Street Girl

31 | lucy

Whatever. I borrow some of Alecia's clothes, a white silk blouse and a pair of black leggings, and leave the apartment. Dressed like this, I might not even get glared at by security.

There's a red Corolla parked out front, and its paint flares sunlight in my eyes. The engine rumbles, but the car's in idle so I walk in front of it to cross the street. When it jerks forward, I pound my fist on the hood.

"What the hell?" I shout.

The fat guy in the driver's seat wears sunglasses and a fur hood. He looks right through me, so I flip him off.

Asshole. What a start to the day.

* * *

Outside of Entrance Three, Elliot leans against the beige brick of the building. He scrolls through his phone with his brows knotted, one foot against the wall, the other pressed firm to the ground. When he spots me, he springs to his feet.

"Lucy. Hey. You look nice, are you wearing makeup?"

My face flushes. I wanted to look pretty for him, but I'll never admit that. "A little," I mutter. "Why, is it too much? I just wanted to blend in with the fancy-schmancy people at this mall."

"No, it looks nice. And I'm glad you didn't hide your freckles."

I cross my arms and pretend his compliment didn't stuff me full of butterflies. "Okay, so what did you want to talk about?"

"Jeez, can't we at least like, have small talk before getting right into it?"

"You complimenting me was small talk."

"Well, more than that." He points to the glass doors of the mall. "Let's walk around for a bit."

"Fine."

The inside of the mall is even more overdone that I imagined. My Timberlands clap the bronze tile as we pass a jewelry shop and a smoothie place until we reach the end of the hall. Glossy wooden banisters separate us from the center, where three stories descend below like a layered cake. In the middle of it is a massive fountain that sprays water upward in geometric patterns.

It's cool and all, but very over the top.

"Isn't it awesome?" Elliot asks.

I snort. "Yeah, but I can't help but feel there could be better things done with all this money."

"Okay then, Charity Girl. When you have money, you should do something good with it."

"Trust me, I will."

We gravitate toward the smell of cooking food. Even with its marble counters and fancy lamps, the food court is still a greasy, stinking hole crammed full of shoppers. Whatever "thing" Elliot wants to talk about, he isn't spitting it out, so I drop it for now. It won't hurt to let him relax for a while.

"So, where do you want to eat?" he asks.

"I don't care."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Elliot. I don't care."

"Then we're going to my favourite place."

Infinity Fries. The teenage worker behind the counter has a booger poking from his nose. "Can I take your order?"

"What do you feel like?" Elliot nudges me.

"Nothing. You order first."

"Large poutine," he tells the guy, then looks at me.

"I'll get my own."

"There's no way that's happening."

The booger guy glares at me, probably thinking that I'm trying to be cute or something.