Street Girl

09 | lucy

"Guys, stop," Elliot says. "Seriously, I don't wanna talk about hockey."

"All right, everyone, that's enough," Elizabeth says.

A palpable silence shrouds us. I hate silence. I have to say something, anything's better than shallow breathing, chewing, and forks clinging on plates.

"So..." All eyes land on me. "Um—this salad is fantastic, Elizabeth."

Lies. I hate salad.

She smiles. "Oh, thank you, dear. Have as much as you'd like."

The rest of the dinner goes by fast. I stuff spinach down my throat so I can finish and get the hell out of here. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the food, but I don't belong here. "Come on, Lucy." Elliot stands. "Let's go discuss that project."

Like an obedient schoolgirl, I clasp my hands together, nod a thank you at Elliot's family, and follow him down the hall. I find myself in a living room surrounded by beige couches, mahogany shelves, and cream brick walls. The warm scent of cinnamon lingers in the air from the candle burning on the coffee table, its reflection flickering against the glossy surface of a Christmas-themed magazine.

"Sorry about the mega-awkward dinner," Elliot says.

I spin to him. "You should be! What the hell, Elliot? You shouldn't have invited me to stay!"

"Sorry, I wasn't really thinking. I half-expected you to bail at your first chance, but you stayed. Can I ask why?"

"I didn't want to make a scene, and your parents seem like nice people." I kick the edge of the rug. "Plus, I was hungry, so..."

"I noticed. You practically inhaled that salad."

"I hate salad."

"Could've fooled me."

Silence. I study his face. He has an upturned nose with soft, round features, and the dim light illuminates a ring on his dark hair. There's that halo again. I feel so dumb for thinking this guy is cute. It isn't like me to think—or care—about whether a guy is cute.

"I should go," I say.

"Oh, yeah, okay. If you want. But there's cake, if you wanted to stay a bit longer."

Does he know my weakness is sugar? First the hot chocolate, then the Fruit Roll-Ups...

I sigh in defeat. Where do I need to be? It isn't like I live on a schedule, so I flop on the couch and scoot to the corner, where a plush quilt rests over the arm. Elliot raises his eyebrows.

"What?" I shrug. "You asked me to stay."

With a laugh, he sits. "I didn't think you'd say yes."

Now this is weird. If I stretch my leg a little farther, I'll be able to poke him with my foot.

"My mom'll offer us cake soon." He grabs the remote off the coffee table and turns on the TV, filling the room with voices. My head falls to the side.

"'Kay."

Some sitcom plays on the screen, but I don't focus on it. I can't remember the last time I felt so full, warm, and comfortable. My toes graze Elliot's jeans, and the sugary taste of root beer lingers on my tongue. This boy came into my life out of nowhere, yet we sit together like old friends, like we know each other, even though we really don't.

I stare at him. When he notices, he stares back. I don't know what he's thinking, but his eyes, they say everything.

Elliot needs a friend of the female variety, and I fit the bill.