinking protects you from making the wrong decision.
“You still there?” Alexa asks.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I hear a bird chirping outside, and I want to imagine what it looks like, not go to the window and see for myself. “I’d say that my adjective is thoughtful.”
“I should have known,” Alexa says.
I have a hunch that she’s grinning.
Now the sky resembles the painting I started at the studio. Pinks are merging with oranges. Morning is on the way. We take this as a sign to get some sleep and say our good-byes, but when Alexa’s about to hang up, she says, “Wait!”
“What is it?” I rub my eyes and stretch my right arm into the air.
“I think you seem great, and I really think we should meet,” she says sweetly.
I draw a deep breath and sigh. Fear has come back and made itself comfortable inside my heart. I wish Tate were here to take this phone out of my grasp and hold my hand. “I think you’re cool, too,” I reply.
When I crawl back into bed and close my eyes, I hope she isn’t too upset that I didn’t say anything else.
FIFTEEN
The past two days were a brilliant blur: laughing at Utopia Beach (a place that finally lives up to its name) with Tate, talking on the phone several times with Alexa, swabbing the art decks at Downtown Studios, and avoiding Sid Sleethly so I didn’t have to hear his thoughts about my paintings. My pace was faster, my smile wider, my thoughts scattered with the buzz of liking someone who likes me back—and getting to know Alexa.
Every time we talk, I become more and more comfortable thinking of her as my real, true sister, even though I’m aware that Alexa and I share only as many genes as I do with Sierra, Sage, and Russ. Somehow the fact that we found each other in the way we did seems to mean more to me. It’s hard to explain.
I’ve been sitting here with Tate for a few hours, trying to do just that, and he’s been patiently listening to me ramble, never
Alexa
,
It’s way late and I should be asleep, but it’s still summer so I feel okay about bending rules and regulations. I hope you can understand, though, that I’m worried about
Before I can finish it, an e-mail pops up in my inbox. It’s from Alexa.
Hey Jenny
,
Enough of this writing thing. Call me when you get a chance, okay? I wanna know if our voices are the same!
917 555 3717
A “Too Excited to Sleep” M-C
I stare at the phone number Alexa sent, and before I’m even aware of reaching for the phone, I dial it. As the ring sounds, I feel calm and happy. All the fear I had before about possibly not liking her has apparently ducked out for a late-night snack or something.
“I can’t sleep either,” I blurt out to Alexa before she has even said hello.
“Oh my God, we
do
sound alike!” Alexa replies.
I’m sitting on a globular beanbag chair, staring out the window at the night sky as we talk.
“This is so weird,” I say.
“Yeah, weird, but very…”
“Cool,” we say in unison.
Suddenly we are dying of laughter.
I really like how this feels.
After more than an hour goes by, we’re still talking about everything under the sun—school, parents, love, and hopes for the future. I’m so comfortable chatting with her that I can’t believe I was even stressed out about it before. It reminds me so much of how things happened with Tate.
“So describe yourself in one adjective,” Alexa says through a yawn.
“What? That’s way too hard.” I look out the window and see that the sky is starting to lighten.
“Fine, I’ll go first,” she laughs. “Impulsive. The way I see it, if you think about something too much before doing it, the chance to do it may be gone by the time you decide. Okay, your turn.”
I wince a little. This is the exact opposite of how I see things. Thinking limits the element of surprise. Thinking is what you have to do before you can create. Thinking protects you from making the wrong decision.
“You still there?” Alexa asks.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I hear a bird chirping outside, and I want to imagine what it looks like, not go to the window and see for myself. “I’d say that my adjective is thoughtful.”
“I should have known,” Alexa says.
I have a hunch that she’s grinning.
Now the sky resembles the painting I started at the studio. Pinks are merging with oranges. Morning is on the way. We take this as a sign to get some sleep and say our good-byes, but when Alexa’s about to hang up, she says, “Wait!”
“What is it?” I rub my eyes and stretch my right arm into the air.
“I think you seem great, and I really think we should meet,” she says sweetly.
I draw a deep breath and sigh. Fear has come back and made itself comfortable inside my heart. I wish Tate were here to take this phone out of my grasp and hold my hand. “I think you’re cool, too,” I reply.
When I crawl back into bed and close my eyes, I hope she isn’t too upset that I didn’t say anything else.
FIFTEEN
The past two days were a brilliant blur: laughing at Utopia Beach (a place that finally lives up to its name) with Tate, talking on the phone several times with Alexa, swabbing the art decks at Downtown Studios, and avoiding Sid Sleethly so I didn’t have to hear his thoughts about my paintings. My pace was faster, my smile wider, my thoughts scattered with the buzz of liking someone who likes me back—and getting to know Alexa.
Every time we talk, I become more and more comfortable thinking of her as my real, true sister, even though I’m aware that Alexa and I share only as many genes as I do with Sierra, Sage, and Russ. Somehow the fact that we found each other in the way we did seems to mean more to me. It’s hard to explain.
I’ve been sitting here with Tate for a few hours, trying to do just that, and he’s been patiently listening to me ramble, never
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