Page 87 of The Diamond in the Rough

I wanted to see her—I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to have a sister who was a real sister.

I was also terrified that I would do or say something thatwould make her hate me, or at least dislike me. I was really good at getting people to dislike me.

I sighed again, picking up my new mug and taking a sip of the coffee I’d made while the microwave heated my oatmeal. At least Melissa had gone with me to a one-off pottery class the previous week so that I could make myself two new ones, and I’d been able to pick them up the day before. I was glad to be back to having a mug of my own, although apparently I needed to start bringing in my own spoons, too.

Or I needed to figure out how to keep other people’s thoughts out of my head in a more productive way than blocking out literally everything.

I sighed, concentrating on the spoon just being a spoon, and picked it up again.

He wanted—

“Dammit,”I hissed, putting the spoon down again, frustration welling up. I just wanted to eat my oatmeal with a utensil like a civilized person, and I didn’t want to have to bring my own spoon or use a plastic one or have a spoon with my stupid name on it. I just wanted to be able to grab a spoon from the drawer and eat my microwaved food the same way everyone else did.

I picked it up again.

And then stared at it in my hand, breath coming quickly.

I got a faint sense of… I wasn’t sure. Agitation? Anticipation? Something, anyway, from it, but the thoughts themselves were blessedly silent.

I could use the spoon.

Except, infuriatingly, I had no idea how I’d done it.

I wasn’t, however, about to waste it by putting the spoon down, so I kept it in my hand while I took the cardboard out of the microwave, trying to grip it by just the lip to avoid burning my fingers.

I took my breakfast back to my desk, managing to pick up and carry my coffee in the hand still holding the spoon. Somehow, I neither dropped nor spilled anything, and I happily settled into my chair to eat my oatmeal, slowly editing the paper that was mostly done with one hand so that I didn’t have to put down the spoon.

I was even reluctant to put it in the dishwasher in the kitchen when I was done. Because this spoon represented something—the fact that it waspossiblethat I could use an everyday object that had a memory attached to it without having to fully experience it. I did put it in the dishwasher, but I felt weirdly fond of that spoon.

I’d just finishedup the first of my two papers—it had mostly been done anyway—and sent it off to my professor through the online platform the college used for that sort of thing, when the bell at the door let me know that someone had come in.

I looked up, about to launch into my usual greeting, and stopped when I saw that the person who’d come in was Violette. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a pony tail and her skin was picking up a slight tan—her eyes were hidden at first behind sunglasses, but when she took them off I could see that she’d drawn attention to their grey-green color with swoops of dark eyeliner.

The moment she saw me, she smiled widely, her eyescrinkling over the bright purple mask she was wearing. The mask matched a pair of bright purple jeans, which she’d paired with a glittery black shirt. It was about as far from my extremely boring khaki slacks and grey button-down as you could get in terms of style.

I stood, feeling awkward, wondering if she might want a hug or handshake or something.

Apparently, she took my standing up as an invitation to half-drop the rope basket she was carrying, run over, and throw her arms around me, squeezing tightly. I froze for a second, then hugged her back, hoping that touching her shirt wouldn’t trigger anything.

She was excited,but nervous, not sure what kind of impression would make her brother actually like her. She didn’t know why that was so important to her. She hadn’t given two shits what their parents had thought of her.

But she cared what Rayn thought.

I pulled back,swallowing. It was nice that she wanted me to like her. I wanted her to like me, too. I hadn’t wanted to find out by touching her, but… despite the positive sign of the spoon, I clearly didn’t have that much control yet.

I smiled at her—I hadn’t had a chance to put my mask on, so I wasn’t wearing it. “Hi,” I said.

She hugged me again, but so quickly that I didn’t really have a chance to hug her back, but at least that meant that I didn’t have to worry about triggering more of her thoughts.

Violette stepped back a little. “Hi back,” she said, color rising above the top of her mask. “Sorry. I just kinda rushed over.”

I shook my head. “No need to apologize,” I told her. “I—I’m happy to be hugged.” My own cheeks flushed. “By you, anyway,” I amended. I didn’t want random people on the street hugging me, although she probably didn’t actually need to be told that. But I’d already said it and couldn’t take it back. I felt foolish, although it didn’t seem like Violette noticed or cared.

She smiled back at me. “I brought lunch,” she said. “I made some salads and put together some little sandwiches and stuff.” She turned and went to grab the rope basket. “Do you like sweet tea?”

I smiled. “Sure.”

“Do you—are you ready to go?” she asked.