Chapter 2 #2
James can see the curve of her lashes and the spattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, the kind of freckles that blossom in the summer and die when winter comes, only right now they are somewhere in between.
A strand of dirty-blond hair slips over her shoulder, dragging James’s gaze as low as her collarbone before he snaps it back up.
His throat swells at the moon trapped inside her brown irises.
“Let’s play a game,” she says. “A question game. We’ll take turns asking each other anything, but you have to answer honestly.”
A box of butterflies opens inside him. “This your idea of fun?”
“Yes.” Nelle folds her legs beneath her. “What’s your biggest regret?”
“In a few minutes, probably agreeing to play this game.”
She glares at him.
“Going to college somewhere I didn’t want to.”
He has never admitted that to himself, much less said it aloud.
In September, he will enter his third year at the University of Georgia, studying boring biology.
A path he took only because his parents laid it out for him.
Twenty-one years old, yet his life has been decided, squeezed through a tube he didn’t choose.
He should be grateful to have his scholarship, to have been accepted into college at all, to be healthy and doing somewhat well in his classes.
Nelle hums at his answer. “Second question. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”
“Move to New York.”
His parents are just across the crowd. If they heard what he said, they would be appalled.
He has never shown the slightest inkling that he wants to leave his home state.
Of course they know he loves writing, but they don’t understand how far his dream flies.
How much he wants to see, to do, that can’t be accomplished from a rural field.
“Last question,” Nelle says. “It’s a big one.”
“Then it’ll be my turn to ask you?”
“Yes.”
James braces himself. “I’m ready.”
Her head tilts like a doe in the woods. Wise, impossible to read.
“Why don’t you go to New York?”
He doesn’t want Nelle to recognize his lack of backbone, that he’s too scared of the unknown, of failure, to pursue his passions, that he’s convinced the support of his parents, both financially and emotionally, is the only reason he’s still afloat at all.
“I’ve always been a very scared person.”
She bumps his shoulder with hers. “You weren’t scared to come up to me.”
“Yes,” he laughs, “I was.”
Nelle nods to a middle-aged couple beside the firepit, elongated shadows in their cheeks, their foreheads orange.
The woman’s diamond-clad fingers glint. A teenage girl stands behind them with her friends, all dressed in baggy jeans and cropped baby tees.
They pass around a phone, laugh over the screen, point with fake nails.
“They seem happy.”
James tries not to laugh at the irony. Of all the people in the entire square, Nelle singles out the ones he knows pride themselves on appearing happy. And, for the most part, they are.
“That’s my family. My parents and my sister, Midi, with her friends.”
Nelle blinks, as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re happy, too?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
Her shoulders relax, and she listens to the night air, to the rattle of insects in the trees dotting the green spaces.
“What about you?” James watches her breathe. “Are you happy?”
“I get to be right now.” Nelle nudges his shoe with hers. “Your turn.”
“Why do you only get to be happy tonight?”
She huffs, the sound raspy. “Because being home never makes me happy.”
Not a detailed answer, but he will take it.
“Second question.” He ventures for something lighthearted. “What’s your favorite animal?”
Nelle’s freckled nose wrinkles. “Horses.”
“Why horses?”
“They’re majestic, wise, and strong.” A grin cracks her mouth. “They demand respect, but they love to play. What’s your favorite animal?”
James shakes his head and laughs. “No, no, it’s my turn to ask. Your turn to answer.”
“Come on . . .”
“Fine,” he says. “Cats.”
“I knew it.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re right. I would’ve said birds.”
“Birds?”
“Like a raven,” she says. “You seem like someone who’s read too much Edgar Allan Poe.”
An accurate assessment. “And you seem like someone who’s read too much . . .”
Her dust-blond brows lift.
“Shelley.”
“Percy?”
“Ugh, no,” James says. “Mary.”
“True,” she says.
“Okay. Last question. You ready?”
Nelle shakes her head. “No, but ask anyway.”
“When you grow up, what do you want to be?”
Too long a moment passes, enough for James to worry he has offended her somehow.
Then she grins, all teeth, and says, “A horse.”
They talk and watch the people as the revelry winds down. Children whine through their sleepiness about wanting to stay. Families wave goodbye to each other across the square. When the courthouse bell rings ten, Nelle jumps to her feet, her white sundress aflutter.
James follows her up. “Is everything all right?”
“I have to go home.” Her face falters. “But I want to see you again.”
“I’ll text you.”
“I . . . don’t have a phone.”
How odd. “Well, where do you live?”
“Twenty-three Blackwood Road.” Nelle spits the words out as if to expel them before they burn her tongue.
The address sounds familiar to James. “I can drive you. It’s kind of a hike.”
“I’ll be fine, but thanks,” she says. “Good night, James.”
“Good night.” He lifts his hand in farewell, too dumbstruck by her abrupt departure to chase after her, to insist she not walk two miles alone in the dark.
Cinderella fleeing the ball, a phantom between buildings, sinking into the shadows behind the courthouse. A white pebble dropped in a lake, visible for a moment before she is overtaken by darkness.
After he’s out of his stupor, James tries to follow her, but she’s long gone.