In Chap­ter Twen­ty-Six of “If These Wings Could Fly,” the nar­ra­tive cen­ters on the evolv­ing rou­tine between the pro­tag­o­nist and Liam, who dri­ves her to school each morn­ing. This con­sis­tent rit­u­al becomes a com­fort­ing part of her day, allow­ing her to antic­i­pate joy­ful moments rather than focus on her fears, par­tic­u­lar­ly of the crawl space at night. The rela­tion­ship between them remains pla­ton­ic; they share con­ver­sa­tions and laugh­ter, but phys­i­cal inti­ma­cy remains absent.

On a typ­i­cal Fri­day, as they pre­pare for a lit­er­a­ture exam, their play­ful exchange high­lights Liam’s exhaus­tion from foot­ball and the ease of their com­pan­ion­ship. The pro­tag­o­nist offers Liam hot choco­late, con­trast­ing with her own pref­er­ence for cof­fee, show­cas­ing their devel­op­ing bond. They dis­cuss music in the car, and when a Guns N’ Ros­es song both­ers her, she turns it off, indi­cat­ing her evolv­ing com­fort in voic­ing her pref­er­ences.

The exam serves as a back­drop for a deep­er con­ver­sa­tion. The pro­tag­o­nist quizzes Liam on their sum­mer read­ing, focus­ing on Thomas Hardy’s *Tess of the d’Urbervilles*. As they tack­le themes of social class and gen­der dynam­ics in lit­er­a­ture, Liam sur­pris­es her with his thought­ful insights, acknowl­edg­ing ongo­ing soci­etal issues regard­ing harass­ment and dis­crim­i­na­tion. This per­spec­tive reveals a more pro­found under­stand­ing of cur­rent affairs than she ini­tial­ly expect­ed from some­one his age.

Their con­ver­sa­tion delves into heavy themes about women’s roles, soci­etal expec­ta­tions, and the con­se­quences of voic­ing dis­sent. While the pro­tag­o­nist con­tem­plates the dan­gers faced by women who fight for their voice, she express­es a desire to be a reporter one day, hop­ing to illu­mi­nate these sto­ries and shed light on painful truths.

Ulti­mate­ly, the chap­ter depicts a sig­nif­i­cant growth in the pro­tag­o­nist, as she bal­ances her fears and desire for expres­sion, build­ing hope for her future while simul­ta­ne­ous­ly nav­i­gat­ing the com­plex­i­ties of her dai­ly real­i­ty. The chap­ter clos­es on a note of deter­mi­na­tion, empha­siz­ing her resolve to even­tu­al­ly speak out and chal­lenge injus­tices, reflect­ing her inner strength and ambi­tion.

In Chap­ter Twen­ty-Six of “The Choco­late War,” Jer­ry finds him­self unex­pect­ed­ly mak­ing a phone call that spi­rals into an uncom­fort­able and enlight­en­ing encounter. He’s cap­ti­vat­ed by a voice he believes belongs to Ellen Bar­rett, the girl he often sees at the bus stop. His excite­ment quick­ly turns to jeal­ousy when she inquires about a “Dan­ny,” mak­ing Jer­ry feel like an out­sider in the con­ver­sa­tion. Although he’s drawn to her, he fum­bles to explain who he is, only to be met with skep­ti­cism and a hint of mock­ery from her.

Feel­ing frus­trat­ed and reject­ed, Jer­ry grap­ples with his emo­tions as he wish­es to con­vey his admi­ra­tion but rec­og­nizes the absur­di­ty of call­ing her based sole­ly on a smile. When Ellen express­es annoy­ance and accus­es him of try­ing to prank her, he decides to hang up, the ring­ing in his ears filled with the harsh word “crap,” which shat­ters his ide­al­ized image of her. This encounter leads Jer­ry to reflect on his actions regard­ing the choco­late sale. He acknowl­edges the risk he took by refus­ing to sell them despite the pres­sures from Archie Costel­lo and The Vig­ils, real­iz­ing this defi­ance fills him with a sense of exhil­a­ra­tion.

Despite the dis­ap­point­ment of the phone call, there’s a lib­er­a­tion in his con­vic­tion. Jer­ry feels buoy­ant, as if he’s burned his bridges and for the first time, he embraces the chaos of his choic­es. Upon return­ing home, he seeks solace in the kitchen with ice cream, affirm­ing his name and stance against sell­ing choco­lates aloud to the emp­ty apart­ment. His dec­la­ra­tion res­onates deeply with­in him, sym­bol­iz­ing a new­found strength and resolve amid his strug­gles and the tur­moil sur­round­ing him, encap­su­lat­ing a piv­otal moment of self-asser­tion.