Speak |h.s. a.u.|

Chapter Seven

                "Wait," Harry said, raising his pointer finger and looked around Annabelle's room. "Why are you redecorating this room? I mean- you're what, eighteen, I'm assuming? You'll be moving out as soon as you can, am I right?" She nodded. "So why not wait until you get your own place? That way you'll be happy with your room there and you'll have it for a long time."

He has a point. Annabelle is not going to go to college. She doesn't want to. School is just too much trouble. So what will she do? She hasn't figured that part out, yet. She guesses she is just waiting until fall comes along. She wants to be able to enjoy a free summer.

Annabelle sat down on her bed, slumping her shoulders.

"You don't have the means for your own place, do you?" Harry asked and sat beside her. She looked at him and shook her head, making a face as if saying 'I don't really know what to do, or what I'm going to do.'

"Well then," Harry grinned, "Let's find you a summer job." Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. No, no jobs, especially not now. "And why not?" Harry crossed his arms. She stayed silent. Duh. Harry sighed. "It's so difficult trying to figure out what you're thinking. I'm not a mind reader, you know." Annabelle rolled her eyes.

Duh.

"I guess it would be difficult to get a job without talking... Maybe you could be something simple. Like an artist- a writer?"

She is not the best drawer, she is just okay at it. She loves writing and reading. Her father used to tell her that she was an amazing, fantastic writer. Said she should consider a future career in writing.

"Maybe," she would always reply. "But I want to be a performer."

He'd laugh. "A performer? You can't even sing in front of me and your mother without shying away. How do you expect to sing and act in front of dozens, hundreds, thousands of people?"

She would just shrug. "You'll see. One day I'll be on Broadway, or have lead roles in movies."

Annabelle shrugged. She had always loved writing, and still does.

"Can you draw?" She slowly shook my head. she isn't good enough to be like, a famous artist or something. "Can you write?" She nodded and stood up, walking to her small closet and pulling out a box filled with books. She also loved reading.

She sat the box of books on the bed.

"You like reading?" Harry asked, and she nodded. Reading and writing go hand-in-hand. It's hard to love one without loving, or at least enjoying the other. "John Green... Rainbow Rowell... Nicholas Sparks... Dr. Seuss? A Bible... Tim Burton... Poetry, poetry... And more poetry." Harry laughed, looked through the stacks.

"You've read all of this?" She nodded. "Seems pretty funny. First it's teen fiction and romance, then it's religious, then fiction and mystery, then sophisticated poetry- and don't forget childish poetry."

Dr. Seuss is not childish.

Annabelle rolled her eyes- again- and snatched the box away from him before sliding it back into her closet. Then he fell silent, for once. It only lasted a few seconds.

"So no job?" He asked. She just looked at him. "I'll take that as a no." He mumbled, making her grin. "Well, let's get to painting then." He rubbed his hands together, standing up.

Annabelle smiled and grabbed a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt, then ran to the bathroom and changed. When she came back, Harry had taken down all of her random posters and drawing, sat them on her bed, and even moved her dresser and bed to the middle of the room.

She smiled at him. He shrugged and tossed a roll of painter's tape at her. She almost caught it. Almost. He laughed when she used her hands to cover her face instead of catching the tape. His laugh was beautiful, something she would love to just continue to listen to all the time.

After taping the floorboards and windows, they started painting. He finished one wall pretty quickly, while she had only finished half of a wall. She didn't even tell him to help, he just followed her inside. She didn't mind, though. She could use all the help she could get.

With a playlist of punk music playing through her small phone's speakers, she'd say she was having a good time. She liked being with Harry, even if they weren't doing anything necessarily together. Being near him was enough.

"Come on, slow poke." Harry said, nudging her hip with his. She almost fell over. She would have if he wouldn't have caught her. She had to keep her laughter in; something she hasn't had to do in a long time.

So she smiled and covered her mouth, to which he replied with, "That's a beautiful smile, Annabelle. Don't cover it." And he moved her hands away from her face. Then she had an idea.

She swiftly dipped her finger in the paint can and wiped it across his forehead. Not only did he smile, but he got her back, marking her cheek.

It soon turned into a paint battle- dark green paint all over their clothes and faces, but they made sure not to get any on the furniture.

Harry took one more swipe of paint and went to put his finger on her nose, until she blocked his hand and shoved her small paint brush in his face. His nose scrunched up, and his eyes closed. She laughed.

She laughed. Out loud. Like- laughed a real laugh. Out. Loud.

She slowly pulled the paint brush away, and Harry slowly opened his eyes, staring at her in shock. Gosh, She laughed. Out loud.

She quickly turned around and started painting the wall.

"You have a beautiful laugh." Harry said quietly after a few minutes of quiet music playing in the background. She acted as if his words weren't even heard, but they both knew they were. And Annabelle smiled, a real smile. The kind that only happens when she is around him. "I'd love to hear it again some time."