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She arches a brow. “Dude, I’m not the one trying to commit suicide by cliff-jumping like some tragic Jane Austen character.”
The corners of my mouth curl up slightly.
“What is it?” she prods. “Grades? You get dumped?”
When I don’t answer, she shrugs.
“Whatever it is, trust me, it’s not that bad. You survived. You’re here, and you’re alive.”
“What’s so great about that?” I grunt.
“Umm… Not being dead?”
I smile slightly wider. Weird, but also fun. And interesting, in a curious way.
“I’m Layla, by the way. Layla Black.”
“Dante,” I growl quietly. “Sartorre.”
I look away over the ocean, the call of the abyss getting fainter.
“I wasn’t really going to jump.”
Layla smirks. “No?”
“Nah. Just taking my pet cinderblock for a walk.”
The smirk turns into a grin. “Good. I feel like he could use it. He’s looking chonky.”
“Bastard just can’t say no to cookies.”
She grins again, pulling a pack of American Spirit cigarettes—the light blue kind—from her hoodie pocket. “Want one?”
“No way. Those things’ll kill you.”
She glances significantly at the rock tied to my ankle.
“Touche. Thanks, I’ll take one.”
We sit in silence about a foot away from the edge of the cliff, quietly smoking and looking out over the black waves. When we’re done our cigarettes, I realize the rock is untied from my ankle, and I don’t even remember which of us did it.
We stand, and she shakes my hand as if she’s just sold me a used car.
“Well, nice to meet you, Dante Sartorre.”
“Likewise, Layla Black.”
She grins. “Have fun walking your rock.”
“Thanks.”
She turns and starts to walk away. When she’s maybe twenty feet from me, she turns and nods her chin.
“Hey, Dante?”
“Yeah?”
She shrugs. “Don’t go over the edge, okay? There’s a whole world out there.”
