Color-Gifted (Color-Gifted, #1)

Chapter Ten

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CHAPTER TEN

            “Ahhh, tea.” I take a sip out of the cup Myra has just brought me from the coffee shop. I still can’t believe they make green tea with fresh leaves there, too. Which just adds one more place where I can go when in need of my fix.

            Needless to say, I’m happy about this.

            Myra smirks. “De nada. Although, honestly, I don't know what you see in that stuff.” She looks towards the Styrofoam cup cradled between my fingers and winces. “It's just so . . . bland. Nothing like coffee.” She toasts me with said coffee and takes a sip.

            I narrow my eyes at her as she plops down next to me on my porch stairs. “I'm warning you,” I say, “one more word . . .”

            Myra laughs and raises her hands in surrender, careful not to spill her precious coffee. “Okay, okay. To each his own.”

            “Exactly.” I take another sip of my tea. Delicious.

            We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking in the few rays of sun. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, sunny, with hardly a cloud in the sky. But the mid-September air has an ever-growing bite to it. Fall is definitely here.

            I stretch my legs on the gravel path before me, looking out at the other houses on our corner of the Housing Section. Things are quiet up here at the top of the hill.

            I couldn’t be happier with my living arrangements; our corner is quiet and secluded, surrounded by more trees than the rest of the Housing Section. It feels like this little part belongs to us alone, and that's just the way I like it.

            I take another sip of my tea and turn to Myra. “So,” I begin, “about yesterday . . .”

            Myra blushes and sighs exasperatedly at the same time. “That idiot,” she states, “is too damn proud.” She smiles as she takes another sip of her extra-large coffee. “Although . . . it’s embarrassing. But anyway,”—she waves her hand at this—“I owe you an explanation.”

            “Wait,” I say, “you don't have to tell me. It's fine.”

            She shakes her head, her deep brown hair glinting in the sun. “No, it's okay.” She smiles to herself, and then shifts to face me. “Okay . . . well, as you know, we hooked up yesterday.”

            I smile. I do know.

            She puts down her coffee on the porch and rubs her palms on her jeans. “Okay—confession.” Myra exhales once, quickly and loudly, like she’s gearing herself up. “Well, see—you know how I'm loud and outspoken and all that, right?” I grin; those are a few of the things I love best about her. She pushes back her hair with one hand and continues. “But the truth is—when it comes to guys, I don't work that way at all. I mean, I've had a couple of boyfriends before, but I’ve never been into random hookups—ever. Just not me.”