Triple Love Score Read Online Free

letters tumbled to the floor.
    She bent to pick up the letters and was startled to find the p, o, e, and m tiles lined up next to her left foot. She lifted them up carefully and placed them on the board. From the m, she added a “y.” From that y, she add an “s”; above the “o” an “n.” Poem, My, Yes, No. The board spoke for itself. Or rather it spoke for her. Instead of shoving the box up high behind her tennis racquet and indoor soccer shoes, she left it out on the coffee table.
    The next night and the night after that, she played with arranging the letters into little free verse poems. Strings of words built together to show something. Each day, she pushed herself. Then the stroke of genius came. Photograph the results. Using Instagram on her phone, she played around with documenting both the words on the board and the feel by messing with the filters. They were uploaded under the screen name, Blocked Poet. Joy, actual kick-up-her-heels joy, filled her. She raced home each day to play again with the words on the board and the picture. The years of tempering her expectations fell away, leaving her just the pleasure of creating something and sending it out into the world.

    She even gained a few followers on the site, those people who attached themselves to any and every early adopter. After a few weeks, they started sharing her word sculptures. Then she linked the Instagram account to Twitter, and her numbers of followers and fans grew even more.
    During the first week of the summer term, she looked over Amanda’s shoulder as she was supposedly reading Christine’s poem on self-harm and shockingly saw her own poem right there on a Facebook wall. Amanda quickly clicked on like and then returned to Christine’s work.
    Her concentration abandoned her for the rest of that class. She wanted to get online and see exactly where her word sculptures had travelled.
    That night, after a hasty dinner consisting of a slice of cold pizza, Miranda logged into the email address for Blocked Poet. She hadn’t used her school email address to sign up for Instagram and Twitter—too many horror stories about people being denied tenure or otherwise just embarrassing themselves with pictures online.
    She never expected Blocked Poet to turn up among people she knew in real life. The posts were just for fun; some of them might even be embarrassing. But the only way she could see what the people in her life saw was to rejoin Facebook. When she earned her Master’s degree, she deleted her Facebook account and all memories of Stephan, the man-boy hybrid she had shacked up with during her last year there.
    So she bit the techno-bullet and signed up, as her real self, and walked through all the steps. She even let the computer search her email contacts for friends she might “know.” A smattering of current and former students came up, like Amanda and Christine, her father’s law firm, and some classmates from high school who kept trying to organize off-year reunions. She hovered the mouse pointer over each one, deciding each time to click. It would be pathetic to have a Facebook account and no friends. She flipped through several screens of these people she may know until she saw it—Scott’s picture beaming up at her.
    She didn’t hover for very long. Friend request sent.
    Five months later, and he never clicked on accept. The others accepted, though. And from what Miranda could see, many people she actually knew on Facebook found her Blocked Poet sculptures from Instagram or Twitter and shared them. After the fear of embarrassment wore off, watching them spread across the internet brought her great pleasure; how many poets can watch their works being read in real time? How many poets get their work read at all? Sure, they weren’t Nobel Prize-winning caliber confections of words and emotions, but people liked them and shared them with their grandmothers and boyfriends and best friends alike. And for Miranda, that worked better