Chapter 9: Book Face

Rainy’s POV

Playfully twirling my flaming red hair, I hunker down in front of my silver laptop computer and open my email.

My heart is starting to pound a little too hard, and I feel sweat developing on my upper lip. Wiping it away with the back of my hand, I realize that I am a little bit freaked out. Yet I still feel an overwhelming compulsion to do this.

“You can do it,” I say, egging myself on. And I can do this. Seriously. I mean, I can, right? Right. I did it just last week with Brett. Only I didn’t get an answer, I remind myself.

“You are a beautiful, exciting woman,” I tell my nervous inner child as I look at my reflection in the screen. Like an automaton, I open a new message and enter Bron’s email address.

If Bron doesn’t answer me after handing me his card like some kind of modern-day street God, then he is just playing head games with me.

“Stop thinking so negatively,” I scold myself yet again today.

Maybe Bron is a really nice guy who loves animals, art, and music. He could turn out to be totally chill. Unlike Brett, who seems like he might be kind of a snob with all of his money and an entourage always nearby. At least there is a chance that Bron might be down to earth.

It has been days since I messaged Brett. Maybe he thinks I am weird for writing what I wrote.

Thinking back to the other night, Brett’s choice of friends strikes me as being rather weird. There is just something so cheesy about Brad Kaslo with his tight clothes and his smiling face. He really isn’t very talented.

Wolfmother was amazing though. The lead singer Carnelian blew my mind. The poetry of her lyrics is clever and haunting. Her voice is as powerful as a howling wolf in heat. Raw and scary, yet inviting.

I ask myself why Brett supports Brad’s career. He plays at every garden party. I feel a pang of jealousy again when I think about Brett supporting Brad. I am an artist too, after all. Having an art career supported by a famous billionaire sounds pretty dreamy.

I wonder why Carnelian shares Brett’s last name, and yet is not in any of the annual garden party videos as a performer. Seems kind of strange. I think her music is so much better than Brad’s.

I never saw any mention of Carnelian online at all, in fact. Why is that?

As my morning fog thoughts turn between Brett and Bron, I shake my head and rub my eyes and tell myself to just focus on one thing.

Clicking “compose” I think about how to write my initial conversation with Bron. He must be a pretty nice guy. After all, he is gentleman enough to leave it up to me whether to call or not.

But then again, I cannot not seem to look past the fact that Bron has a calling card. Should I look past that, though? Is he a professional or a player? Or a professional player?

I guess I will never know until I send him a message. Besides, maybe we can just be friends.

Keeping it light, I write, “Hey, it’s Rainy from the other night. What are you up to today? Do you feel like walking the dogs with me?” My message is short but sweet. Perfect. Time to hit “send” and see what happens.

Catching my reflection in the mirror, I tell myself I am an arctic fox, stone cold.

“Good morning Rainy Daye on a sunny day!” Cass shouts so loud that I almost jump out of my chair, breaking my newfound laser focus.

“D’aaaagggh! Jesus Cass, I almost spilled my tea all over the computer. Quit sneaking up on me like that,” I laugh nervously.

“I just emailed Bron. Let’s see if he replies or not.”

“Ooooooo! Bron, eh?” She hip bumps me in the shoulder as she teases me and sips her coffee from an oversized pink mug with a poodle on it.

“He looks like a vampire to me. So dark and mysterious. Are you sure he is your type, Rainy?” She asks in a more serious tone.

“A vampire, Cass? Really?” My eyes roll as I take a sip of my cold tea.

I guess I lost track of time again. I am good at that. Time seems to mean very little to me. I am not like the others. And I hate cold tea.

“That’s hilarious, Cass. I think he is just kind of goth or emo, that’s all. He likes black. I’m kind of into that, actually.” I say flippantly. Suddenly, I feel like dismissing her.

Cass can be so such a redneck sometimes, and it shows. Can’t blame her. She did grow up on a farm. She is better at fashion than me, but her taste is more basic than mine is.

I was always there as a kid when my mom was at work after school. I’d walk home with Cass, lugging our books. Never taking any boy’s offers to carry them for us, knowing they’d be tossed into a muddy ditch.

“Boys suck!” We would shout to them and kick up dust with our Mary Jane shoes when they would tease us.

Yet here we are, waiting for a message back from a boy. Well, Bron is a man, I hope.

"Bing! Bing!" The message notification makes my heart jump into my throat.

My email notification is chiming. Is it Bron? It must be Bron. Who else could it be? Certainly not Brett.

“Oh my God, Cass, it’s an email. Do you think it’s him?”

“Of course, it is, Rainy. It has to be.” Cass says.

I close Bookface and instead open my messages.

With my heart pounding and sweat forming on my upper lip as I open them to see what he says, I almost fall out of my chair with surprise.

“Oh my God, Cass! Look at this. I can’t believe it. Is this really happening?”

I feel faint as butterflies engulf my solar plexus and I choke on the huge lump of what I think must be excitement in my throat as I read.