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“Basics?”
“The easy stuff. For instance, what kind of music do you like?”
I shrugged. “Not much. Older bands. Tool. Soundgarden is pretty good, I guess. You?”
“All kinds. From all over the world.” She pulled out her phone. “Check this out. His name is Ritviz and he’s from India. He’s an EDM artist.”
“EDM?”
“Electronic Dance Music. Listen.”
Shiloh gave me one of her earbuds and put the other in her ear. A second later, I was listening to Indian EDM music in a Thai restaurant. Shiloh, even in her seat, danced to the electronic beats and the lyrics that were more rapped than sung.
“You know what he’s saying?”
“No clue,” she said, her smile radiant. “But it’s not about that. It’s about how it makes you feel.”
I liked the music okay, but it was Shiloh who made me feel fucking everything. I watched her move, closing her eyes, getting lost right there at the table.
She grinned. “Good, right?”
Fucking incredible.
“You like dancing?” I blurted like a jackass. “I mean…I see you at Central a lot, listening to music, but you didn’t go to Homecoming.”
She shot me a wry smile. “I was out getting barbecue with you, if you recall.”
As if I could forget.
“I love dancing,” she continued. “I just don’t like school dances. The social scene in general doesn’t interest me. Not like I’m above it but more like I’m running parallel on a totally different vibe, trying to get through it. Like I want my childhood to be over with.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I feel like, if I’m an adult with my own business, then what my mother thinks of me becomes irrelevant. I won’t be a kid anymore, needing her.” She waved a hand. “I know it doesn’t work that way, but it’s just something I do. To cope.”
I nodded.
Shiloh rested her chin in her hand, watching me. “We’re not doing a very good job of sticking to the basics. Quick, ask me something easy.”
“Uh…what’s your favorite movie?”
“Good one. I should say something deep and profound to impress you like The Color Purple or Citizen Kane, but I love Coming to America.” She chuckled. “Just thinking about it makes me happy. Yours?”
“Citizen Kane.”
Shiloh burst out laughing and chucked her napkin at me. “But for real.”
“I don’t know… My mom and I used to watch The Wizard of Oz, so I’ll say that.”
“I love that,” Shiloh said softly.
And so did I—being able to talk about my mother’s life instead of how she died.
“My turn,” Shiloh said. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Seriously?”
She arched a brow at me.
