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I crane my neck and can see the black Chevy Tahoe idling at the curb in front of my building. It looks so out of place in Torrance. No one here has that kind of money and people who do don’t tend to pass through here.
“Nah, let’s take my car. If he wants to keep an eye on you, he can follow us.”
“Cool, let’s go.” She grabs my hand and drags me down the walkway toward the street.
“Which car is yours?” she asks, and I nod at the old beat-up, dark blue Ford pickup right behind her fancy SUV.
“That’s my baby, Bess.”
She bursts out into a bubbling raucous laugh that raises my hackles. I know it’s not shiny or new or even really that nice, but I saw her and had to have her. The former owner let me pay him monthly for six months before I finally got to take her home.
She’s the first thing I ever bought just because I wanted it.
“What’s so funny?” I ask defensively.
“Nothing. I’m just so happy! You have a car, an apartment, your hair is so long and beautiful, and I’m here. With you. I’ve missed you so much, Star.” She comes to a sudden stop and spins to stand in front of me. “I’ve been so worried that you wouldn’t be happy to see me.” For the first time since she got here, she’s not smiling.
I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Why in the world would I not be happy to see you?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs sheepishly. “You’re about to go to college. I’m just a kid who writes you stupid letters and sends you books I’m sure you think are lame.”
It’s my turn to laugh. She punches me lightly in the stomach, and I look down to see her pouting. “Don’t laugh, Graham, I’m serious.”
I stop and tell her the simple truth. “Your letters make my day.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up, and she beams a smile at me. “I love your letters, too. I take them with me everywhere.”
Then her eyes narrow into an accusatory glare.
“What?” I ask, amused and confused at the same time
She gives me a small shove. “I notice you didn’t say my books aren’t lame.”
“Your books aren’t lame,” I say in a mock robotic tone.
She punches me in the arm. “Ow. I’m teasing,” I say and rub my arm. Her little fist is just another thing about her that’s much stronger than it appears. “Those books are how I travel. I love them. I wish I could send you as many …” I trail off.
“Oh, well when you’re rich, you’ll buy me every single book I desire. I’ll give you a monthly list.” She laughs, and we start walking to the car.
“Man, you look like you can kick some ass.” She gives my biceps a squeeze.
“Well, yeah, I mean, I do work out pretty hard,” I say and then cringe at what an asshole I must sound like.
She just nods at me approvingly and says, “It shows.”
The sun is high and hot and it’s how I explain the constant flush of heat up my neck into my cheeks. I brush a long lock of hair off my face and lift it off my neck to let some air in.
“You know, you remind me of Aslan in the C.S. Lewis book you sent me last year,” Apollo says, look down at me.
“Okay, well thanks, I guess,” I say as my phone beeps and I pull it out to check the time.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. It’s always the first thing I see when I look at people these days. I automatically connect them with a character they remind me of.” She groans and says, “Oh my God, I’m babbling. I’m just so nervous.” I burst out laughing, and she covers her face with both hands.
“Hey, hey,” I say and put an arm on her shoulder. It?
?s warm from exposure to the sun and the tips of my fingers stop right on the edge of a spray of freckles in the shape of a comet on the side of her neck.
My fingers itch to trail up … and trace the tail of it.
