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“You think that’s a fair trade?”
She shrugs. “You tell me. What’s my name worth?”
This girl might actually be a witch, come to think of it. I’ve just noticed the design on her sweatshirt, some kind of satanic symbol—a pentagram inside a sun-shaped circle.
Maybe she cast a spell on me, and that’s why I’m happy to spill all my secrets to her.
“Okay, Shorty,” I sigh. “A name for a story. But you’d better pull your fair share when it comes to moving this thing.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just see if you can keep up.” She’s the one to drop my hand first.
I’m not sure I would’ve let go otherwise, which would’ve made the next ten minutes even more of a struggle. Between the two of us, we heave the armchair across the lower level and then tilt it at an awkward angle to fit it in the elevator. Shorty ends up wedged against the back corner, completely blocked in by the piece of furniture. I squeeze myself in and press the third-floor button.
“You know, if I was really cruel, I’d leave you in here.” Standing up straight and tilting my head to the left, I can just make out her glaring eyes.
“Try it. See what happens.”
My chuckle fills the tight space as we inch between floors, and then I give in to my curiosity. “What’s that symbol on your sweatshirt? You worship Satan? But wait … wouldn’t that mean you worship me?” I let my wicked thoughts spill into my grin.
She rolls her eyes. “You are the devil; that’s for sure. And it’s from a TV show. Which, FYI, you just lost major points for not knowing.”
“What show?”
But she just shakes her head, leaving me kicking my past self for not consuming every aspect of pop culture in order to impress sassy girls I meet in the library.
When the door pops open, there’s some more creative maneuvering and a decent amount of cursing on both our parts before we’re able to exit the elevator. But after that, it’s smooth sailing with Shorty doing a surprisingly good job at holding up her end of the chair. She’s hiding some power in that tiny body of hers and showing it off in all sorts of impressive ways today.
We stand next to each other, recovering our breath and admiring The Spot put back to rights.
“Okay. Story, then coin flip, and then name.” She stares up at me expectantly.
“Story, then name, and then coin flip,” I counter.
The corner of her lips quirks, and she gives me a go-ahead nod.
“Okay. I thought of one on the ride up. You ready for this?” I wait for her dark chocolate eyes to be focused solely on me. If I’m going to make a fool of myself, I want every bit of her attention. “Last summer, during a family trip to the beach, I pissed off my brother. It’s a common occurrence, so I didn’t really think about it. But when I fell asleep, lying out in the sun, he decided to use some sunscreen to write a little message on my back.”
Shorty’s teeth pinch her bottom lip as a grin threatens to split her face open. Close to a year later, I can see the humor in the prank, but at the time, I wanted to put him in a choke hold until he passed out.
“What did he write?”
I give her a good-natured grimace. “Took me a while to realize why everyone was congratulating me and telling me I looked good. The little shit had decided to borrow a line from my mom’s favorite musical.”
She’s hooked, listening to my humiliation with wide, excited eyes.
“For the rest of the summer, I had to wear a shirt or show off the messageI Feel Prettyto anyone who could see my back.”
Her delighted gasp has me smirking in response. She stares at me like I’m free dessert.
“I think I’m in love with your brother.”
The breathy statement sends a streak of jealousy shooting through me. A scowl threatens, but I try to smooth it. She’s obviously joking.
“Yeah, well, he’s underage. So, you’re stuck with me.”
She grins and leans to the side, as if to peer behind me. “It’s not still there, is it?” The hope in her voice brings my smile back.
I shake my head. “Sorry, Shorty.”
