if you're lookin' for me, i'm with the girls on the dance floor.

The dancing pauses and we are all talking and laughing at a table near the dance floor, not wanting to be far from the action. Louise gives me a cocky look as Lucas sits down beside me, handing me a bottle of water.

“I figured you’d need it,” he explains, “with your tearing up the dance floor and all.”

“I get kind of intense when music is on,” I laugh and shake my head. “I’ve got passion, and only the slightest bit of rhythm, but I make do.”

“Indeed you do,” he says, his voice sliding down like a trombone.

I give him a curious look and let out a small choke of a laugh as I twist the cap off the bottle he has bought for me.

“Georgia, I had no idea you had all a’that in ya,” Charlotte holds out her fist for me to lightly punch.

I oblige, and shrug. “I didn’t either.”

“I did,” Zahari says, taking a swig of the chilled, pink hard lemonade she had just ordered for herself a few moments earlier. “But I’ve only ever seen ‘er get down like that in the wee hours. It’s quite a privilege. You all should feel special.”

“I do,” Lenny speaks up, which prompts Charlotte to choke on her Red Bull.

“I’m sure you do, baby,” Zahari pats his arm, grinning behind her bottle.

“Lenny, I think you should get a drink,” Charlotte tilts her chin in encouragement. “Some liquid courage, so we can see some of your sexy moves.”

Lenny scratches his neck, which is turning red in embarrassment. “Oh, Charlotte, I don’t think that’s a wise idea. I-I’ve never drank in my life.”

“Nooo,” Charlotte swats at him. “You?”

“No, I never have,” he frowns, not following her sarcasm. Lenny is… very literal, to put it mildly.

“Lenny, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Nadia speaks up, playing with the cap to her water bottle. “We’re here to have fun, not act like high school kids at the prom.”

“No, we’ll save that for New Year’s,” Charlotte grins. “But I can tell you right now, it won’t be an hour before someone spikes the punch.”

“Yeah, and I think it’ll be you,” I point to her with the hand that holds my water.

Her grin is pure evil. “Maaaybeee.”

“Keep in mind, that the Baxter boys will still be living here during this time,” Louise chimes in. “I doubt Josh and Eric are going to behave themselves with alcohol in their systems.”

“We’ll have a VIP room for grown-ups,” Charlotte decides. “That way we can have a bit of smashed fun. I mean, come on guys, it’s New Year’s Eve. It’s like, mandatory.”

“The last time I got drunk was with my friends during Mardi Gras a few years ago,” Jonathan admits, a bottle of Miller Chill clutched in his hand.

“Oh really?” Charlotte leans forward. “Did you do get any beads?”

Jonathan half-smiles. “No, but I did throw up on a girl who wanted some.”

“Jon, that is sick nasty,” Charlotte laughs, downing the remaining contents of her little Red Bull can.

“I know. She slapped me in the face, although I really couldn’t help it…” Jonathan shrugs.

“You could’ve carried a loaf of French bread with you and eaten it while you drank,” I advise. “In fact, I encourage it. That’s what I’m going to do, if I ever decide to go on a drinking binge.”

“Which will be when?” Zahari raises her perfectly arched eyebrows.

“Never,” I laugh.

“Exactly,” Zahari laughs, too. “You’re my good little straight-laced sister. I like that about you.”

“When was the last time you were drunk, Zahari?” Charlotte asks, her knees bouncing in expectation for her next dance.

“In high school,” she admits. “I only drank hard once. And I swore, never, ever again.”

“Same for me,” Lucas concurs. “Though, it was my third time that I really got shit-faced. I had to sit through church the next morning with a hangover. My dad was pissed. He told me if I ever came home that drunk again, he’d make me sleep outside.”

“Harsh,” Charlotte snickers. “I, however, cannot get drunk. An unfortunate side effect of my miraculous healing powers – my body disposes of the alcohol too quickly.”

“Lucky,” Zahari rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” Charlotte swats a hand at her. “Okay, who’s up for round two? Because I, for one, am sick of sitting here.”

“I second that,” Wyatt admits, slapping his hand down at our big round table. “Plus, I feel a slow song coming up pretty soon.”

