Sleeping Handsome Read Free

Confused, I flick to the front page
and read the first line.
    I’ve decided to give in and keep a
journal.
    I drop the
book like it’s a hot curling iron.
    Private
thoughts tumble onto the carpet while my hand comes to my chest. Hidden inside
another book, those thoughts were never meant for someone else to read. But my
fingers itch to pick the volume back up. All that’s left of Zach, the real
Zach, lies at my feet.
    I take a
deep breath. Okay I’m acting like a moron spooked out
over a journal. I force my mind blank and quickly reshelf all the books,
including the one that has me freaked out. With my purse under my arm and the
cold latte in my grasp, I rush toward the door.
    But I can’t
help glancing at the bed before I go. “You have a…good weekend, okay?” With one
last look at the puffy face with the breathing tube— thud— I run into the wall and miss the door.
    “Ugh,” I
say, turning red even though no one not even the boy in a coma witnessed my
clumsiness. Rubbing my forehead, I feel the need to make a graceful exit. “See
you Monday then,” I murmur as I sweep through the doorway like I’m on the red carpet.

~3~

 
 
 
 
    Okay, I’ve thought about this all
weekend. I thought about it at Nate’s lame party. I thought about it while I
took my sister out for our ritual Saturday night—the only time my mother lets
her out of her sight. I thought about it Sunday while I floated in the pool.
How much more interaction can there be than hearing about your own thoughts,
your own past? Wouldn’t that wake a person up more than anything?
    At least that’s what
I’m telling myself sitting in the lazy boy and clutching Zach’s journal. But
I’m having a hard time opening it. I glance at his pasty profile for a quick
second before my gaze quickly finds the window and the blue of the sky.   “So my weekend was all right. The party
wasn’t too hot. Kelly got in her fight, but Amanda only flirted with one guy,
Carson, of course. They even disappeared upstairs for a while, and I must say that
was the final tack in my crush.”
    My fingers move to the
cover but I don’t lift it. “Saturday night was the usual. Dinner with my
sister. That’s my one weekly chore. Babysitting on Saturday night so the
parentals can go out. We went out for
Sushi. Yeah, she’s seven and already hooked on the stuff. Lucky me. Cause I
love it. Before that, we went to the pet store. She likes to play with the
puppies and the bunnies. But I guess that’s not too surprising for a
seven-year-old. So I let her do it for about two hours. The store manager
didn’t look too happy but too bad.”
    My fingers grip the
cover, but I can’t seem to open it. I remind myself this will be good for him.
It will also staunch my overwhelming curiosity, but it will be good for him.
Right?
    “Sunday, I did homework
and pool lounged. Same as always. So it was a pretty normal weekend. Yeah, I
know. My life’s just an earthquake of teenage excitement.”   I push the flap open, take a deep breath, and
don’t look up. “Here we go,” I whisper to myself and begin reading.

 
    October
30,

 
    I’ve
decided to give in and keep a journal.
    Mrs.
Gains bugged me about it last year. I kind of, well totally, blew her off. She
asked me about it again after creative writing on Tuesday. She said my
writing’s still some of the best she has ever seen throughout her thirty years
of teaching, but it needs more emotion. I need to learn how to get emotions on
paper.
    I’m
not sure if this is going to help.
    I’m
a seventeen-year-old guy not a ten-year-old girl.
    However,
it’s not like anyone is going to see this shit and the
writing sample for a scholarship and application to UCI is due in mid-January.
I need the scholarship because if I go to UCI, I can guarantee my parents won’t
be helping with tuition.
    Which
gives me sixty some days to do some emotional digging.
    So
today’s emotions…
    ( drum roll)
    I’m
tired, pissed, and