She moved her head up and down in a robotic kind of way but continued to stare at me with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. Finally, she said, “You want to transplant organs.”
“Yeah.” I furrowed my brow, wondering what was wrong with that.
Then her entire face bloomed into a sudden smile, telling me there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. “I think that’s amazing.” She began walking again before she bumped her elbow into mine. “And you say you’re in awe of my dream to be a writer. You want to save lives, Quinn. That’s impressive.”
She hadn’t said becoming a writer was her dream earlier. She’d said it was just a hobby she dabbled in, but I’m glad she let it slip now. I liked learning more about her.
I let her words settle in my head a bit before I said, “I may want to save lives, but art, like the stories you want to write...that’s the kind of stuff that makes life worth living.”
When Zoey looked at me this time, something powerful fisted into a knot at the base of my stomach. “What?” I asked softly, needing to know what she was thinking more than I needed my next breath.
She shook her head as if she wasn’t going to tell me, and then she murmured, “I was always scared to tell people about my writing. Everyone would say it’s silly and stupid and tell me to get a real dream, but…when you say things like that, it makes it feel…” She shrugged and glanced away with a far-off look. “Almost important.”
“But you are.” I wanted to touch her, shift the hair out of her face, slide my fingers up her cheek, and press my forehead to hers. My guts actually ached because I held myself back. But I was even too afraid to hold her hand, so I shoved my fists into my pockets. “We all have paranoid moments where we think everything we do is silly and stupid, or completely inconsequential. But stories are a way to connect with others and realize we’re not alone in our crazy, mixed-up thoughts. I think what you do is important. It keeps introverted people like me from going insane.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled up at me. But I didn’t hug her. No, I did not. And I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t grab her hand, yank her around the corner of the nearest building, or take her against the first wall we came across. No matter how insistent some of my urges were, I managed to hold back.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Even though I didn’t do any of the things I craved, I still felt completely satisfied in that moment. Because I’d made Zoey smile.