Passenger | Unedited Version

chapter two | change

 chapter two | change  

There are now two things that I'm sure of: Miss Mariam is crazy and the new girl is undoubtfully a goddess.  

        She stands out on the porch, awkwardly balancing on the sides of her feet. The girl isn't looking at me, opting out to stare at the little lines in the wooden planks below her feet. I'm not sure why she's staring at the scene like it needed to be looked that thoroughly at, as this house is decades older than I am and the wood hasn't been replaced since.  

        The afternoon sunlight shines on her face in the best way  possible, creating a halo around her head, no even the few flyaway that are highlighted by the sun could damper the painting that she is. She still hadn't looked in the eye again and her hair swallows her face whole. I wonder if that's the effect she had been going for. She's quite the tall girl, so it sure is hard for her to disappear easily.  

        She shakes the dark curtain out of the way, the layers of the soft texture flowing down her back like a gentle waterfall. Her hair drapes down her back in wavy locks, ending almost down to her hips. It must have taken her years to grow it out that long because I can never get my hair to get any longer than mid-breast, even though I've been trying for years. The hair's dark, not quite resembling ink but darker than the color of the wood that surrounds the trees in this town.

        She has a baby face, despite the fact she has to be about twenty or so. Her dark skin gleam, but that's only because sweat tends to stick out under the intense heat of a South Carolina summer. The poor girl will be getting heat stroke any minute now, due to the fact that she's wearing a long skirt and a floral shirt that oddly goes well with the color of the paint on Miss Mariam's house.

        She looks at me through her lashes, as if she suddenly realizes that I've been staring at her for a few heartbeats too long. Her right eyebrow jolts up and the rest of her face squishes up with a splash of pink gracing her cheeks, her face expression equal an equal mix of amused and a general feeling of being crept out.  

        I stare right back at her, not hesitating to look her right in the eyes. She isn't going to last around here for long, I already know that much; if she can't handle me just looking at her for a few seconds, she'll never be able to handle creepy Harrison Tedder. I really hope that the new girl can avoid Harrison at all costs, or really I just hope everyone can never ever meet Harrison.  

        "I'm Nellie," I ostentatiously aver, knowing all too well that she'll only grow more uncomfortable. Maybe it's wrong for me to mess with the new girl like this and maybe it's rude of me to want her blush more. The real question here is: do I care enough to stop? 

        Sure enough, every ounce of blood in the tall girl's blood flows up to her face. The potpourri of the girl's hesitant smile, blushing, and the inaudible sound of her soft laugh is actually quite lovely. I could get used to staring at her face for the rest of forever.  

        If she sticks around, that is.  

        "My name's Indie," she replies, "but nice to meet you, Nellie." She places her hand in mine, sealing our meeting with a handshake to last a lifetime. It isn't often that I meet a new person here and it's even rarer to encounter someone with a good handshake. Mama always said that the most important thing to learn in life is how to give a proper handshake, as you don't want it to be too hard as if to break their hand, but you don't want it too loose as if you'd rather not be there.

        Indie and I look down at our intertwined hands after a minute or so, realizing that we forgot to release our hands from the handshake. We both looks up at each other, something that could never be spoken coursing through our minds. I could just be looking far too much into things, considering how Indie drops my hand like a dead fly seconds later.