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Then I promptly shoved the clothes in my dresser and never wore them. Too embarrassed, afraid the color was too bold. Like I would draw unwanted attention if I wore it.
Who’s going to see me? I don’t take P.E. anymore and I’m not in any sports. The only place I can wear it is our yard. Or walking around campus after hours. I could run down to the beach but it’s kind of far and I don’t like to go there alone.
I tear off the tags and toss them in the trash, then slip on a pair of no-show socks on my feet. Put on my newer Nikes and head outside, determined to get a little sun and wear this damn “too revealing” outfit. Who deemed it too revealing anyway, huh?
Me, that’s who. I’m my own harshest critic. No one is as cruel to me as…me.
Not even Arch, and he’s said some pretty crappy stuff to me.
My phone buzzes and I check it to see I have a text from my dad.
Going out to dinner with Kathy tonight. Want to join us?
Frowning, I immediately type out the word NO but then backtrack, thinking about what I should say.
I can’t begrudge my father for wanting to go out and find female companionship. Kathy is nice. She seems to like and appreciate my father and he enjoys spending time with her. I know he’s been fairly quiet about his intentions toward her and that’s because of me. He’s worried about how I might react.
He’s lonely. I’m lonely. He wants a girlfriend. I want friends.
Fine, I want a boyfriend.
But I don’t think I’m going to find one in the boy I like the most. He doesn’t seem like he’s boyfriend material.
Sighing, I type out a nice, encouraging response to my father.
Thanks for the invite but I’ve got too much homework. Have fun though. Don’t stay out too late!
There. That’s good. I sound like a parent, which he might appreciate.
He responds quickly.
Dad:I’ll be home before curfew.
Smiling, I leave my phone on the dresser and head outside, eager to soak up the sun at least for a few minutes. I don’t bother putting on a hat either. I walk right outside, squinting from the sunlight, grabbing my shears and bucket and start working on the roses, clipping all the dead leaves and dying blooms, murmuring to the pretty new buds. After a few minutes I feel something soft brush against my ankles and startled, I glance down to see the cat I tried to get a few days ago. Purring and rubbing against me as if he—or she—owns me.
“Look at you,” I say, pleased. “Are you my friend now?”
The cat glances up at me, golden eyes glowing as it meows.
I sort of ignore the cat, going about my business, wanting the kitty to be comfortable with me. Eventually I set down the bucket and she doesn’t run away. I bend down, rubbing my fingers together and the cat butts her head against my hand, purring loudly.
“Oh, we’re truly friends now, huh.” I scratch the cat under its chin, rubbing. Smiling at the loud motor sound of its purr. The cat wanders off, its tail standing straight up and I can tell it’s a boy.
“What’s your name, huh, buddy? Where did you come from? Are you hungry?”
“You talking to yourself out there, Daze? Or are you talking to the roses?”
I rise up, startled to find Arch standing on the edge of the garden, his hand at his eyebrows, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“What are you doing here?” I fight the humiliation spilling over my skin at him finding me like this. Talking to a cat and wearing this outfit.
This outfit that’s not me.
“I was about to go for a run but I thought I heard your voice.” I drink him in, noting the shorts and T-shirt he’s wearing. He’s staring at me too. I can feel his eyes skimming over me. His hot gaze lingers on my chest for a beat too long and I swear I can feel my nipples bead tight. “You look like you’re about to go for a run too.”
“I don’t run.”
“Is that your rose cutting outfit, then?” He’s smiling, but I can’t tell if he’s making fun or not.
