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“No,” she says, turning her attention back to the heavy book.
“Do you take online courses?”
“No.”
“Why are you reading a book on organic chemistry?” I ask.
She lets out a sigh and closes her book with a snap.
“I’m not reading anything because you won’t let me. But–if I were reading it, it would be because I enjoy it. It’s interesting,” she says as she sets the book to the side and leans forward on the railing in front of her.
This girl reads organic chemistry books–for fun. Who the heck reads that kind of shit for fun and why am I oddly intimidated and super turned on?
Chapter four
Aubrey
Idon’tknowwhathas gotten into me lately. Checking out that romance book. Asking my parents if I can get a job. Now this–sitting on the water tower with a complete stranger. In the dark, in the middle of the night. And what was I thinking coming outside in my pajamas with no bra on? I know what I was thinking–I was thinking no one would be here. Thank God I had a jacket with me.
The boy sitting up here isn’t a complete stranger. I’ve seen him around town, on the college campus and at the diner the few times I’ve snuck in there to get onion rings to-go.
I don’t know his name, but I know he grew up here. A local like me. He doesn’t appear to know me. That’s probably because I’m good at staying in the shadows–going unnoticed. I also know he seems like the exact kind of guy my parents have always warned me about. The chick lit books I’ve read would refer to him as a player, a playboy, a ladies’ man or a man whore, depending on the author. Each time I’ve seen him, he’s had at least a few girls fawning over him. The type of girls my mother calls harlots.
I don’t know if my assumptions about him–or my mother’s assumptions about the girls–are correct. I’ve been struggling recently with being able to trust my own opinions and struggling even more with trusting my parents. The more I dive into books from the library about science, religion, history—the more I come to learn that most of what I’ve been indoctrinated with by my parents and the church is bullshit. Bullshit is another thing I learned from the books, but that one took a little while to understand the context.
Right now, I’m just annoyed to be sharing my water tower and that this guy has made it impossible to read with his incessant chatter and questions.
I’ve been sneaking out of the house every Friday night for the past year, and not once have I ever seen anyone out here. I’ve always had the space to myself–to breathe and think without the weight of my parents asleep down the hall in their room. Or the weight of all the crosses on the walls, weighing down my thoughts. Usually I bring a book and read in peace without worrying about Mom or Dad walking in like I do when I read in my room. I must be deep in thought despite his presence because he startles me when he speaks again and I don’t know what he’s said.
“What did you say?” I ask.
My tone is more aggressive than I mean for it to be. I don’t bother apologizing, though. He’s staring at me with a crooked grin, his eyes squinted.
“I said–I’m Emmett, Emmett Colter. What’s your name?”
I’m not sure if I should tell him who I am. It’s a risk that my middle of the night adventures may somehow get back to my parents.
I stare at him while I decide if I can trust him and notice he looks different from the last time I saw him around town. He looks–fragile. Before he looked strong, athletic. Now, he appears much thinner, with deep shadows under his eyes. Hell–he already knows where I live, might as well tell him my name. I’m on a roll today with bad decisions anyway.
“Aubrey,” I say, diverting my eyes back to the city lights in front of us.
Looking at him makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know if it’s his current appearance or the fact that despite the way he looks now, I notice how full his lips are and how large his hands that dangle in front of him are.
Mother would say these are inappropriate thoughts. The church would have me repenting.
“Nice to meet you, Aubrey. Why are you up on this water tower in the middle of the night reading big textbooks?”
I look back at him, scrutinizing him. He’s still got that crooked grin on his face.
“Why are you up here?” I ask.
He lets out a breath and looks away from me, out toward the glittering lights. The grin he was wearing moments ago fading into a softer expression.
“I just needed somewhere to feel free.”
It’s almost a whisper, but I hear him.
Free from what I wonder. Each time I’ve seen him in town, he’s looked happy–surrounded by doe eyed girls and lots of friends. He’s always looked pretty free to me.
