The elf gave a small nod.
“May I know your name? I have never met an elf before. There are rumors your kind no longer exist.”
“A name is not trivial,” he said, his deliberation etched across his face. “I am Nolandriav. You may know me as Nolan. Please do not use it against me.”
“Iris?” Eamon crept through the door and shut it behind him.
I closed the book. “Your mom will kill you if she catches you in here with me.”
“Worth the risk.” He sat on the edge of the bed, folding his legs beneath him in a way that made him seem fourteen instead of eighteen. “You know”—he picked up the book—“this is the second time I’ve caught you reading Elementia. What would your father say?” He was teasing, but his words filled my chest with lead.
I crossed to the bookshelf and put the book back. “He’d say, ‘I raised you to be on my team. What’s wrong with you, Iris?’”
Eamon frowned. “Say, I know that pressure. My da went all the way to the final tryouts for the Green Army when he was my age.” He pointed to the abandoned soccer gear. “Irish national football team. He didn’t make the cut and tried to rectify the situation with a football star of a son. When I didn’t have the talent, he lost interest in me.”
I leaned against the bookshelf, weary. “Why do people think they can mold their kids into whatever they want? Don’t they realize how stupid that is?”
“I got used to feeling disappointed a long time ago.” Eamon smiled sadly. “But I got over it. My da’s the sort of guy who swims the English Channel but forgets to call his kids at Christmas. I don’t need his approval, but I wish he didn’t mess my mam around. He hasn’t lived here in years, but they’re still married. Every so often they try again, but he always gives up.”
My jealousy was heavy because I did need my dad’s approval. Or maybe I wanted it. I was still leaning against the bookshelf, holding the wood behind my back with two tight hands. “I want to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone. When I was Ryder’s age, my dad hired this special tutor to teach me literary theory, which sounds ridiculous, but it was okay. I liked Mr. Sams. He gave me Jane Eyre, which is my favorite, by the way.”
“Noted,” Eamon said, exactly as he should.
“I read dozens of classics from my dad’s list of preapproved titles. I got into it, and my dad loved bragging about his eight-year-old reading Moby Dick and Great Expectations.” I took a deep breath and said it fast. “But then Mr. Sams started giving me secret books. Barrie, Lewis, Tolkien, Rowling.” I turned to the shelf and plucked one of the titles, presenting it. “Pullman.”
Eamon’s mouth hung open. “You read His Dark Materials? And you still hate fantasy?”
“No.” A tear slipped out, and I reshelved the book. “I loved those stories. All of them. And one day Mr. Sams gave me Elementia. And that was the same day my dad caught me reading it. He freaked out. He screamed that I was filling my head with garbage. He fired Mr. Sams. Took all the books away.”
Eamon stood, making the old bed squeak, and crossed the room. I wasn’t ready to be held, though. I had to keep going. Let it all out. “But don’t think I’ve been lying about not liking fantasy. I did start to hate it, especially the fans. Especially after Moss. And I didn’t want to come here or get to know any of you—except Julian—and I wanted the movie to get shut down so my life didn’t get trampled even more by Elementia.”
I’d run out of breath. Eamon still looked like he was about to hug me, and I turned back to the bookshelf, touching the spine of Elementia. “This past week I’ve realized he probably freaked out because Grandma Mae had just died, not because of anything I did.”
I sat on the window ledge. Eamon sat beside me, a few inches between us. “I don’t think I ever put that together before. I’d never disappointed him, and I thought that’s what happens when you do something wrong. His freak out felt like it was all my fault. I’ve been trying to do everything right since then. It’s impossible.”
I closed my eyes. “I still have nightmares about the way he screamed at me, but then I feel terrible because my dad’s temper is nothing compared to what happened to Ryder.”
“It’s not a competition, Iris,” Eamon said quietly. “Those events can be brutal in their own ways. And in the spirit of honesty, I’m having a hard time not hating your da.”
“Welcome to the club.” I kissed his cheek, and he pulled me into a hug I never wanted to leave, and I started crying because I had to leave. Soon. Back to the incessant sun of LA, my hollow school friendships, babysitting Ryder twenty-four seven and writing secret songs. Songs about having so much emotion inside that is not welcome to come out.
And now there was a new special torture: there’d be no Eamon.
“You have to come to LA and be an actor.”
“Maybe. But that’s far from now. And far from my home.”
“Then why do you want me to be your girlfriend?” I asked. “Is this only until I leave?”
He looked a little scared. “I don’t want to figure that out yet. I mean, I don’t know if I could. Would you rather we didn’t?”
“Hell no. I’m glad you said all that.”
“Coulda fooled me.” He smiled.
“I’m new at this stuff. I’ve gone on a few dates but never had an official anyone.” The moment skewed embarrassing, but Eamon fixed it.
“Me neither. Too busy reading fantasy novels in
