We leave Mr. and Mrs. Bennet frozen in the hallway and talk about books. I tell Sorley about the cat-lady story and how I failed to bring a kitten back with me. He talks about a submarine he was on and how incredible it was to be able to see and breath under water.

A shiver runs down my back when he tells about the crew that drowned. His voice remains calm, yet I see in his eyes he'd rather not repeat that experience. We fall silent for a while, but it's not an unpleasant silence, we're merely deep in thought.

To test my newfound painlessness, I stand up and when he raises his eyebrows, I hold out my hand. "Come, I want to walk. Meet Elizabeth and see Mr. Darcy."

Sorley heaves a dramatic sigh, but takes my hand with a smile. For a brief moment I consider removing the cast. We can probably find scissors or something. However I decide against it. When I come back without the cast I'll have a serious problem.

During the course of the story, which we follow along for a while without actively participating, I tell about Alice and suddenly I wonder out loud: "Do you suppose Alice was a paper walker as well?"

"Could be", Sorley replies after a moment of contemplation. "Just like Bastian."

No idea who that is. I'd like to ask, but the family is about to go to the ball where they'll meet Mr. Darcy and I absolutely need to go with them. We have to cram a bit in the carriage, but it fits if I sit in Sorley's lap. It's not as bumpy, as I thought the ride in the big contraption would be, yet he holds his arms tightly around me. The whole way, butterflies dance in my stomach more violently than the feathers on Mrs. Bennets hat. When we finally get out of the carriage, I'm afraid to look at him and very grateful for the cool night air.

He takes my arm like a perfect gentleman and behaves like he belongs there. Which is very funny, because he's wearing his usual sweatpants and a T-shirt that only has '42' on it. Inside, I hold my breath, we're not going to dance, are we? Oh please, that will be so embarrassing. The only experience I have is swaying and jumping to pop-music from the twenty-first century.

"Come on", he says, when I resists as he steers us onto the dance floor.

"I can't dance, especially not with this lump of plaster."

"Neither can I, but nobody's watching, so it's alright."

It's true, everybody is talking and looking at the couples who are already dancing. The music falters for a moment when the guests of honour make their appearance and then it continues. Now everyone watches the two gentleman they all gossip about. Mr. Darcy is tall, that much is true and some might call him handsome, but I'd much rather look at Sorley. He's grinning at me and puts me unceremoniously next to the row of ladies who are about to begin a complicated figure of bows and steps.

We have so much fun attempting to do the same, which is a total fail, but we try anyway. After two dances we give up and find a place to rest with a glass of punch.

Still out of breath I ask: "What shall we do tomorrow?"

Sorley looks at me with two dimples in his cheeks. "What would you like?"

"Nothing scary", I immediately say. "And nothing dramatic either."

"No sinking ships", he nods and I stick out my tongue.

I let him decide, because my book knowledge is limited to young adults and chicklits and somehow I don't think he has those.

"You will have to go to the library, don't you. Is that okay, with your leg?"

Oh right, the leg, I almost forgot about that. "I'll ask Isla, she's my best friend."

Sorley empties his glass and squints when he asks: "Does she know? About us? I mean, that we can do this?"

When he says 'us' I feel my cheeks ignite again and I quickly hide behind my own glass. He only means us as paper walkers, nothing more. And his kiss also meant nothing more besides proving he wasn't gay. Get a grip, Zara.

I inadvertently shake my head and spill punch all over my chin and shirt. Shoot. I quickly rub my arm over my face, but that only makes it worse. Now my arm is sticky as well. I'm such a toddler.

"Eh..." I'm afraid to assume he'll still be here waiting for me when I step out of the story. Would they have a bathroom here? Or a powder room or something. People in this century did go to the bathroom, right? Or wouldn't they because it isn't mentioned in the book?

Sorley watches my sticky situation with twinkles in his eyes.

"Yeah, you just laugh, I'm totally covered in punch."

He does laugh, but not for long. His expression looses his cheerfulness when he says: "Maybe it's time to go home."

At once I don't care about my stickiness any more. I don't want to go home. I don't want to go back to the depressing cubicle where I'm all alone and in pain.

He can tell by the look on my face and takes my hand. "We'll have so many more days to come, so many stories.

Sadly I nod. Sorley moves his hand to my face and rubs my cheek with his thumb. After that he sticks his thumb in his mouth. "Hmm, punch."

