More Than Words By SydneyAlice

More Than Words By SydneyAlice, J-N

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More Than Words By SydneyAlice
Chapter 1
To: MusicMan26
From: Bookworm07
Subject: Rain
I love the rain.
Have I ever told you that?
In my hometown, it rains almost everyday, all day long. When I moved away to
college, I was careful to choose a place close to home because I love the rain so
much. But the city was never my home. Home is wet and green. Home is my
father.
My dad is patient and level-headed and fair. When I was sixteen, those weren't
the words I would have used to describe him. I would have called him stubborn
and strict and totally unreasonable. My father didn't have many rules, but he did
have two – don't break curfew and don't ride in cars with boys.
One night, when I was sixteen, I broke both rules.
I was grounded for two months. One month for each broken rule, I suppose.
At the time, I was so angry. I was so angry that I actually packed my bags and
tried to hitchhike to Arizona to live with my mom. I made it as far as the one
signal light in town before my father found me. Very kindly, he told me that he
loved me and wanted me to come home. With that one sentence, I realized that
he was, in that moment, showing me more love than my mother had shown me
in my entire lifetime.
I climbed into the front seat of his police cruiser, and he took me to his favorite
diner where we shared a banana split.
A little ice cream and all was forgiven.
I don't know why I felt compelled to tell you that. There are days like today –
with the rain pounding against my windowpane – that I think about home and
how much I love it here.
What I'm Listening To: "Rain" by Patty Griffin
I hit send just as a rowdy group of seniors walked into the library. Tonight was
football homecoming and excitement was in the air. Athletics are taken very
seriously in small towns, and Forks was no different. Football at Forks High
School was so important that the football boosters had raised enough money to
replace the consistently muddy ground with Astroturf.
That's right. I'm begging the PTA for new library books, but the football field has
Astroturf.
I'm not bitter, though.
Unfortunately, there was one thing that was threatening to put a damper on the
kids' enthusiasm, and it was that one tiny hurdle that was sending the poor
seniors into the library, begging for my assistance.
Research papers.
Mr. Berty was requiring an essay on the central conflicts found within Romeo and
Juliet, and while the assignment had been assigned over three weeks ago, the
seniors had put it off until the last minute, and it was due Monday. Mr. Berty,
who was not known for his compassion, had refused to change the due date even
with the homecoming ceremony looming on the calendar. The pleas of the
football team had fallen on deaf ears, and for the past two days, my library had
been flooded with desperate players begging me to help them make sense of
Shakespeare.
Truthfully, I was grateful for the distraction. The high school library is rarely a
buzz of activity, so I was happy that so many students were using the library for
something more than just a quiet place to read. I was also happy to have the
interruption to my normal routine because my normal routine consisted of sitting
at the check-out counter and relentlessly checking my email.
I had seen the movie You've Got Mail. I had heard the horror stories of meeting
someone online only to meet them in real-life and finding out that they were
psychopaths. But there was something about my music man that I found
completely fascinating.
It happened completely by accident. I'd sent an email to a book vendor in
Seattle, whose email address was MusicMan25(at)gmail(dot)com. It was one
freak typing mistake – a five instead of a six on the end of the name – that had
introduced me to the man with whom I'd been chatting for the past month. His
initial reply to me had been one of confusion, and once we'd figured out that I'd
sent my inquiry to the wrong address – he had then complimented me on my
choice of books, which then began a huge discussion that was still going on one
month later.
We talked about nothing.
We talked about everything.
We kept it simple and impersonal. I didn't know his name, and he didn't know
mine. We didn't share stories about work or anything remotely mundane like
that. Instead, we talked about literature and music. We talked about movies and
favorite vacation spots and places we really wanted to see but were too afraid to
go. We talked about the colors of the leaves and the flowers that were blooming
behind my house. We talked about our hopes and dreams, and sometimes, we
talked about our fears.
He ended each email to me with his reading material for the day, and I ended
mine with a song that fit my mood. It was our way of establishing a connection to
the other. Our choices of music and books always led to in-depth discussions
about both of our passions, and we'd found that we shared many of the same
favorites.
It was odd – having such a strong connection with someone whose name was a
mystery – but it was effortless. It was safe. The man on the other side of the
computer screen couldn't hurt me or break my heart.
He was pretty perfect.
And handsome.
I couldn't be certain, of course, but I was pretty sure he was handsome.
Not that it mattered in the least. It wasn't as if we'd ever come face-to-face, so I
didn't have to concern myself with something as shallow as looks. I didn't have to
worry about what I was wearing or if my hair looked particularly crappy today. I
didn't have to be concerned that he was middle-aged and balding. None of that
mattered. Not with him.
The next hour was spent helping students search the online database for any
relevant sources. I nearly gave the quarterback, a sweet kid named Henry, a
heart attack when I told him that it would probably benefit him and his grade if
he actually read Romeo and Juliet before trying to attempt his paper.
"But…but…it's homecoming weekend, Miss Swan," Henry whined. He was
dangerously close to tears.
