Started With a Lie

Chapter Twenty-Eight

        “What?”

        Marcel suddenly goes behind some bushes and picks up a black guitar case. He puts the strap on so it hangs loosely on his back. There’s also another backpack and he puts only one strap through his shoulder because the guitar case is already enclosing the space. He walks back over and hops onto his motorcycle, flipping one long leg over the bike.

        “I’m a rockstar,” he tells me. “I’m sorry for lying but I didn’t want you to know who I am and you’re a sweet girl so I don’t think you’ll be a problem. But I’m just traveling a lot right now and my bike broke down and this dude—” he points a finger into the direction of the convenient store, “—said I could use some of his tools. I don’t work here, sorry.”

        “Wait, what?” I say. I look down at the bouquet. “So you stole these flowers?”

        He smirks. “You could say that.” As he reaches for the handles on the bike, he revs up his motorcycle and smoke comes out from behind it. “It was nice chatting with you, Ivory. Call me soon.”

        “Call you?” I say.

                He nudges his chin up to my hands and indicates the flowers. “I left it on the plastic cellophane thingy,” he explains. “Call me when I get famous.”

        And true to his words, there is a number scribbled on in rushed handwriting in sharpie on the transparent cellophane. It makes me smile because this guy is such a smooth goofball.

        “And my name,” he says, “it’s Harry. Bye, love.” He starts driving and starts cruising out of the gas station. “See you later!”

        I grin at him and wave my hand in the air like an idiot. “See you!” And I say it even though our paths might never even pass again but it was good to talk to someone crazy as Harry. He’s already speeding down the road by the time Lee steps out, holding brown paper bags full of groceries and other materials.

        Lee sets his eyes on the boy driving away and then back to me. “What’d I miss?”

        I start walking to the car and then let myself in the passenger seat. “Nothing.”

        Lee opens the back seat and sets the bags there before opening the door to the driver’s seat and hopping in. “What’re those?”

        “Flowers,” I answer.

        He gives me a glare. “Obviously. Where’d you get them?” Lee starts up the car and soon we cruise out of the gas station ourselves and into the empty road.

        “Harry.”

        “Harry?” Lee looks over to me as he drives—again, another driving hazard. His driving is reckless as it is. “Who’s Harry?”

        “The guy from before.”

        “Oh.” Lee extends a hand, turning back his eyes to the road ahead. “Can I see those flowers for a second?”

        “Sure,” I say, smiling. I never pinned Lee as a flower type of guy.

          I give him the bouquet of flowers gently in his hands and he holds them and looks at them for a while. He notices the number written on the cellophane and examines it for a second. Lee suddenly chucks the bouquet out the window.

            “Lee!” I yell. I look over my shoulder to the flowers that are now discarded on the side of the road, laying there. “Lee, what the hell?”