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“I can't go,” I tell him, staring straight ahead. “But it's ok. We have chocolate ice cream.”
“Want to make milkshakes?” he asks. “You can bring your ice cream over to my house.”
I look over, confused. “Where's Dean?”
“He left.”
“You didn't want to go?”
“Nah,” he answers. “Not if you can't come with us.”
I should be happy he chose me over Dean, but it doesn't feel very good. Feels kind of bad, actually. Now he doesn't get the crushed Oreos on his ice cream he really likes. Plus, his favorite is vanilla, and I only have chocolate.
“Well, it's looking like that will never happen.”
“We need to work on your bargaining skills,” he says. “I think I'd rather have no dad than one like him.”
I pluck a blade of grass, twisting it around my finger. “Do you ever think about your father?” We never talk about his dad. And neither does Hannah. There's no pictures or anything saying he even existed.
Xavier picks up a stick, discarded from the tree, and throws it. “Not anymore.”
I don't want him to feel weird, so I change the subject. “When I’m old enough, I’m going to live in a giant castle.” It’ll be beautiful.
“A castle? You live in one now.”
I hug my knees. “No, a real castle with a moat and everything in some far-away land.”
“Like Ireland?”
I blink. “I don’t really know. Are there castles in Ireland?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, big ones.”
“And I’ll always have ice cream.”
“You know,” he looks over at me with a gleam in his eye, “we could always go anyways. It's not far, and I've got money.”
“Well, technically,” I rationalize, “he said no to you and Dean. But Dean isn't going.”
He grins at me, his dark hair catching the sun's rays, and I decide in this moment, underneath this chestnut tree, that there isn't anything much better than Xavier’s smile.
Chapter 3
Rhiannon
14 years old
The frowning girl staring back at me in the full-length mirror looks very mature for fourteen. Actually, she looks like a mini version of my mother—long auburn hair, beestung lips, thick lashed brown eyes, and a pert nose. All that's missing is a glass of wine in my hand. Today is my birthday, and mom insisted on an extravagant party in my honor, complete with a lot of people I don't even really know. I’d rather stay in my room and draw. I fiddle once more with the barely there straps holding up my ruby red dress. I look like one of those frilly dress wearing dolls that sits in a glass case. Minus the creepy.
A knock, three quick raps, sounds on my door, and I rush to open it. “Xavier, get in here.” I grab his arm, pulling him closer to me. “You have to quit turning off the security system. My dad will kill you if he finds out it’s you.”
“I'm too good to catch,” he says, before his eyes widen, taking me in. “Wow, you look like a girl.”
“Ha ha.” I splay a hand on my hip. “Iama girl, silly.”
With a roll of his eyes, he ignores my statement of fact and lunges onto my bed. His too tall body looks a little ridiculous shoved between the bubblegum pink pillows and zoo of stuffed animals. Last summer, his height took off, and now he towers over me. Not sure what was in the heated air, but last summer, my body changed as well; I’m no longer flat chested. I call it the summer of boobs. All the scrawny angles have filled out. Hannah says to be proud of my curves, but I'm not used to the new attention. Now, the boys who never noticed me, gawk like I'm the shiny new version of the Playstation.
Except Xavier, of course. He still treats me the same. I could grow horns and a tail and he wouldn't care.