“Your empathy works on DJ’s, too?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Absolutely,” he grins. “Yours would, too, if you’d let me teach you.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

“He has no idea,” Louise corrects. “He just likes to sound like he’s the master of all things emotional.”

The song that comes on next has a good rhythm, emphasized with the snapping of one’s fingers, and – not surprisingly – is slow.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Wyatt smiles in triumph and holds his hand out to his fiancé. “May I?”

“If you have to,” Louise teases, letting her lead her to the dance floor.

We watch them start to sway to the beat and I start to feel nervous.

“Ahhh, I feel inspired. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, cher?” Jonathan asks Zahari, smiling at her.

Z is just finishing the last of her heavy lemonade and the bottle makes a muffled popping sound as she removes it from her lips.

“I don’t see why not,” Zahari smirks and stands up from her seat, taking his hand.

“Come on, Lenny,” Charlotte says, pulling on his arm. “I need a partner for this one, I ain’t goin’ it alone.”

“Oh, I’m fine right here, Charlotte,” Lenny shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer, though. It’s kind of you.”

“I’ll dance with you, Lottie,” Nadia offers, standing up and walking away from the table. Charlotte follows her, and tosses a wink over her shoulder at me.

“Excuse me, miss?” a too-smooth voice reaches my ears and I turn to my right and see a strange man smiling at me.

“Yes?” I ask, probably looking a bit afraid.

“I saw you on the floor earlier, and wanted to say something, but you disappeared with your friends before I could,” the man explains. “I would love for you to dance with me, if you’d be so kind.”

He is a bit too handsome; his skin is dark tan like Jonathan’s, his lips pouty and his jaw lined with a strip of perfectly-trimmed stubble. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, and they are boring into mine with uncomfortable intensity.

Beside me, from where Lucas sits, I feel a spark erupt into a flame, made up of what tastes very similar to jealousy.

I let a half-smile curve my thin, dark-pink-tinted lips, and before I can part them to answer Mr. Handsome, I hear Lucas’ chair sliding loudly along the floor as he stands.

I turn my head, and he is imploring with hazel eyes for me to do something. I can’t tell if he wants me to turn down the gorgeous gentleman who has extended his hand for me to take, or what. But I feel irritated that he hasn’t asked me to dance before, so I place my pale white hand in Mr. Handsome’s.

“Only if you tell me your name,” I smile at him, my petty feeling of power giving me the confidence to flirt a bit.

“Adam,” he croons. “And I’d love for you to be my Eve.”

Lucas snorts beside me, but I ignore him, and turn my attention to the walking, honey-dripping pickup line.

I smile like I don’t realize how stupid he is. “I hate to disappoint you, Adam, but my name is Georgia.”

“So that explains the aura of a juicy peach, ripe for the picking,” he picks up my hand and kisses it.

I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips, hoping Lucas can see that I’m not being naïve – just playing along.

“How about we go tear up the floor, hm?” I pull my hand down away from the lips that have probably touched many things of which I don’t want to know.

“You read my mind,” Adam smiles at me.

“No, she didn’t,” Lucas says, deadpan.

Adam frowns, as if just realizing we have company. He throws his thumb over his shoulder in Lucas’ direction. “This guy bothering you?”

“No,” I say, my voice a mocking sing-song. The irony of his question makes me want to giggle hysterically, but I keep it inside.

Lucas lowers his eyes at me as Adam leads me to the dance floor.

Once out there, Adam’s narcissism takes on new heights, as the dance becomes all about his sex appeal. He glides his shoulders in slow circles, his hands on my waist. I grin and rest my wrists up by his neck, snapping with the beat.

He smiles down at me, with his eyelids low, turning on the seduction moves.

I only wish he could see how badly I’m making fun of him in my mind.

I bob my head, letting my chin lead, not looking in Adam’s strikingly beautiful eyes. I’ll just let him think I’m playing hard to get, until Lucas remembers where his pair is.

“You’re an incredibly sexy dancer,” Adam speaks up, trying to draw my attention back to himself.

“Thanks,” I give him a manly chin bob, trying not to laugh.

