Dear Adam (The Pen Pal Romance Series) Read online

  Dear Adam

  Kelsie Stelting

  For my dad. Thanks for

  showing me how fun hard work can be.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kelsie Stelting

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Jenny of Seedlings.

  Editing by Tricia Harden of Emerald Eyes Editing and Proofreading.

  For questions, address [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Emerick

  2. Nora

  3. Emerick

  4. Nora

  5. Emerick

  6. Nora

  7. Emerick

  8. Nora

  9. Emerick

  10. Nora

  11. Emerick

  12. Nora

  13. Emerick

  14. Nora

  15. Emerick

  16. Nora

  17. Emerick

  18. Nora

  19. Emerick

  20. Nora

  21. Emerick

  22. Nora

  23. Emerick

  24. Nora

  25. Emerick

  26. Nora

  Epilogue

  Also by Kelsie Stelting

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  One

  Emerick

  If Mrs. Arthur’s stupid bobbleheads kept nodding at me, I’d rip them in half.

  Our guidance counselor had one from every college within a five-hundred-mile radius stacked in weird places—on top of papers, in the handles of her filing cabinets, on the ledge of the lone window in her office.

  My mom hit my leg under the table. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know what she meant. Pay attention.

  I shook my own bobblehead and looked at Mrs. Arthur and our principal sitting on the opposite side of the table.

  Mrs. Arthur leaned forward. “Unfortunately, you’re a credit short, and all of our elective classes are full.”

  I hung my head. Yet another way I’d failed my mom. But working thirty hours a week on top of school made it hard to finish homework. Especially for idiotic classes like consumer math. I could use my freaking phone to do that math.

  Mom worked her hands in her lap. “There has to be something he can do.”

  Mrs. Arthur exchanged glances with Principal Scott, and he nodded with his eyes closed like this was the least worthwhile thing he’d do all day.

  She took in a deep breath. “You know about the WAHS Ledger?”

  Mom shook her head, the lines around her eyes looking deeper than ever.

  “It’s the school’s newspaper—an award-winning publication at that. I’m on the faculty editing board, and we believe there’s one thing keeping us from placing at a national competition.”

  I raised my eyebrows. What did she think was missing? Actual news? Exposés on mystery meat weren’t exactly hard-hitting stories.

  Mrs. Arthur paused for dramatic effect. “We’d like to start up the advice column again. And we want it to be written by a guy.”

  Mom scoffed and sat back in her seat.

  I didn’t need her to say anything to understand that either.

  Emerick is the last person who should be giving anyone advice.

  And I agreed.

  Apparently, Mrs. Arthur did, too, because she nodded. “Typically, we’d privately select someone from our journalism class, but seeing Emerick’s predicament… Well, we’d like to give him a chance. Supervised, of course.”

  Mom took her purse from her chair and situated it over her shoulder. “He’ll do it. What choice do we have?”

  I looked from her to Mrs. Arthur. “Come on, there has to be something else. I wouldn’t even know what to say to these preppy kids worrying about their hamsters dying.”

  Principal Scott leaned forward, the tips of his fingers tenting his hands on the table. “You will do it, and I think it would do you good to realize you’re not the only one with problems.”

  I scowled at him. Yeah, other people might have to stress about what to wear or where to take a girl on a date, but I had real shit on my plate. Like basically a full-time job. Helping my mom save so we could move out of my uncle’s house. A dad who couldn’t help, not because he ran off, but because cops came to our shitty apartment and took him away in handcuffs.

  Mom stood up and straightened the hem of her scrub shirt. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Scott. If it’s alright, will you sort the details with Emerick? I’m already late for my shift.”

  Principal Scott nodded. “Thanks for coming in, Mrs. Turner.”

  “Ms. Turner.” Mom flashed him a come-get-me grin, and I almost vomited on the Pistol Pete bobblehead next to me. Seriously, Ma?

  He straightened. “Ms. Turner. I can show you out. Mrs. Arthur, you’ll get Emerick set up?”

  She nodded. “Sure thing.”

  For the next hour, we talked about the advice column. Dear Adam—a spin on Dear Abby. She gave me a school laptop, an email address—[email protected]–and directions to select three entries a week with responses to put in the paper.

  “You can reply to just those three, or more if you’d like, but we have to have three in the paper each week.”

  “Sure.” I folded my arms and leaned on the table. “There’s just one problem.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “What would that be?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “At this point, it’s this or drop out.” She stood up and walked back to her desk. “The choice is up to you.”

  I shoved the laptop in my messenger bag and picked up my leather jacket from where it rested over my chair.

  “Good choice,” she said.

