Page 4 of Goose's Wren

Chapter 2

Wren

The trailer groanswith every gust of wind, creaking like it might collapse any second.It's cold here.The kind of chill that seeps into your bones no matter how many blankets you pile on.

But I don’t move.I just sit there cross-legged on an old, faded blanket spread across the floor, my back leaning against the peeling wood panel wall, a flashlight beside me, flickering faintly reminding me that I need to get some new batteries.

Dust swirls in the narrow beam of light as I flip through the weathered pages of my old notebook.The cover’s half torn off, the pages feel soft and fragile from being touched too many times.I used to fill this thing with thoughts I couldn’t say out loud, things I never had the nerve to admit.

Each page feels like I’m peeling open an old wound.There’s an ache deep in my chest, reading the words I wrote with teenage hope.Letters, really.Not the “hi, how are you” kind.

No, these were more like...confessions.The way my heart used to beat like a war drum every time he looked my way.How I memorized the sound of his laugh.The way he leaned against his bike like he owned the world.Like nothing could touch him.

I was just a kid to him back then.Sparrow’s tagalong little sister.But I watched him like he hung the moon.And back then, I thought maybe, just maybe, if I wrote the right words, he’d see me.

Only...he did read them.

Just not the way I meant.

My throat tightens as I stop on one of the pages, the handwriting a little messier, like I’d written it in a hurry.I remember this one.I’d left it tucked between the pages, still too shy to say it out loud.But then, a week later, Goose looked at Sparrow like she was his only world.Like I’d imagined he might look at me.

That was the day I knew.

She’d been stealing them.

Sparrow was sneaking into my room, reading my notebook, and taking my words and giving them to Goose like they were hers.And it worked.Of course it worked.She always knew how to be the center of attention, how to be exactly what someone wanted.

She used my words to make him fall in love with her.And I never said a damn thing.

I should’ve burned this notebook years ago.But I couldn’t.Because as much as it hurt, it was the only proof I ever had that my feelings were real.

Now he’s back in my life, or I’m back in his, depending on how you look at it, and everything feels tilted.The ache hasn’t gone away.If anything, it’s worse now that he’s seen me all grown up and still looks at me like he doesn’t know what to do with me.

The notebook falls shut in my lap as I press my palms against my eyes, trying to force the tears back.

He never even knew it was me.It was all me.She was never what he actually wanted.

I freeze when I hear the rumble of Tim’s rusted-out sedan crunching up the gravel drive.My heart jumps to my throat, pounding so hard I feel it behind my eyes.The headlights flicker through the busted window like a warning.

“Shit.”I breathe out.

My fingers scramble over the notebook in my lap as I shove it and the others back into the bottom of my bag, stuffing them beneath a change of clothes and a hoodie, like that might somehow hide the truth they carry.The zipper gets stuck halfway up, and I curse under my breath yet again as I yank it closed just before I hear the slam of the car door.

I press the bag close to my side, like maybe if I hold it tight enough, he won’t try to take it again.

The last time...God, the last time, he found my notebooks, it was like handing a loaded weapon to someone who already hated me just for breathing.

He’d read every damn word and knew they weren’t about him.He knew who they were about.And that made him lose it.

---