Fearless by Abby Brooks (best books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

Alex to arrive. A knock at the door sent my heart into a frenzy. My stomach shimmied with butterflies and I launched to my feet. My socks failed to gain traction on the hardwood floor, and I went down.

Hard.

“What the hell was that?” Alex’s voice sounded through the closed door. “Evie? Are you okay?”

Laughing, I pulled myself to my feet and opened the door, rubbing my sore hip. “I’m okay. Just slipped.”

He arched a questioning brow as Morgan wagged his tail in greeting. “I’m very sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s what I get for running in socks, though. No pages today?” I crouched to greet the Morganator and peeked up at Alex. His dark curls were untamed, standing proud in barely controlled chaos. The stubble on his chin said he’d been up late, probably trying to write, and had been too tired to shave this morning. I’d never been one for scruff, but go figure, he pulled it off to a delightful degree. How was it fair that he could be so unbelievably good looking at all hours of the day?

“No pages.” He sighed deeply as he stared at his shoes. “Feel like taking a walk this morning?” Morgan’s tail went into overdrive at the mention of the W-word.

Alex’s eyes screamed desperation, which was typical on the days he wasn’t able to write. The deeper he fell into writer’s block, the more certain he was the affliction was permanent. His inability to work tormented him. At first, I thought it stemmed from his fear over finances. If he didn’t write, he didn’t eat. But lately, I’d started to wonder if it was more existential than that. Like, maybe, his intensity stemmed from something deeper. Something broken. Something he kept hidden from the world.

Or, maybe I was thinking too hard about the whole thing.

“A walk sounds great,” I said with a smile. “Just let me grab my shoes.”

He took my hand, his grip forceful but gentle, and my hormones reveled in the contact. “Careful now. Go slow, please.” He indicated my socks as humor danced in his eyes. “We don’t need you falling over twice in one day.”

I slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed my jacket, and we stepped into the kind of day I used to think only existed because of Photoshop. Who knew colors this strong and sunshine this bright existed without digital augmentation? The crunch of leaves under our feet died away as we made our way onto the beach, grass fading first into rocks and then into sand.

We let Morgan off the leash and Alex tossed a piece of driftwood down the beach, then turned to me as the dog sprinted off, dodging waves. “How come you don’t write? This is the perfect time to start a book, especially because I’m having such a hard time working on mine.”

The memory of Drew’s smirking face chased away my voice. How could I answer a question on a topic I hadn’t fully processed yet? I stared at the horizon as I gathered my thoughts.

“You sound like Amelia. She says my spirit guides are trying to send me a message. That by yanking me out of my old life and into this one, they’re leading me to my best self.”

“And you don’t believe that?”

“I mean, in the scheme of life implosions, mine recovered pretty quickly. Lost a job, gained a job. Lost an apartment, gained a house.” Lost a Drew, gained an Alex, though I couldn’t bring myself to say the last aloud. “When you stack everything up like that, it’s easier to believe her than it’s ever been.”

Alex accepted the stick from Morgan and heaved it down the beach. “Do you like it here?”

“So far, I’m a fan. The view’s amazing.” I risked a glance his way. “The company’s pretty good.”

A secret smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Then maybe Amelia’s not completely wrong.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. I’ll never, ever live it down.”

“If she’s been right about everything else, why haven’t you started writing?”

I met Alex’s eyes, certain he could see every ounce of my helplessness. Part of me wanted to explain. After all, he understood the impossibility of coaxing a book into existence when your brain didn’t want to let it out. But how did I talk about the worst thing to ever happen to me with a man I’d only just met, respected so much, and fantasized about at night? I wasn’t prepared to be that vulnerable with him.

“Come on, Evie. Let me into that magnificent mind.”

I searched for the best way to encapsulate it all. “I guess I’m scared.”

“That’s a valid reason.” He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s also bullshit.”

My jaw dropped. “It’s not bullshit.”

“It really is, though. Would you let fear keep you from going on this walk with me?”

“Obviously not. I’m here.”

His head quirked as he registered my response. “Then why would you let it keep you from writing?”

There was no way to answer him without getting too personal, so I shrugged and hoped he’d drop the topic. When Morgan trotted back with the stick in his mouth, I took it from him and tossed it down the beach.

Alex shoved his hands into his pockets. “Writing is terrifying. It’s opening yourself up and bleeding your soul onto the page. You have to tap into the best and worst parts of yourself. Explore all the reasons you are you and other people are who they are, then imbue characters and themes with all of it, twisting and shaping, caring and loving. Sometimes hating. Just breathe life into this thing that is at once part of you and nothing like you. And then, if you’re successful, you’ll publish this book and hundreds of thousands of people will ingest it. Months of work will be devoured in days, sometimes hours, and you’ll either be publicly revered or eviscerated. You’ll hear exactly what people thought, without punches being pulled because while they think they’re reviewing a product, they don’t realize they’re reviewing you. You have