  I gave her a final look and walked out of that office. And right into my worst nightmare.

  Two

  Nora

  I slammed into a wall of muscle and leather and teen angst. My note cards flew through the air and landed on the ground beside me.

  “Ouch.” I rubbed my elbow. I’d told my mom heels weren’t a good idea, but it turned out Emerick Turner was my worst fall risk.

  He sat back on the floor like he belonged there. Like we didn’t have a school assembly in five minutes. “You alright?”

  I trained my eyes on the ground as my dad’s voice played in the back of my mind. Everyone should feel like you like them, no matter what. That was going to be hard.

  “I’m fine,” I said and started gathering my note cards.

  A hand came under my arm. “Babe, you alright?”

  Trey—Walter Evans III, but Trey—hauled me to my feet, and I pulled my arm from his grip. I wasn’t his “babe.” Not anymore.

  “I’m fine,” I repeated, more forcefully this time.

  A few note cards held by an oil-stained hand came into my vision. I glanced up—Emerick. “Thanks.” I took them from him.

  He lifted a dark eyebrow in response and turned away so all we could see was the back of his worn leather jacket and his easy saunter as he walked away.

  I tore my gaze from him and started straightening my A-line skirt and cardigan. A button had come undone when I fell. I didn’t want to
look messy for my first speech of the semester. I only had a few months left in my term as student body president, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  “That guy’s a jerk,” Trey said.

  I sorted my note cards in order by the numbers I’d written in the bottom corners. Another tip from my dad. “Ready?”

  Trey nodded. “Do you want to run through your talk?”

  “I’m perfectly capable. You, on the other hand…”

  He gripped his chest, feigning pain. “I only threw up one time. And that was last year.”

  “It’s January.”

  His lips spread into an easy grin. The one that got him whatever he wanted. “You got me.”

  I shook my head but kept my chin high. We were getting closer to the gym. Don’t display anything other than confidence. People can smell fear, weakness.

  Students were still filtering in, but I kept my back straight and mingled with people as we walked into the gym, making sure to say hi to everyone I knew. To say something personal. How’s your sister? What was England like at Christmastime? How did you manage to break your nose and both wrists snowboarding? That kind of thing.

  Trey and I made it to the first bleacher row and sat down. He was so close his shoulder brushed mine. I scooted a couple of inches away.

  He gave me a look, but he wouldn’t say something in front of the entire student body. I’d hear about it later.

  Principal Scott started the assembly with the usual housekeeping stuff and a speech about how excited he was to be in the final stretch of the school year. As he spoke, I found myself critiquing his performance. Didn’t he know you weren’t supposed to say “um” more than five times in a minute?

  Finally, it was my turn.

  My heels clacked against the finished gym floor until I stood behind the podium, staring out at the entire student body—my friends, my ex, even Emerick, who was whispering and joking with one of his friends. The smile that crossed his face was a rare one, and the way it transformed his features was like magic.

  “Miss Wilson?”

  I gave my head a quick shake and looked back at Principal Scott, trying to hide how frazzled I was. Was I seriously daydreaming about Emerick Turner in front of all of WAHS?

  I shook the thought and started talking, hardly glancing at my note cards. This was where I belonged. In front of a crowd. Helping them make this school an even better place to be a student.

  “That is why we’re enacting a mental health initiative here at school,” I said. “Homeroom on Fridays will be dedicated to a mindfulness practice. There will now be pamphlets in Principal Scott’s office highlighting everything from how to handle bullies to how to talk with your parents about sex. And, something we’re really excited about, there will be a change to the school’s newspaper.”

  Sure, the students acted like they couldn’t have cared less, but I’d done my research. This would be a good thing.

  High with the energy from speaking and finally seeing my ideas come into action, I grinned at Trey and waved him forward.

  He came to stand beside me at the podium. “Hi there, WAHS!”

  The student body clapped excitedly. Everyone loved Trey. Everyone but me.

  In a fake show of humility, he bowed his head. “Oh, stop it.”

  They quieted, and he went on.

  “As editor of the WAHS Ledger, I’ve been working tirelessly to make sure we bring home another national newspaper title. But we’ve been missing one thing: an advice column. We know it might be a little awkward asking for help, so we’re creating a one hundred percent confidential portal where you can email our advice columnist. Several of the questions will be published in our paper each week with counselor-reviewed advice.”

  While the crowd clapped, Trey ducked his head and stepped back, sans puke. He must have been practicing.

  I moved forward again. “Mrs. Arthur has some announcements next. But thank you so much for making WAHS awesome. Let’s bring in the end of the school year with a bang!”