His smooth brow wrinkles a bit; I’m frustrating him with my lack of girlish fawning over his advances. How do other girls in these situations react normally? I hope not as stupidly as El Douchebag-o here.

Another slow jam is playing now, and his hands move closer to my hips.

My amusement drops very quickly to irritation.

“You definitely stand out in a crowd,” he tells me, “I noticed you the second you walked into the club.”

“That’s nice,” I say, barely moving.

“You interested in getting out of here?” he asks, undaunted. “My place is nearby, and I’d love to see your other moves.”

I clench my jaw, and I move my hands down from his neck to his arms, ready to push him away.

“Come on, girl. Nobody dances like you do and doesn’t practice in the mirror. And I’ve got one on my ceiling that’s callin’ your name,” Adam smirks, as if he’s picturing it.

I am tensing my muscles to shove him backward when he suddenly jerks in that direction without me touching him.

Lucas Browning has him by the collar of his dark purple button-up shirt, and he is not amused.

“That’s enough, asshole,” he says, letting Adam go a few feet from where I stand, gawking.

“Excuse me?” Adam jerks his shoulders upward, smoothing his rumpled silk.

“You heard me,” Lucas reiterates, his voice low and threatening. “Leave her alone. She’s not interested.”

“I think she can speak for herself,” Adam looks up at him – Lucas stands at least a head taller than Adam’s average height – and clenches his jaw. He turns his blue-sky eyes to me.

“Oh, honey, you’re as oblivious as they get,” I tell him. “I’m just here to have a good time.”

“Yeah, so am I,” he frowns. “That’s what I was trying to do.”

“Well, you obviously have differing ideas of fun. So run along.” Lucas points toward the door.

“Whatever, man,” Adam looks at him like he’s stupid.

As he walks deeper in the crowd of grinding people and dim lighting, I just stand there, not sure of what to do.

Lucas turns to face me, after he’s sure Adam is gone, and searches my eyes.

“What?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“What?” he repeats.

“I’m just kind of amazed. Did you seriously just pull that douche back by his collar?” I let myself smile.

“Yes,” Lucas gives me the honor of my favorite crooked grin.

“So, what now?” I ask; my thumbs stuck in my dark-wash skinny jean pockets.

“Well, that dick stole my chance to ask you first,” Lucas frowns. “But, I’d still like to dance with you, if that’s okay.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You don’t make any sense. You could’ve danced with me when we were all out on the floor earlier. And now, you only want me because Adam – if that’s even his real name – asked me first. Are you really that typical?”

“No,” Lucas frowns. “I told you, he stole my chance. I was opening my mouth to ask you when he sauntered up to our table.”

“Ew, he kind of did saunter, didn’t he?” I make a disgusted face.

“I knew you didn’t find him believable,” Lucas grins. “I liked the face you were making in your head when he told you that you were a sexy dancer. It’s my favorite.”

“Oh, you mean this one?” I make my eyes huge and stick my lips out like a platypus beak, moving my head back and forth like a doggie on a dashboard.

His grin widens. “Yeah, that one. That is pure hot.”

“You know it,” I tell him, giving him a cocky grin.

“So, about this dance…” Lucas lowers his eyelids.

Funny, when Adam did that, it didn’t make my stomach tighten.

“What about it?” I smirk as my favorite T.I. song begins.

“You wanna dance with me, since I saved you from all that douchebaggery?” Lucas steps closer to me, so close I can smell him.

“Yes,” I say, trying to keep all of the other honesty from surfacing.

He puts his hands at a respectable place on my waist, and I rest my hands on his shoulders like a bad 80’s movie, swaying my hips just enough so that people think I know what I’m doing.

“You don’t dance, do you?” Lucas asks, smiling down at my safe movements.

“No,” I roll my eyes. “What gave me away? Or is it my juicy Georgia peach vibe that’s throwing off your ability to see my skill?”

Lucas throws his head back and laughs, drawing stares from nearby couples. I grin, loving the sound of his laughter echoing in my head.

“Does that actually work on girls? I mean, seriously, does he think my IQ is the same number as my luscious jeans size?”

