The ride back to campus should be fun.
We have everything packed and ready to go when he finally addresses me. “Let’s get outta here.” He shoves his ugly-ass fedora on his head and swings the front door open as though it has offended his mom and he’s exacting his revenge.
I figure it best not to bring up Audrey anymore until I can figure out just exactly what the hell his problem is. But I don’t have to mention her at all.
She's standing outside, leaning against her car with a huge pair of sunglasses on her face. In her left hand is a purple Popsicle, and she has it pressed between her lips as she watches us load the car.
"Hey, Cline!"
He turns and regards her with a scowl on his face. "What?"
"I like your hat!"
He angles his neck like he's not quite sure if she's offering him a compliment, but he raises his hand and runs his fingers along the brim of the thing on his head. “Really?" It’s sad that he seems a little hopeful that she means it.
She laughs and shakes her head. "No. It's awful. You look like an idiot."
He opens his eyes wide, and his mouth follows as he pretends to reach into his shirt pocket. His hand emerges, and he's holding up his middle finger, looking surprised by what he's found. “ You’re an idiot,” he mumbles and turns back around.
I can hear her chuckle clear across the street. She motions for me to cross over to her, so I do, my hands shoved into my pockets, because she makes me a little nervous.
Audrey tips the melting dessert in my direction. "Tell him the fedora isn't working. Save him some embarrassment. "
"I've tried."
“It’s a shame. All that male ego … You, on the other hand." She rolls her head to the side, and I wish I could see her eyes as she looks me up and down. "I like those glasses on you."
"My contacts are ruined. I don't wear these glasses much.” The weight of them on the bridge of my nose causes my nostrils to flare.
"You should. But lake water will do that to contacts. I should have warned you. I mean, I would have if I had known you were going to get trashed and try to swim at two o’clock in the morning. But I’m not a fortune teller or anything.”
I kinda think ruining my contacts was worth her compliment, but I don't tell her that.
She holds out the Popsicle in offering. "Want a bite?" If she's asking, then I'm not going to say no, so I dip my head and bite into it, pulling away to smile, grape sugar coating my tongue.
I press my thumb to the side of my mouth and clean off the bit that has escaped. Her eyes are staring as I do, and I'm quiet for a second, lost in thought before she laughs and finishes the rest of the Popsicle off.
"What are you thinking about?"
I grin, and I'm brave looking at her. "I'm thinking that right now, at this very moment, I know what your mouth tastes like.”
If electricity could crackle between two people, there might have been a sound. But all I hear is the hush of her soft exhale followed by a sticky-lipped whistle. “Best one, yet, Elliot. You should invent something to carry around with you so you can have these on hand at all times just so you can use that line. Like some kind of insulated fanny pack for frozen treats.” She waves the stained stick in front of my face.
The moment loses its magic, and I find myself laughing at the idea of her invention. “Yeah, maybe. That would definitely get my mind off Kelsey.” I say it just to see her smile. She doesn’t disappoint.
“See ya around, Elliot.” Audrey’s cheeks push her sunglasses up higher on her face when she grins, and then she turns around to go back inside her house.
The taste of grape lingers in my mouth for the entire ride back to college.
“So, you’re good?”
My weekly call with Cara usually includes this phrase, and it’s been a while since I’ve answered it honestly. She knows when I’m lying anyway, but when I tell her that I actually am fine today, I can hear the hint of surprise in her otherwise flat tone. I’m itching to get off the phone by the time she asks the next question. There’s music pouring from an open door as I pass by, and I know she can tell I’m not at home.
“Where are you going?”
“Crazy. Wanna come?”
She doesn’t laugh at the joke. I don’t expect her to. She just continues with her rundown.
“How are your impulses?”
I cringe and rest the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can wipe my palms on my back pockets. “Great. Everything is great. Actually, I have to go, so … talk next Tuesday?” She agrees and hangs up, but I’m left feeling anxious as I stare at the brick building in front of me and try to get the nerve to dial another number. It only rings once before he answers.