I can't contain myself, I erupt in a fit of giggles. One corner of his mouth rises and I suck in my breath when he gets pushed aside by someone and takes a step forward.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, he frowns a little, but then relaxes and softly says: Goodnight, Zara." He speaks his exit-words and disappears.

I'm not going with him. His hand vanishes from mine and I remain by myself in a room filled with strangers.

I don't want to hang around here any longer with my dirty T-shirt, stupid gym-shorts and sticky punch all over me, so I do what he did and leave. A few seconds later I'm standing next to the bed in the guest room. Immediately a sharp pain pierces my leg and groaning I sit down. I place the book next to me. At least the stickiness is gone, that's something.

I quickly change into my pyjamas and drag myself to the kitchen. My morning-toothbrush is always downstairs, so I don't have to go up and I don't have to face my mother. I feel like crying my eyes out. Simply because I can en because I feel rotten. Even though I've just had an amazing evening. I wish I could meet him in real life. How much would a round trip to America cost? I have a savings account.

Back in the guest bedroom, the first thing I do is check my messages. Sorley's avatar is some weird quote about a teacher and failing – I think – but he hasn't texted me anything new yet. What was my picture again?

I'm so ashamed I could die when I see it. Two feet in fluffy, pink bunny slippers. I took that picture ages ago with Isla, right before we were kicked out of the shoe store for walking around on every weird pair we could find.

Scrolling through my photos I find nothing good I can use, so I take a picture of my leg. There, that has to do for now.

It feels good to have my leg up, however I can't reach my laptop lying on the bed. Searching on my phone for ways to travel to Boulder isn't ideal and after a look at the clock, a boring brown one, I decide to give up and go to sleep.

---

My mother tells me the next morning, she'll stay and work at home, since apparently I can't do anything and she has to get the crutches anyway. She calls school and lo and behold, both school and her agree I don't have to perform acrobatic feats to try to get to school with a broken leg, these last few weeks. There are no more tests I have to take, no homework worth mentioning, so I can stay at home.

Eight hours of time difference is horrible. Not until two in the afternoon, when I've done everything I can think of at least three times, I dare to send a text to Sorley.

I feel terrible, but I'm desperate. Are you up yet? I am so incredibly bored.

I hurry to add: Sorry.

It seems he's not one to sleep in, because almost immediately he replies with a ROFL emoji.

Did you pick out a book yet? He texts.

No, that doesn't work. You pick and I get it from the library.

I have to wait a while, but then I suddenly get a bunch of pictures of book covers. Front and back, so I can read what it's about.

They all look interesting. I'll try to get them all, then we're good for a while.

Next comes the big challenge to find someone to take me to the library. Somehow I think my mum doesn't feel like it. Let alone have the time. I can hear her typing away on her keyboard right through the wall. That means she's in the kitchen.

Would Isla be out of class yet? I text her and wait, but don't get a reply right away. That means no. I can call a cab, or take the bus. Two crutches now stand next to the door, so I can probably manage. That way I also won't have to explain why I borrow a big pile of English books.

I make the decision, empty my school bag, put my wallet, keys and phone back in and hop over to the crutches. Luckily the weather is nice, that makes the getting dressed a little easier. Though halfway through the morning I did put on a cardigan for when I use the crutches. Those arm supports grate my skin.

"Mum, I'm stepping out for a bit", I yell when I've reached the front door. Some mumbling is my answer. She's probably forgotten all about my leg already. That's fine by me.

On the bench, enjoying the sun, I wait for the bus. It doesn't take long and everybody clears a friendly path for me when I search for a seat with my purple clog. At the stop closest to the library, a nice elderly gentleman offers me an arm and carries my crutches when I get out. He reminds me of Sorley from the previous day and gratefully I smile at him.

The last part to the library doors I make without any trouble. Inside, I'm almost at once addressed by a woman who inquires if I need help. I ask where the English books are and hobble over there. With my phone in my hand I locate one by one all the books Sorley sent me and after half an hour, my bag weighs a ton.

Because my leg is beginning to hurt pretty much by now and I'm getting thirsty, I sit in the café and order a coffee. Then I text: Found them and stare at the screen, where soon the little word 'online' tells me Sorley is also sitting with his phone in his hands.

Are you at home now?

I take a picture of my coffee and send it.

A few moments later I get one back with a glass of water. Grinning out loud, I text: Looovely.

