The Midnight Boys

Chapter 6

After receiving a brief overview of Kandy Kane's closing procedures and driving home, I trudged up the ancient steps of the Brook's front porch.

The house was silent when I stepped inside. No doubt Ruby was upstairs in the office working on her manuscript. As for Briella, I had yet to learn her schedule, but I couldn't hear any screamo music blasting from the third floor, so she was probably out with friends.

I made a quick kitchen detour to grab a Dr. Pepper, my standard afternoon caffeine fix, before heading to my room and collapsing face first on the mattress. Less than a second later, I remembered that Fletcher was the last person who'd slept in my bed.

I scrambled up to inspect the damage he'd caused, which I'd put off this morning during my rush to get to work. The bottom half of my comforter was coated in chunks of brown sludge—what had he done, gone mud wrestling?—and there was an unidentified spot on my pillow case that looked suspiciously like a drool stain. Nose wrinkled, I stripped off my bedding and took a trip to the laundry room.

Once the washing machine was loaded and running, I went back to check on my books. If any of them were ruined, whether it was torn dust jacket or a single bent page, Fletcher was going to die a slow and painful death.

Because hell hath no fury like a bookworm scorned.

Luckily for him, everything was fine except for my copy of Eragon. The binding was dented, but I was ninety-nine percent sure the damage had been caused over a year ago by my boyfriend, not the idiot who kept climbing through my window.

Elliot had always been my knight in shining armor, but let's be honest—nobody was perfect. And for Elliot, that imperfection came in the form of his indifference to reading. I often imagined us swapping books or discussing interesting characters, but he could barely read an entire restaurant menu without getting bored, let alone a full-length novel.

Junior year I resolved to fix that particular flaw, so I loaned him a collection of my favorites, Eragon included, in hopes that one would spark his interest. As my mom liked to say, it only takes one good book to catch the reading bug. One breathtaking story that sets your soul on fire. I figured if I could find that book for Elliot, then I could finally share my favorite pastime with him. There was something about curling up by the fire with a paperback and a boy that screamed romance to me... and then I found my books tossed haphazardly in his trunk, unread and abused, which quickly put an end to that fantasy.

I still loved him, but Elliot was never allowed near my babies again.

Once I finished reorganizing my books, my plan was to mop the mud off the floor. But as I slipped Forever between Go Ask Alice and Bridge to Terabithia in the pre 00's section (which also included Little Women, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Outsiders, The Giver, Speak, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower), I spotted a pile of notebooks I'd cleared off the desk when I first unpacked. They looked expensive, leather bound with a handfasting cord, but worn with use.

I knew they belonged to Fletcher.

I also knew I had no business snooping through his stuff.

But they were just laying there, begging to be read. And even though I had zero interest in getting to know him, I had to admit I was a little bit curious to know what he was writing about. Was it terrible poetry? Emo song lyrics? He didn't seem like the type, but maybe Fletcher kept a dream journal.

Before my moral compass kicked in, I grabbed the topmost notebook off the pile, unwound the black cord, and opened it up. I immediately sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn't a journal at all, but a sketchbook.