42 Reasons

42 Reasons Pilot

The calls were normal. The texts, the emails, the lights and the movie offers. They were my life now, but parts of me longed for a time before the flashing paparazzi.

The subtle buzz, buzz of the phone in my pocket never relinquished. Though the popularity had its charms, there was also an impending doom that I would soon forget my true identity.

I now spent all of my time in classes, and after classes in coffee shops, and after coffee shops, on the phone, the internet, all hooked up to the wireless universe.

This was what had become of Grace Wall, the girl who had previously let herself go. "Rule 42 was a lifestyle," I recently said in one of my interviews, all the way in New York. "It's something that is hard to let go. But you have to."

On this particular night when that interview aired, I was expecting many phone calls. My phone was out on the library table, face up. Half way through a sentence, it began to buzz.

Kylesaurus Rex is calling...

My breath turned hot and raspy and the simple inhale, exhale pattern of breathing became too difficult to endure.

It kept buzzing. Begging me to answer. I gave in too easily.

"Grace Wall, you better not be busy right now."

The outside edge of an overwhelming stack of intimidating papers and scripts stared at me, demanding attention. But a call from him was too precious, too valuable..

"Never for you guys." I hesitated. "Whats up?"

There was a silent pause on the other end of the line. "I need you to be prepared for this news, Grace."

"Should I hold on tightly?"

Kyle snickered. "Yeah, sure. Whatever keeps you stable, hun."

Deep breaths. I was talking to Kyle. The reality of the situation was I hadn't heard from him since the beginning of August, since he had left for the military and we had been released from the trauma center on the island.

Since then, my world had been rocked. Willow came back to Athens with me to finish high school, but we left Ginny and Andrew on the island. It was heartbreaking to leave them, but they seemed so happy it felt irrational to take them with us. The friends we met on the island stayed and I kept in touch with Charlotte, but only her. In this meaning, keeping in touch was the occasional text and sometimes an email about how her little Samuel was doing.

Last time I called, she was gushing. Her family had accepted her back in to their lives, providing shelter, food, and happiness for her. With that happiness also came a job opportunity!

"I'm working at a local farmers market," she'd informed me. "I check stocks at the beginning and end of the day, help customers and also run my own stand... I've started eating these organic fruits because the doctor says it's good for the baby. Oh, I'm so excited he'll be here soon... he's going to be just like his father..."

But his father was another story. Another part of my life. He'd left me after promising he never would, but Kyle had stayed with me. What was right in front of me was perfection.

"Okay. Tell me."

I could almost hear the smile on his end of the line. His beautiful smile, shining through. "I'm coming home for Christmas. You'll be there?"

There was almost a catch in my throat as I managed to whisper, "Of course."

Of course, it was raining.

The library closed hours ago but I always managed to bribe Mr. Etson for extra time. "It's for a project," I would tell him. "For psychology."

It was horrible to take advantage of him. But he loved me, for my hard work.

So on this particular night, as the rain chilled the late October air, I made my way to the next stop of the evening: Berto's.

Berto's was a small diner on the edge of campus, run by an old man and his two grandsons. I remembered this night particularly because the grandfather was there that evening working alone, and his diligent attitude always encouraged me.

My phone buzzed. 11:36 pm. Momma Becca had texted me:

You looked beautiful, my angel, as always. Keep up the good work. The interviews are flawless.

She missed me, I knew. Living two hours away wasn't as bad as 5 hours like I was during the summer. But now being fully occupied with my own life 24/7, there really was no time for her. Or for myself, really.

I flopped down in a booth next to the glossy window, boots damp and hair frizzed. The lights in the restaurant dimmed. Then I realized, the darker the room became, the more alive and buzzed I felt.

It wasn't coming from the steaming cup of black coffee in front of me, my fingers wrapped tightly around the Marvel characters whom decorated it. The scent of the bitter drink was intoxicating, but my attention was drawn elsewhere...

The front of a magazine.

"Teen Author Sweeps the Nation, Steals our Hearts, and Leaves Us Addicted".

The paper of the magazine seemed too shiny. Too fake. The media had corrupted my face, my entire outlook.

That's not me, I told myself. That's not Grace Wall.

A single finger rubbed itself over my face, subconsciously, the reader behind the other side of the pages was thinking about me.

Memories. Tears. Promises, broken. Words left unsaid, forgotten, scattered in the dark... It was all in that one gesture. That one swiping of the finger, back and forth, like a gentle reminder that the past was still there, still haunting.

I knew those fingers well. I knew the way they traced my jawline when I cried, or grabbed my waist when they were desperate. I knew the way those fingers traced the outline of my heart with the evidence of their love. How could I ever forget?

But it was a hopeless, lost dream. He was gone. He had up and left with summer at the end of September. Now, as we were nearing November, the simple thought of his existence was haunting...

My coffee was cooling too quickly. Flustered, I raised the mug to my lips but missed, and hissed loudly as a scolding drop of liquid fell below my collarbone.

The stranger glanced up. But he was no stranger.

At home, a million eyes were tuned in to watch another run of my interview. People across the country, hours behind us, were gathered around eating dinner, listening to me speak words that meant nothing to anyone but me. Why was I so significant?

"Maybe it's because I've always been afraid to break the rules," I laughed. A stage laugh I had learned to do. All fake. My fiery red dress sparkled around me. "But rule 42 was so complex... it would take a miracle for anyone to make me break it."

Liam Sonata, my interviewer, leaned in to act interested. "But in Rule 42, you do break it, do you not?"

On camera, I pondered. In my mind, I already knew.

"Rule 42 can be broken in more than one way. Only one person can decide if they have broken the boundary or not."

"But did you?"

Hesitation. "Yes, I believe I did. I fell in love in the purest way, on the act of chance."

Sonata grinned. He liked that. "Miss Wall, fell in love on the act of chance. I love it!"

I loved it too. But what I would never tell the camera, even when I was asked, is I am out of chances.

Then, like the world knew, the music in the diner stopped completely. Electric green eyes flashed upward and we met gazes.

My world was spiraling downwards...

"Grace? Grace Wall?"

Maybe I had a few more chances than one.

_________42 Reasons________