  After the assembly, my two best friends came to find me and looped their arms through each of mine. I loved it when we walked like this—it reminded me of third grade and sleepovers and times when my biggest worry was whether a boy checked yes or no. Grace and London had been there for it all.

  Grace jiggled my arm. “You did awesome, girl. You’re totally gonna take over the world someday.”

  I chuckled. “I think I’ll leave that to Dad.”

  London shrugged. “As long as you promise to pardon all my speeding tickets.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “People might start getting suspicious after the tenth time.”

  She laughed. “I’ve only had three.”

  Grace nodded. “Yeah, but you’ve been pulled over seven more times than that and somehow talked them out of it.”

  London batted her eyelashes. “Pure talent.”

  We got a little closer to my first period class. “I better get going.”

  Grace dropped her arm from mine. “Hang out after practice?”

  She managed the basketball team, and London was a cheerleader. We almost never had enough time to hang out on school nights.

  I shook my head. “Nah, I’ve got volunteer hours to do.”

  Looking perfectly pouty, London said, “Fine, but we’re hanging out this weekend. No buts.”

  I smiled. We’d see about that.

  After school, I loaded my backpack into my car. I didn’t have volunteer hours. I had to go buy groceries for my family.

  Three

  Emerick

  “You’ve gotta start thinking about what you want to do with your life, Rick,” Uncle Ken said over the sounds of drills and engines.

  I wiped sweat from my forehead and stared down at the tire I was working on patching. Were we really on this again? But this wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation we could have at his house, where my mom and I lived with him, his wife, and my three cousins.

  “Emerick…”

  I sighed. “You know I can’t leave Ma.”

  Uncle Ken rubbed a grease-stained rag over his hands. “We’ll take care of her. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but will she let you?”

  He shook his head, not in the “no” way, but in the exasperated way. We both knew Mom could hardly handle being alone. If she didn’t have me around, she’d go off and find some guy to fill the empty spot in her heart—and her bank account. And judging by my father, the felon, she didn’t have the greatest taste in men.

  I just had to get enough saved up for a down payment on a little house for us. Something with a mortgage small enough for her to handle if she ever had to be without me. And when I didn’t have school to worry about, it would be way easier to save up.

  But I had a lot of work to do before then.

  “You gonna let me bust this tire?” I asked.

  Uncle Ken clapped my shoulder, a heavy look in his eyes. “Just think about it.”

  I nodded.

  Honestly, it was all I could think about. One of his best mechanics, Bernie, was retiring soon. I hadn’t gone to school for it or anything, but I’d learned enough from work that I could step in. It was decent money—full-time work that wasn’t in the oil fields. Uncle Ken would give me the job, but I couldn’t tell whether he actually wanted me to take it or not.

  Aunt Linda came over at five with their three kids and food. The younger two ran back along the edge of the shop to his office, but the oldest, Janie, came over to me.

  “Whatcha working on?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes. She was ten and still really short. How tall were ten-year-olds supposed to be, though?

  I gestured at the tire spinning in front of me. “You’ve seen me patch tires before.”

  She nodded, her little beaded braids crackling.

  “How was school?” I asked.

  She lifted her bony shoulders. “I punched Johnny Andrews in the gut.”

  I fought an amused smile. “Yeah?”

  “Yep.” Sh
e nodded. “Kept my thumb outside my fist like you taught me.”

  My eyes widened, and I looked around to make sure no one heard me. “That’s between us, right?” I waited for her to nod before saying, “So that little punk pretended your hair was an abacus again?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Three times. I warned him, like you told me to.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, he deserved it then, huh?”

  “Tell Mom that.”

  “You in trouble?” I asked.

  A small smile spread across her lips. “Not this time.”

  “And it won’t happen again, right?”

  She grinned. “He cried. I don’t think so.”

  That time, I couldn’t keep from laughing. I put my fist out, she bumped her knuckles against mine, and then we exploded our fingers back. Yeah, I had a secret handshake with a ten-year-old. Sue me.

  “Janie!” Aunt Linda called from the office. “Rick! You eatin’?”

  “Yeah!” we yelled back at the same time.

  My shift got over at ten, but I ended up staying until 10:45, thanks to that one asshole who always walks in right at closing time. But I needed the money, and the guy had a flat.

  After work, I walked home. The shop was only about a mile from Uncle Ken’s house, and by the time I got there, I could hardly feel my fingers. Leather jackets? Sturdy, not exactly cozy.

  I took a quick shower—Aunt Linda would kill me if I got grease on her sheets—and then I went to the garage they’d converted into a bedroom for me. Meaning, they’d put a futon and a space heater out there, along with their washer and dryer, the mower, lawn fertilizer, hoses, and a power washer.