"I understand," I nodded sympathetically. "It's such a shame that Mr. Berty only
assigned this paper three weeks ago."
"I know, right?"
My sarcasm was clearly lost on him.
The bell rang, sending the kids scurrying toward their next class. Once again, the
library was silent. I shelved a few journals and an encyclopedia devoted to British
playwrights before heading back to the check-out counter. A quick glance at the
screen brought a smile to my face, and I tapped the mouse.
To: Bookworm07
From: MusicMan26
Subject: Rain
Patty Griffin is a songwriting genius and has a phenomenal voice. So few people
know about her, but I'm not surprised that you do. Maybe it's good that she isn't
so well known. That way, she can keep writing what she wants and singing what
she wants, and she doesn't have to conform to what the all-mighty label wants.
But enough about my bitterness. :)
It rains here all the time. I had no idea when I moved out here that I was moving
to one of the wettest places in the continental United States. We must live close
to each other. What if we found out that we lived in the same state? Or even the
same town? I'm pretty sure we don't live in the same town. Two people who have
this kind of crazy online connection would surely have found each other in the
real world, right?
Your dad sounds like my mother. She's patient and kind. She makes the best
cookies and always makes things beautiful, especially during the holidays. She
has the purest heart of anyone I've ever known. I've disappointed her so many
times, and yet, she loves me. It's astounding, really.
I started reading one of the books you suggested. I haven't been able to read
much today because work is crazy, but I've managed to read a few chapters in
between practice. Hopefully, after tonight is over, I can spend the weekend
listening to the rain and reading. You should have warned me that it was over
three hundred pages long. I might get it finished by Christmas. You will not,
however, under any circumstances, convince me to read Harry Potter. It's not
happening.
Ever.
What I'm Reading: Cash - The Autobiography
I couldn't help but smile. I had a feeling he'd be a Johnny Cash fan.
I was just getting ready to reply when the library door swung open, and I let out
a quiet groan as the band director walked through the door.
"I heard that!" His bellowing voice drifted in the air as he made his way toward
the daily newspapers.
"I meant for you to!" I yelled right back.
I watched through narrow eyes as he made an absolute mess of my newspaper
shelf. He did it on purpose.
Edward Cullen absolutely lived to irritate me.
Mr. Cullen was the new kid on the block. He'd just started teaching this year at
Forks High after transferring from a private school in Chicago. He was handsome,
in that infuriating I-know-I'm-hot sort of way. He was tall with a wild head of
bronze hair and bright green eyes, and apparently, his jaw alone was worthy of
praise.
Jawporn, Jessica called it.
She and Lauren – both math teachers – became swooning teenagers whenever
the man was within earshot, and it was slightly nauseating to watch. He totally
encouraged it, with his infuriating good looks and crooked smile, but to my
knowledge, he hadn't dated either of them. Even worse, it wasn't just the female
faculty that had a crush on the new music teacher. The band program had tripled
in size since his arrival.
All girls, naturally.
"Where is yesterday's issue of the Seattle Times?"
I rolled my eyes. "Probably in the band room where you left it. Or don't you
remember stealing it yesterday?"
He flashed his innocent smile at me.
"I never steal," Edward replied smoothly, but I refused to be charmed.
"When you take something and don't return it, that's stealing."
I could feel his eyes on me as I straightened a shelf of magazines.
"You don't like me much, do you?"
"I like you just fine," I said. I found an out-of-date issue of Time and quickly
tossed it aside. "Why are you still here? Don't you have a trombone to tune or
something?"
"I had to take a break," Edward groaned irritably as he grabbed a USA Today and
made himself comfortable at one of the tables. "If I hear the school song one
more time, I'm going to stab myself in the eye with my baton."
I could sympathize because the school song really was atrocious. It was dated
and boring, but the principal required it to be played at all sporting events.
Homecoming was no exception.
"It is pretty bad," I acknowledged. "We were forced to sing it at graduation. Be
thankful you aren't the choir director."
He looked up from his paper. "You graduated from here?"
"Forks born and raised," I nodded.
A few students walked in, putting a halt to our conversation. Carrie, a sweet girl
who loved to read almost as much as I did, placed a book in the book return
while her friend made her way toward the magazines. When both girls saw
Edward reading his newspaper, they immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles
before running out the door. He ignored them while I rolled my eyes and made
my way back to my computer.
To: MusicMan26
From: Bookworm07
Subject: Harry Potter
I knew you would enjoy the Cash autobiography. As for Harry…we'll see. :) I can
be very convincing when I want to be.
We couldn't possibly live in the same town. I think you're right. Two people who
can form this type of friendship through the Internet would surely have stumbled
upon each other in the real world. I suppose we could tell each other where we
lived, but I kind of like the mystery. I imagine that you live in the country and
that you sit on your front porch in your rocking chair and play your guitar until
the wee hours of the morning.
You just seem like a front porch kind of guy.
The rain seems to be ending, for now anyway. This is good news for my little
hometown. It's an important night here, and while we've grown accustomed to
working around the rain, it always makes life a little easier when the clouds
cooperate.
Enjoy your book – and your weekend.
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