I zoom in trying to see something of his surroundings. It's a desk and next to the water is a mouse, I think. That's all I see. What would his room look like? Except for the giant book case, I have no idea. Isla always says her boyfriends room is filled with dirty laundry, but somehow I can't imagine that's the case with Sorley. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Right now I'm wishing I'd returned home right away. I search for the bus times and see another one leaves in fifteen minutes. I'll probably miss that one. That means I have half an hour.

Sorley seems to be always at home. Would he work there? When I think about his T-shirts, who probably all have something to do with geeky stuff, computer nerd is written all over him. Oh, he's typing again.

Let me know when you get back and with which one you want to start. See ya later.

In high spirits I finish my latte, after that I hoist the burdensome load on my back and hobble outside.

"Hey, Zara!"

I turn around and wish again I hadn't taken that coffee.

"What the heck are you doing here? Are you supposed to walk this far on that leg? Tell me you didn't ride the bike."

Isla runs to me and I answer: "I took the bus, it's fine."

"Did you get books? You know I would totally get that for you."

"I know", I smile, "but I wanted to get out. I do have a tan to uphold, after all."

We both laugh and then she asks: "Will you stay a while?" She points at her friends behind her.

I doubt. It looks like fun, especially when I see Britt isn't there, but Sorley's waiting and my leg is really beginning to bug me.

"No, I have to get home. My mum is waiting and I need to get this leg up."

She nods understandingly. "Oh, wait up, I want to write something on it." Turning words into deeds, she kneels next to me and starts rummaging in her bag. Seconds later a black Sharpie is writing the word 'partypooper' in big letters on my cast and then the other girls all want their turn. I anxiously look at the clock on my phone and hope they hurry up. When I tell them my bus leaves any second, they all want to walk with me and some fifteen minutes later I am waved goodbye by three arms.

---

At home a thunderbolt sermon awaits me.

"Where the hell have you been? I've waisted my entire afternoon worrying. This is not why I stay at home, Zara."

"What? I said I was going outside. You heard me, you responded."

"Outside, yes, all the way into town, no."

"What's the big deal, anyway? What do you care where I go. You never care what I do."

I ignore the agony that appears in my mothers eyes and high-tail out of the kitchen into my temporary room. In there I lower the bag and lump down on the bed.

The door opens and my mothers head appears. There is a mournful expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Zara. It hasn't been easy getting everything done on your own. My work is very demanding lately and you're so grown up. This accident is just very inconvenient."

She raises her hands when I open my mouth and adds quickly: "I know, it's not your fault. I'm just saying how it is."

Her shoulders move up and down when she takes a deep breath and then she says: "Look, I know you can take care of yourself, so ... can we agree that we'll see how it goes the next few weeks? If you need me, I'll stay home. I'll ... work something out with my boss. Otherwise I'll just go to the office, alright?"

I clench my jaw and nod once. I want her to leave me alone, yet it stings that she does that so willingly. It wasn't my choice, she has to do everything on her own. She and my dad did that. When I don't say anything else, she smiles briefly and retreats from the room.

"Dinner is at five thirty", she calls through the closed door and that was that.

I sniff and pull my cellphone from my bag, together with the book on top. Without further ado, I text the title to Sorley and when he texts back: 5 min? I only reply with a thumbs up.

Five minutes later I open the book and disappear in a flash.

Sorley notices immediately something's wrong. We are sitting on wooden chairs in a log cabin and outside it's raining like crazy. A grumpy man with a huge beard and arms like tree trunks, is messing around with a poker in the fireplace. After that he wraps some sort of bear skin around him and walks outside. If I wasn't so down, I would have laughed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sorley asks after a few minutes.

At first I shake my head, but then I sigh and say: "Stuff with my mother. My parents are divorced, did I tell you that? It's been years, but since then we sort of life past each other. Sometimes I think she wished I'd gone with my father."

I never said that out loud to anybody, not even to myself. I can't remember much from the time before the divorce, I was about nine, I think. One thing however is grafted into my brain: my father shouting at my mother: 'I don't even have a house, where am I gonna put her?' And my mother yelling back: 'so I just have to stay at home from now on?'

She did, for a while. The social benefit was hardly enough to live on because the largest part went to the mortgage. It wasn't until I was in sixth grade and my dad had a job and a house, that she went back to working full days and our life got back on track.

The whole story rolls of my tongue and Sorley merely listens. After a while there are no more words and I dry my cheeks. He stands up, pulls me from my chair and wraps his arms around me. That sets me crying again, but he doesn't mind and only holds me tighter.