mean , yeah, but even if they’d admit to the other that they’re in deep like, or in love, or whatever.” She stares at her cup as she spins it with her fingers.
Her hands look strong, and she has these incredibly thick, dark lashes that girls spend loads of time trying to make with mascara, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Our eyes meet, and I feel something in my chest— kind of like the first time I saw Hélèna , or Gem from New York, only a little better, because it has as much to do with comfort as excitement. And comfort? I can’t be there yet. Comfort and girls don’t go together. Other emotions, yes. But not comfort.
I’ve known this girl for minutes, and really shouldn’t be thinking this much about her. As much as it would be fun to fool around with someone who has her bo dy, she’s not that kind of girl. I’m honestly too lazy to put for th the effort for something more . So crazy. I’m living on a boat and sitting across from a girl I’m probably going to end up being friends with.
“Ready to continue on ?” I stand.
“ Sure.” She stands with her cup still in hand. “So you read a lot?”
“I write.” And then I cough because almost no one knows I write. Just Mom , well and Dad a little, my English teacher. That’s it.
“Like your dad?” she asks.
It’s already out now, guess it doesn’t matter if we keep talking about it. “Hopefully more literary than my dad.” Dad’s mystery novels make him a little money because they’re published so cheaply. I’d want more than that. We step back outside and continue up the sidewalk.
“Oh.” Her eyes travel across my face, taking in my features.
I start a smile, but stop, knowing how girls like the dimple on my right cheek , and knowing it comes out more when I’m holding in my smile . And what the hell am I doing? Amber won’t care.
“How much have you written?” she asks.
“I’ve finished two.” It comes out before I can think, or edit, or anything.
“ Novels ?” She stops, staring, her eyes wide.
I nod. Even Mom doesn’t know that. Why did I say something? “Don’t say anything. I t’s sort of my escape.” Shit. My head’s definitely not on straight. It’s just, how can I be anything but real around someone who’s so… real ? Walking around dri nking a kid drink, reading on a Ki ndle, and wearing running shoes while not running.
“If I wrote a whole novel, I’d be screaming it from the rooftops, even if it sucked.” Her smile is wide and her small arched brows rise.
I laugh. An honest one. It feels good. “Getting the words down are a small part of it.”
“Well, I think it’s really cool.” She pulls open the door of the bookstore.
“Thanks.”
We part ways as soon as we step inside. I’m looking for memoirs today, and if I keep hanging out with Amber , who knows what’ll come out of my mouth next. My safety filter apparently doesn’t work around her.
The afternoon passes fast and before I know it, we’re back in the car, both reading. In what feels like minutes, we’re in front of the harbor, but I’m not ready to be back on Dad’s boat
Dad and Lynn head down the docks together. Amber wal ks up the street, and I stand next to the car like an idiot for a few moments. I leave my new books in Dad’s car and start up the street for another coffee.
- - -
Sitting in this small place with its wooden floors and padded ch airs makes me wish I’d brought one of my new book s . Instead I stare at the lin e of cars waiting for the ferry— probably the only reas on this town exists .
Amber steps in a few minutes later with a girlfriend. Someone with short, dark hair and a pretty, round face .
Her eyes narrow as she sees me. “Stalking me , Antony?”
“Uh…” I make a show of looking back and forth. “I was here first?”
She laughs as she pulls her hair down, letting it slide down her back. I gotta stop staring .
“This is Brit.” She glances
Her hands look strong, and she has these incredibly thick, dark lashes that girls spend loads of time trying to make with mascara, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Our eyes meet, and I feel something in my chest— kind of like the first time I saw Hélèna , or Gem from New York, only a little better, because it has as much to do with comfort as excitement. And comfort? I can’t be there yet. Comfort and girls don’t go together. Other emotions, yes. But not comfort.
I’ve known this girl for minutes, and really shouldn’t be thinking this much about her. As much as it would be fun to fool around with someone who has her bo dy, she’s not that kind of girl. I’m honestly too lazy to put for th the effort for something more . So crazy. I’m living on a boat and sitting across from a girl I’m probably going to end up being friends with.
“Ready to continue on ?” I stand.
“ Sure.” She stands with her cup still in hand. “So you read a lot?”
“I write.” And then I cough because almost no one knows I write. Just Mom , well and Dad a little, my English teacher. That’s it.
“Like your dad?” she asks.
It’s already out now, guess it doesn’t matter if we keep talking about it. “Hopefully more literary than my dad.” Dad’s mystery novels make him a little money because they’re published so cheaply. I’d want more than that. We step back outside and continue up the sidewalk.
“Oh.” Her eyes travel across my face, taking in my features.
I start a smile, but stop, knowing how girls like the dimple on my right cheek , and knowing it comes out more when I’m holding in my smile . And what the hell am I doing? Amber won’t care.
“How much have you written?” she asks.
“I’ve finished two.” It comes out before I can think, or edit, or anything.
“ Novels ?” She stops, staring, her eyes wide.
I nod. Even Mom doesn’t know that. Why did I say something? “Don’t say anything. I t’s sort of my escape.” Shit. My head’s definitely not on straight. It’s just, how can I be anything but real around someone who’s so… real ? Walking around dri nking a kid drink, reading on a Ki ndle, and wearing running shoes while not running.
“If I wrote a whole novel, I’d be screaming it from the rooftops, even if it sucked.” Her smile is wide and her small arched brows rise.
I laugh. An honest one. It feels good. “Getting the words down are a small part of it.”
“Well, I think it’s really cool.” She pulls open the door of the bookstore.
“Thanks.”
We part ways as soon as we step inside. I’m looking for memoirs today, and if I keep hanging out with Amber , who knows what’ll come out of my mouth next. My safety filter apparently doesn’t work around her.
The afternoon passes fast and before I know it, we’re back in the car, both reading. In what feels like minutes, we’re in front of the harbor, but I’m not ready to be back on Dad’s boat
Dad and Lynn head down the docks together. Amber wal ks up the street, and I stand next to the car like an idiot for a few moments. I leave my new books in Dad’s car and start up the street for another coffee.
- - -
Sitting in this small place with its wooden floors and padded ch airs makes me wish I’d brought one of my new book s . Instead I stare at the lin e of cars waiting for the ferry— probably the only reas on this town exists .
Amber steps in a few minutes later with a girlfriend. Someone with short, dark hair and a pretty, round face .
Her eyes narrow as she sees me. “Stalking me , Antony?”
“Uh…” I make a show of looking back and forth. “I was here first?”
She laughs as she pulls her hair down, letting it slide down her back. I gotta stop staring .
“This is Brit.” She glances
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