“Don’t be talkin’ about your luscious jeans size with a man, Georgia Freebird,” Lucas shakes his head. “It makes him feel dirty.”

The song changes and while I expect everyone to pull apart, they don’t – the dancing just gets more awkward.

“Oh, lord,” I cover my eyes.

“What?” Lucas looks around.

“This is what I was afraid of,” I explain, cringing. “I’m a sheltered girl, Lucas. I don’t watch people hump each other very often.”

“Very often?” he raises one eyebrow.

“Yeah, more like, never,” I shake my head.

“You wanna go sit down?” He still hasn’t removed his hands from my waist.

“No, as long as you aren’t going to try and do that to my leg,” I point to a nearby pair who must think they are on the set of a rap video instead of in a crowd of people.

“Geez,” Lucas turns his attention back to me. “Thanks for pointing that out, pervert.”

“No problem,” I grin up at him. “I’m good at awkward.”

“I know,” he smirks.

Ignoring his making fun of me, I close my eyes and let the beat of the song move me, swinging my hips like a pendulum, grateful that I wore my Chucks instead of heels like most of the girls in here.

“OH SNAP; it’s time for a Georgia saaand-wichhh!” Zahari yells in my ear over the thumping bass, coming up behind me dancing like a moron, pushing me closer to Lucas.

“Oh no,” I laugh, trying not to feel as ill at ease as I do. “Zahari, you’re evil.”

But Lucas just laughs and plays along, dancing way too closely to me, obeying Zahari’s demand to make me lunchmeat and cheese.

I crack up and let go, throwing my hands up and enjoying the song.

Lucas and I are still moving the same way when Zahari gets bored and leaves us alone. He looks down into my eyes and grins, the flashing colored lights glinting off of his white teeth. I smile back up at him, my eyes bright, the music and adrenaline rushing through my veins, all through my body.

And being this close to Lucas Browning feels much more right than it should.

 

oh, darlin', you're a million ways to be cruel.

Did you know about this? I think, not wanting to scream in the library as I come into the doorway like a walking whirlwind of emotion.

Nadia raises her eyebrows at my frazzled tone and sticks a note card in the book she has half-finished to keep her place as she closes it.

“Should we go somewhere and talk?” Nadia asks quietly.

I give her a look. I think you know very well that we should.

She nods once, putting the book into her shoulder bag and walking ahead of me out into the hallway. I follow, quietly fuming, and I know she can hear at least the gist of my frustration amidst the swirl of jumbled thoughts.

“Outside?” She asks calmly.

That would probably be best for everyone who lives here.

“Outside it is.” I follow Nadia through the huge dining room to the back foyer, and as we pass by her, Zahari goes to speak to me but sees my face and thinks better of it, visibly withdrawing.

When we are safely outdoors on the huge lawn, and the big, solid oak door is closed behind us, and we’ve walked several yards away from the boarding house, Nadia turns to face me.

“Go ahead,” she holds her hand out, expectant.

“Did you know Lucas Browning was a reader?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Nadia searches my face. “Yes. Why, does it upset you?”

“Nadia, you belong with someone who can read your mind. You guys could communicate without words. It would be a beautiful eternity. And I could find someone who has to guess. You are the only person in the world who I can’t hide anything from –“

She gives me a corrective look.

“Okay, fine. You and Louise are the only people in the world who I can’t hide anything from, thanks to my gift of brutal honesty, and your gift of telepathy. And I’d like for it to stay that way.” I am officially pouting like a child now.

“Why? You and I get along even better because you sometimes refuse to voice things just to be spiteful to yourself,” Nadia points out, “why wouldn’t you want that in a mate?”

I gape at her. “In a mate? Good lord, Nadia Eve, I just met this kid.”

“He’s not a kid. He’s twenty-three,” Nadia corrects lightly.

“I don’t care if he’s twenty-eight. I call everyone kid,” I scowl. “Besides, why are you even thinking of him that way for me? Why not for yourself? He’s beautiful.”

“Yes, he is,” Nadia smiles. “And I have seen the inside of his head, and you’re already in it.”

