“Yeah? Jazzy never said she had a cousin. Where you from? You visiting for the weekend?”
“No…I’m…” Aunt Maggie’s story, which had once been so firmly entrenched in my brain, now swirls around my head like it’s caught in a twister.
Focus, Ryan. Don’t blow everything.
“Switzerland,” I blurt out.
He chuckles. “You’re Switzerland? Like the whole country? Or are you saying you’re the neutral type who doesn’t have opinions either way?”
I want to stab myself in the throat. Luckily I’m the kind of person who’s fueled by embarrassment. Instead of making me hide and cower, it turns me bold.
“I’mfromSwitzerland,” I correct, crossing my arms. “And trust me, I have opinions. You probably wouldn’t be happy to hear them.”
His smile widens and he takes a step closer. You know how at first glance, something looks great, and then the more you look at it, the more you see its flaws? This guy doesn’t have that problem.
“I love a woman who has opinions,” he says. Is he flirting with me?
“Hmm, well,” I say, lifting my camera as I stare out at the mountains. “It’s my opinion that you’re screwing with my composition.”
“A photographer, huh?” He pushes a lock of sweat-darkened hair from his forehead. “How about this? I’ll let you take a pic of me.”
Egotistical much?
“Pass.” I adjust the lens and try to ignore his curious eyes boring into me.
He doesn’t leave. Of course he doesn’t. I had him pegged right. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t leave a room until he’s owned everyone in it. And he won’t get out of my way until I’ve fallen in line with all the other worshippers.
“How long you in town for?”
I snap a photograph. Too shaky. He’s making me nervous. But I’ve always been good at hiding things, and I’ll hide this too. “Forever, I guess.”
“Yeah? What about Switzerland?”
I shrug. “My mom died. And my dad is too busy with work, so he packed me off here.”
Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t bother to offer condolences on the death of my mom. I’m glad because I don’t want them. It feels wrong accepting them when my real mother’s death was so long ago.
Instead, he says, “You going to Crockett High?”
“Yes. I’ll be a senior.”
“Ah, nice. Me too.”
“Awesome. I can’t wait for us to become best friends.”
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”
“Do you, now?” I check the photo, because I know that if I look at him I’ll do something stupid, like smile, and that’s playing right into his hands. Just as I thought, the photo’s blurry. I turn away. “See you around.”
He lets out a short laugh. Maybe he’s never had anyone dismiss him before.
And maybe I shouldn’t be such a jerk; itwouldbe nice to make new friends. But when have I ever had many of those? At Liberty High, I had a friend group of one.
It’s probably better to stay to myself, anyway. It’s less I’ll have to lie.
I focus the camera lens again, but unfortunately the sun is rising up over the ridge, creating too much glare.
“I’m Everett, by the way.”
