Balconial Conversations

1 // introductions

I let myself inside the apartment, dropping my backpack against the neutrally blue wall of the tiny foyer.

My jaw hurts from clenching it all day and I'm starved. I sat on a bench outside and couldn't eat my lunch because my stomach had twisted itself into irreparable knots.

I'm not good at making friends. Or wanting friends.

I pluck a banana from the island dish and look around the apartment. Mom asked me to organize the living room this afternoon but the balcony is much too tantalizing. I step between the box mountains and slide open the glass door.

The smell of smoke hits me immediately, and I cough. It seems to be billowing from somewhere to the left; as I step closer to the rails I see a boy leaning on the neighbouring balcony with a cigarette hanging from his lazy lips.

He's closer to man than boy, but his arms are kind of skinny and he's got a kind of youthful carelessness about him. His gaze slants over to me and he exhales a puff of gray smoke.

"Hello," he says. His t-shirt is white with a bright blue stain, like paint, on the side. "You must be my new neighbour."

"Yeah." I say. His gaze slides over my jeans and hoodie in a way that doesn't quite make my skin crawl. It's more as if he's just vaguely curious and couldn't really care either way.

I'm not sure whether to be offended my the visual dismissal or not.

I don't peel the banana.

"High school?" He asks, idly. He shifts so he leans on his side, facing me. His hair is a dark mahogany colour, wavy and all over the place in an entirely purposeful manner.

"I'm seventeen."

"Hmm. Bad day?"

"No, why?"

"You look bothered; shoulders slumped, furrowed brow, locked jaw." He shrugs. "I'm a psych major."

I'm not sure I'm comfortable with a college boy talking about my jaw. Especially the way the word trips off his tongue, just a hint of suggestion.

I hum politely. He squints at me with a smirky little smile.

"You can talk about it, if you like." He makes a you might as well sort of arm gesture. "I haven't got anywhere to be."

"No thanks." I step back towards the glass door.

"It was nice meeting you," he calls, waving with the cigarette between his middle and index fingers. "I'm Cam, by the way."

I sit down on the box with assorted ladylike throw pillows and peel the banana.
//

This is the FIRST book. Bathroom conversations is the SECOND.