Something In-Between

Chapter 2: A Little Bit Broken

I gripped the metal ladle in my hand like a raised sword as Emma and I watched Briar laugh and chat with the reporters. Soup dribbled onto the table.

Emma shook her head. "He's not cute."

I turned to look at her.

She frowned. "I know. He's definitely cute..."

"Why didn't he mention anything?" I grumbled. I stabbed my ladle into the giant metal pot. The soup sloshed around. I scooped up some and served the next person in line.

Emma smiled at me and patted my head. "Now, now. Don't be so narky. Maybe it's because you were shouting at his dad and fighting against Whitfield in front of everyone."

I swatted her away. "Oh, pfft."

Emma glanced at Briar, her ebony eyes bright with contemplation. "I dunno, Luna...Maybe he is a good bloke, not a shiny apple with a rotten core. Who we are isn't always crystal-clear, or a perfect cookie-cutter shape. Nobody is black and white. I think we're all in the gray," Emma said.

I huffed. "He's morally gray perhaps."

Emma chuckled. "Ha. Fine. I'll stop waffling on."

Eventually the soup pots were emptied, only lonely carrots slices remained, and I headed into the kitchen to refill them. I was setting the pots onto the wooden countertop when Briar burst into the kitchen. The swinging door slammed against the white brick wall.

"Tell us, Briar, what's it like being the only son of one of the richest and most powerful men in the city?" Sasha asked. She lifted her black microphone towards Briar.

Briar smiled over his shoulder. It was the type of smile that illuminated a face and snatched your attention. But it wasn't the smile I'd seen when we'd met. The cheer shaping the soft pink curves of his mouth didn't reach his eyes. "He's just my dad, Sasha. He feels like my dad--like always. I'm just supporting his project as usual."

"A big project that's for sure," Sasha added.

The media crowd behind Sasha chuckled. The cameraman smiled. Briar blushed a little.

"Let's focus on the soup kitchen now," he said. "This organization has done a great many things to help--" Briar's eyes met mine and his sentence faded away. I scowled. It surprised him. The reporters stared at him as he stared wide-eyed at me.

"Briar? You were saying?" Sasha prompted him.

I turned away from him and continued ladling the steaming soup into the serving pots.

"Oh um...yeah," Briar said. "I was saying that this organization has helped many people in our community."

He rattled off facts about the founder, how many people were fed in a day, and about the growing number of volunteers. He then led the reporters back out into the dining space. I was stuck in a foggy, dark cloud of frustration, glaring at the sunglasses Briar had forgotten on the counter. When the pots were filled, I rushed towards the kitchen door with one of them. It swung out before me. I looked up and ran into Henry Whitfield. The hot, chunky soup poured down my front. I screamed and dropped the metal pot. CLANG!

He slid his hands down his chest and flung the few drops that had fallen on him at me. "Watch it," he hissed. He snatched Briar's sunglasses and backed out of the kitchen.

I stared at the creamy pool soaking my shoes. My shoelaces gurgled amid chopped potatoes and carrots. The soup trailed through the grooves in the brick floor. I snatched a towel and wiped the dripping soup off of me. After mopping up the mess on the floor, I took the other pot to Emma.