UNEDITED
Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.
Those are the words that Justin McCallister has been repeating in his mind since the day he was diagnosed with a non-cancerous brain tumour that's been causing partial...
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Adelaide
Time passes in the blink of an eye, and before I know it, we're two days away from Justin's big Chem midterm. And after loads of studying and buckling down to memorize terms that could possibly be useless to us in the future, depending on what we decide to do after graduating high school, I think he's ready.
Checking off the final question on the practice exam I stayed up until two-in-the-morning creating last night, I look up at Justin with a big smile on my face. "Eighty-six per cent - that's an A. I know it's just multiple choice on this one, and that the real midterm with have short answer and long answer questions, but I made sure my practice one went over the basic components of each chapter. If you can answer all these, then I think you can do it."
Justin collapses back onto his pillows and breathes a sigh of relief. He looks tired, but I can't blame him. We've been going at this for four hours now, barely taking a break to devour the egg salad sandwiches Helene made us when she got home from Chris's indoor soccer game. I'm tired, too.
"Addie," he says. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you - thank you so much."
I shrug, feeling bashful, and begin to pick at the chipped nail polish on my nails. I don't know why I bother painting my nails - all I ever do is pick at it when I'm nervous or bored. "It's no big deal. Seriously." I glance at him through my lashes. "Honestly, I like being your tutor. It means I get to spend more time with you."
Justin smiles at me. It's genuine and filled with warmth, and it shows off his cute dimples. I love those dimples.
"You know," he says as he begins to clean up the papers and textbooks that are spread across his grey bedspread. "The fact that you always tell the truth is one of my favourite things about you."
"Really?" I ask, sounding surprised. I watch intently as he gets off the bed, all the supplies in his arms, and heads over to his desk.
"Yeah," he nods, setting our work down. He turns around and chuckles. "Why do you look so shocked?"
I shrug, watching as white specks fall across the grey fabric like oddly-shaped snowflakes. "Some people hate that I tell the truth instead of lying. You're one of the first ones, besides Mom, Dad, Jake, and Alex, that don't seem to mind. I just don't see the point in lying or sugar-coating something. Dad caught me in the midst of a lie when I was about six-years-old and he sat me down for a stern talking-to. He told me that truth is like surgery - it hurts but it cures. And a lie is like a painkiller - it gives relief but has side effects forever. The fact that he was mad at me and so much taller may have contributed to me remembering those words so clearly, but that doesn't matter. What I mean to say is that I took those words and locked them in my heart forever." A crease between my eyebrows forms as I brush the white flakes of dried nail polish into a pattern. "I believe that if you're in a relationship of any kind that you need to be honest, open, and have the ability to solve conflict. Without those three things, a relationship is bound to fail."
