Happy Tuesday y'all!
Here's the second installment of the short story I've been working on (if you haven't already, read the first part here - scroll down to the entry titled Teen Dream and the beginning of my short story is in italics). Hope everyone's enjoying it!
She took a drag from her cigarette.
“What’s your tattoo of?”
Her chest fluttered, “The one on your hand.”
He took a step closer and held it out to her. For an instant she considered grabbing his hand in her own – but quickly dismissed such an intimate gesture as silly.
It was a series of lines, forming a strange and intricate galaxy on the back of his hand.
It was cool.
Not that she’d tell him she thought so.
Moxie leaned back against the sun-warmed wall, letting her eyes flutter into a catlike slit.
“You have more?” She asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah,” he said lazily, “a couple more.”
She blew a gauzy cloud of smoke in an attempt to mask her growing interest.
“So…” the guy crossed his arms, “How about that lighter?”
Moxie stuck her hand in the pocket of her too-big, acid wash jeans and dug out a lighter.
She tossed it at him without any warning.
He caught it and she grimaced. He grinned, but in that snarky way she found so appealing.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a slow, leisurely pull.
“How old are you?” He asked, his voice hazy with tobacco.
Moxie glared at him, “Does it matter?”
“You look young. Too young to be smoking.”
“Well I’m not.” Moxie scolded herself for letting him goad her.
He held his hands up again in faux apology. “I was just asking.”
‘Why? How old are you?”
“I thought it didn’t matter?”
Ugh. He was being so difficult.
And she couldn’t stop staring at him through hooded eyes.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“Why?” She could be difficult too.
“I’m making small talk,” he said nonchalantly, “It’s what normal people do.”
“Well, I’m not normal.”
He smiled, less snarkily this time, “Neither am I.”
She tip-tapped the carousel horses head, “I come here sometimes.”
He answered before she could ask him the same question – “I used to. Before I went away.”
Away? Away where?
She wasn’t so lucky as to receive that answer.
“It hasn’t changed much.” He tossed the barely smoked cigarette to the ground and dug the heel of his black boot into the ember.
“Thanks for the lighter,” the young man nodded his head toward her.
“Maybe I’ll see you around.” He turned and began to wander away, before turning around and asking, “What’s your name?”
Moxie pursed her lips, took another drag, and didn't answer.
His grin grew wider and he walked off.
Her heart insisted on doing all sorts of strange somersaults and loop-de-loops, so she pinched herself to try and slow the stupid pitter-patter-patter.
It didn’t work. Moxie looked from the moon to the sun, and wondered whether she really believed in good luck.