Page 17 of All of You
She eyes me. “Just tell me.”
I shoot for honesty. “I pick at things when I’m nervous or working up a lather in my thoughts.” I immediately stop fiddling with my shirt.
Shit.
She laughs softly. It’s the most intoxicating laugh I’ve heard. It’s like…magic. “I like that. A lather of thoughts. Well, Langdon, I recite the most random and ridiculous memory my brain can retrieve. That was something someone said at my last school in class to his girlfriend, and it was hilarious—then—but obviously completely fell flat tonight.” She buries her hands in her face and groans.
“I thought it was pretty funny. I mean it was definitely original and a first for me. You will forever be theonlygirl to creepily tell me I smell different awake.”
She groans again. “Oh my god. Please let this die with us. My thoughts seem to be locked and loaded in my mouth without a filter. And then I open it and they just ricochetaround, shooting out of my mouth and bouncing off other people’s horrified faces right back into my mouth. It’s torture.”
I want to laugh so badly. I swallow it down instead and allow her the grace of changing the subject. “Are you bummed to start a new school your senior year?”
She stands and stretches revealing a sliver of skin between the waist of her skirt and the hem of her tank top. It looks soft and warm and like my lips should be on it.I really need to get laid.
She shrugs. “I start a new school every year. Status quo for me.”
A rush of breath leaves me. “What? Every year?”
That can’t possibly be true.
She turns to me and smiles. “In eleven years, I’ve been the new kid…” her eyes glance up, mentally counting, “twelve times already.”
My brow wrinkles in confusion. “How’s that possible?”
She stares out at the yard.Come on, look at me. Give me those green eyes.I need to get my shit together. She’s just a girl. “One year we moved mid-school year. New kid twice that year.”
“Jesus, that sucks,” I say.
And it does. I can’t even comprehend it, honestly. I’ve been with the same kids since kindergarten. Perks of small town life. I can’t even remember the last time we had a new kid at school. Maybe Ninth grade?
She shrugs. “It’s fine. Only one year left.”
“Langdon, Delia, Dinner,” Anderson all but screams from the screen door.
I roll my eyes and Delia frowns at the shrill sound as I holler back at him that we’re coming. I push out of my seat and stand as she passes by, not smiling. “You should smile. You have a nice smile.”
And just like that, I’ve committed the cardinal sin of sexist cliches.You’re an idiot Langdon. A grade A douche bag.
She makes a sound of disgust and pins me to my spot with her eyes. “How bout this, I’ll smile when I fucking feel like it.”
We eat dinner and thankfully there are no more awkward interactions between Delia and I, sadly because there are absolutely no interactions between us at all. She deftly avoids me at every opportunity. Can’t say I blame her. As mom packs up the dishes we brought, Heath pops over to say goodbye to me.
“Langdon,” he says in his gruff voice as she shakes my hand the way old people do, with a weird arm grip plus the handshake. I don’t get it. “See you next week?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
He glances at Delia and I allow myself to do the same. “Maybe you should get Delia’s number, show her around. It’s tough to be the new kid in town here.”
Delia sighs from the living room. “That won’t be necessary Heath. I don’t have a phone.”
“I’m sorry what?!” I squawk.
“I don’t have a phone. Or a tablet. Or a laptop. Or a TV.”
“Delia, my dear,” my mom interjects laughing. It’s weird to see my mom this happy and loose. She hasn’t been like this for a long time. “I think you might be the perfect child. I can barely get Langdon and Anderson off their devices longenough to have a conversation most days.”
Delia smiles at my mom. “Ha. Definitely not the perfect child. But thank you.”
