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

to be a little crazy and a whole lot fearless to do this. It’s not easy.”

I slowed my pace as Alex spoke. He turned to me, his eyes swimming with so much passion and intensity I felt like I could drown. Standing beside him, with the waves whispering across the sand, the sun twisting through the fiery leaves behind him, everything grew so clear, so perfect, so precise. The meaning of life lived in his smile, I could feel it—I just couldn’t understand it.

I slipped my hands into my pockets. “I mean, when you put it like that, I can’t believe I’m standing out here with you. With all that waiting for me, I should probably get home so I can start on my book.” I jerked my head back toward the house.

Alex dropped his gaze to his feet, smiling sheepishly. “But sometimes, everything comes together and it’s the most perfect thing, Evie.” His eyes found mine and there was that feeling of drowning again. Of coming to life again. “There’s nothing like it in the world. When you know magic is spilling from your fingers…”

The wind blew my hair across my face and Alex tucked it back behind my ear. A simple gesture. And a familiar one. His hand stalled at my cheek and all I wanted was to lean into his touch. To recognize that my life wasn’t as chaotic as I thought. To stop worrying about doing the right thing and explore whatever this was between us.

About that…

The thing between us? People called it a job.

My life wasn’t as chaotic as it could have been because this man swooped in and gave me an income. What kind of idiot would risk that?

Not this idiot, that was for sure.

As Morgan came bounding back, stick in mouth, tail and ears flopping joyfully, I stepped away from Alex. Chemistry be damned.

Chapter Eighteen

Alex

One of the things that made me a good writer was my ability to read people. I could see a lie as easily as I could see a person’s hair color. When we were kids, Izzy hated that she could never pull one over on me. I didn’t let on that while I could see a lie was happening, I often had no clue what it was about. She eventually settled on being brutally honest with me and I appreciated the simplicity. But, while Izzy and I found a rhythm that suited us, the rest of the world refused to get on board.

People lied all the time.

About their age.

Their weight.

Their general sense of well-being. I’d meet someone new, shake hands, and while they said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I saw the lie tiptoe through their eyes.

What I didn’t see was why they lied.

Was it my hair? My face? Something I said? Or was I looking at the remnants of a bad morning? A fight with a friend? An asshole coworker? The worries would stomp around in my head, driving me crazy.

As a kid, I lived in this unsettled state, knowing people weren’t saying what they were thinking and wishing they would. After I aged into confidence, I realized I wasn’t the source of the entire world’s frustration. I was, in fact, not that important. I started using everything I saw in people to add depth to my characters. Years passed and my special ability affected me less and less…

Until today.

Evie was holding something back and it killed me not to know what it was and why she wouldn’t tell me. There was a reason she didn’t write, and it was bigger than, “It’s scary.”

I tried to tell myself that was fine. We all had things we didn’t want people to know. I had secrets locked up so tight, no one would get to them. I’d be a hypocrite to dig into Evie’s when I wouldn’t loosen the grip on mine. Instead of obsessing over her interior, I distracted myself by focusing on her exterior.

She had a freckle beside her lips. For as much as I loved the character it brought to her face, she covered it with a finger whenever she was nervous. I assumed she spent her childhood being teased about it and guessed she would call that freckle a blemish. I called it hers, and in that, it was everything it needed to be. Her blonde hair shimmered in the sun, like it had a light of its own. She played with the ends when she spoke, twirling them between her fingers, pausing to press it to her nose.

Every time I got close, she stepped away. At first, I assumed it was accidental, a reflexive response to having me in her personal space, but it happened every single time. We were like opposing magnets, and my energy repelled hers. After the night at Cheers ‘n Beers, I assumed we were both attracted to each other but maybe I was wrong…

Nope.

No way.

That was some of the bullshitiest bullshit that ever was.

We were both equally attracted. No doubt about it. Maybe she’d been hurt by someone. Badly. Maybe that was why she held herself so tight. So closed. So private. Maybe that was why she pushed all that she was into a tiny box and refused to reach outside of it.

Or, maybe she recognized what a shit-for-brains move it would be to date her boss.

So maybe it had been a shit-for-brains move to offer her a job, because I’m tired of wanting her every damn day and doing nothing about it. I gave that selfish thought a mental one-finger salute. Helping someone in need was never a shit-for-brains move but making choices in one’s self-interest often was.

As Evie played with Morgan, an idea for a scene popped into my head. I pulled out my phone and recorded as many notes as I could, as quickly as possible.

“Do we need to head back?” Evie asked. “Get those ideas onto the page instead of a note on your phone?”

I nodded without looking up. “Probably a good idea.”

“Do you