At Face Value by Franklin Emily

Author:Franklin, Emily [Franklin, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781480452169
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-11-11T18:30:00+00:00

eleven

MY FEET POUND THE pavement, revoltingly awful music from the mix I made for Leyla (Songs You Didn’t Know Could Be So Bad) playing in my ears. The soles of my well-worn sneakers hit the leaf-strewn sidewalk and Eddie’s reply resounds in me:

Leyla—

You surprise me with your candor. You seem guarded at our Word meetings—HOWEVER—on the page the lines just read really naturally. It’s what we in the newspaper industry call “good flow.” However, I could be making that up. However, it sounds okay. However, I am kind of loving the fact that you noticed my affinity for this word.

And yes, I do feel the Two Halves of Eddie situation. Rox is the school one, who is me but who is also a lot of things people want me to be or think that I am, and Eddie is my parents and my sister and my little brother and regular sitting at home me. And maybe one friend or two. And maybe you?

I’d love to write more; HOWEVER, I cannot. I have soccer practice, loads of homework, yet another round of edits from Cyrie on the article I started last week, and now a dumb costume to throw together for Von Schmedler’s shindig (and no I don’t usually use the word shindig, HOWEVER, I like it here—kinda retro and aware of itself at the same time).

Googled that song “Oh Yeah” and will download it tonight. I’m always game for new music (or old new music) so fire some more my way, even if they are not named after me. Write soon—

Rox (AKA Eddie)

I jog past the bank with its sturdy brick walls, past the town hall all stout and set back from the road by its semicircular driveway, past Any Time Now with its windows shut and covered as Hanna prepares a new time period, and all along the roads I’ve jogged on so many times—by myself, with teammates, with Sarah Jensen and her perfectly pristine white shoes and double-knotted laces. But today, it’s different. I’m lighter somehow. Happier? Not really, but it’s as though the words that leaked onto the page (or screen) to Eddie today calmed me. All that built-up tension and muddle churned out one little email and made me feel better. And he wrote back. Fast.

The waiting room at Dr. Schnoz’s office is lined with uncomfortable, high-backed chairs and a green couch set with plump needlepoint pillows. Upon closer inspection, the needlework isn’t just designs and roses, but words, phrases: A nose by any other name, A nose knows, and so on. Is this supposed to be funny? I look around to see if anyone else cares. A woman with a bandage on her face reads a magazine that displays last summer’s offerings, instead of anything timely. A kid and his grandfather take turns with tic-tac-toe.

How come I never noticed the pillows before? Are they new? Did I not care before, or overlook them because my parents were with me? They’d sat and worried as I

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