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Chapter 7

"How long has that been in there?" I say jokingly.

"I bring them whenever I go on walks," he answers. "I always run into little critters."

I must be looking at him strange because he tilts his head curiously at me.

"Do I look like someone who never takes walks or feeds ducks or something?" he asks.

"No. I mean, I don't know anything about you. For all I know, you could be a weirdo that hangs around night clubs waiting to rescue girls from other weirdos."

"You caught me," he says with a slanted grin. "But not quite. I don't frequent bars or clubs or that sort of thing. I'm not real big on drinking, just like being around my mates."

"So what do you do during the day? School? Work?"

"I'm not in school currently," he begins, sounding careful. "As for work, I'm part of a crappy band that sings crappy songs."

"I'm sure you're not that bad," I say.

He shrugs. "Some people like us, which is cool. And what about you? You said you're a student but do you have a job also?"

"I work at a movie theater," I answer.

"Sounds fun."

"If only you knew."

His eyes scan over my sullen expression. "How bad?"

"I'm a custodian and my boss is a total douche, so it's kinda self-explanatory," I say.

"Ah," he says, nodding. "Why don't you look for another job?"

"It's easier said than done."

Harry continues to crush the crackers and sprinkle them on the riverbank. He says nothing for a minute and I think I've stumped him.

"Work hard, play hard, be kind," he says out of the blue.

"What?"

"Work hard, play hard, be kind," he recites again. "I heard that somewhere and it's always stuck with me. I think it's a good motto for you to remember."

"It sounds like a stupid motto," I tell him.

"How?" he chuckles, not seeming the least bit offended. "Think about it. It means keep a balance in your life and you'll be okay."

"Thanks for the tip, Confucius," I giggle.

"All I'm saying is, go ahead and work your ass off. Everybody needs to if they want success. But you've got to know when to have fun and enjoy life too."

I silently mull over the motto, repeating it in my head. In a way, it does make sense, but why did it matter to Harry whether I enjoy my life or not? Is he telling me I work too hard? Better yet, how can he tell I'm a workaholic from just two days of knowing me?

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Sure," he responds, handing me the last cracker.

I break off a big chunk and toss it in the center of all the ducklings. They swarm right to it, pecking and squeaking in competition.

I look up at him. Those eyes are staring at me, deep and dark with intent again.

"What are you doing with me?" I ask.

His eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"First off," I begin slowly, "you're not interested in me. You can't be. What are you doing this for?"

His eyebrows furrow even deeper, in a vaguely angry way. "What makes you think I can't be interested in you?"

"Look at you, Harry," I laugh, gesturing at him. "And look at me. You're like one of those guys I'd daydream about in high school but don't know I exist."

"I am looking at you," he answers. "And I'm also thinking that you went to high school with a lot of blind lads."

He's tempting, this boy. His words are almost as good as his looks. It's taking everything I have not to fall in his arms and let him sweep me away like some fairy tale prince charming. I better be careful around him.

Harry lowers his voice and says, close to my ear, "Besides, we're just friends, remember?"