I roll my eyes, disbelieving. “No, I’m not.”

Nadia looks as if she’s hesitating. “The second he looked at you, just like you said about him, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I frown, even more frustrated by her knowing more than I do. “Why did you invite him to breakfast? Why didn’t you just let him make a move?”

“Because you’re both too stubborn,” Nadia rolls her eyes. “He didn’t want to come on too strong, and you always do because you can’t help it – so you shy away.”

I inspect her face very carefully, and even though it’s very much like mine, sometimes her wisdom makes her seem like we’re decades apart.

“Nadia, I don’t believe in love at first sight,” I sigh.

Nadia smiles, knowing she broke through at least a little. “There are plenty of people who don’t believe in God, but you and I both know He exists.”

“He wouldn’t tell me he was a reader. I don’t even know if he wanted me to figure it out,” I tell her. “But then he quoted one of my embarrassing thoughts to me, and I knew he’d been listening.”

“What did you say about him, inside?” Nadia asks, keeping her face casual.

“That he has a really attractive voice,” I blush.

Nadia smiles. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“What do you mean, I’m in his head?” I scrunch up my nose.

Nadia sighs. “I mean exactly what I said. The reason I invited him to breakfast is because I’m impatient. I saw your face there and told him you were my sister, and even though he was startled, he was grateful that I lead him to you.”

“Did he really ask me out? Or was that his polite way of pointing out things we have in common?” I ask, actually feeling a flutter of excitement skip its way across my stomach.

Nadia grins. “I think you know the answer to that. Besides, I refuse to take all of the fun out of this for you. You ask him your questions. I don’t know that much, anyway. He’s good at keeping his guard up. It’s impressive from someone untrained, actually.”

“I’m kind of glad you don’t know much more than I do,” I admit. “I think I’d be really jealous.”

“And honestly, sweetheart, a couple of readers being together is kind of like asking for trouble. First of all, we’d get lost in each other’s heads and forget about the rest of the world – reallyyy disconcerting in a crowded room. Second of all, I don’t really want to know if another woman skates her way across his thoughts fleetingly at any point in our relationship. To be honest, I’d be happy marrying a devoid.”

“Doesn’t that word make normal people sound like aliens?” I make a face.

“Kind of,” Nadia agrees. “Devoid is an accurate description, though.”

“True, but why can’t we call them something nice, like…”

“Barren? Empty? Vacant?” Nadia offers synonyms, and none of them are nice.

“Okay, this isn’t going to work.” I sigh. “I guess they have to sound like freaks. Although, come to think of it, the Network really came up with crappy names for both parties. We’re outsiders and they’re devoid. It’s just like, negativity, all around.”

“Well, what would you like to call us?” Nadia smirks.

“Special,” I offer. “Gifted?”

“Extraordinary,” Nadia sweeps her hands like a banner over her head.

“Okay. I see your point,” I grin. “Either way, I don’t particularly like being labeled. I mean, we all have to poop, right?”

“You know, that’s very true,” Nadia agrees. “I never really thought about it like that, but we are all human.”

“We are. And we are all made for more, but you and I just use more of our brains than most people,” I say.

“You know, that isn’t true,” Nadia shook her head.

My eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? Don’t most people only use ten percent of their brain capacity?”

“No, humans use one hundred percent of their brains,” Nadia explains. “I don’t know where that myth got started, but Lydia explained to me that scientists who have done tests don’t have any answers as to why we have the abilities we do. There’s no mutant gene, there’s no expanded brain power, nothing.”

“So it’s all spiritual, then,” I offer.

“Possibly,” Nadia shrugs. “Though I don’t understand why God would only choose certain people to have our strange gifts.”

“Maybe it’s just like, certain people are more language-oriented, while others are really good at math,” I ponder.

“Like Lenny,” Nadia says.

“That kid is a savant,” I laugh. “He’s not even an Outsider. He’s just a freakin’ genius.”

“Well, he’s outsider-ish enough to qualify to be living here,” Nadia explains. “His brain is like a huge calculator. He’s constantly quantifying up there. It’s really tiring to listen to, although, I’d like for him to be nearby when I have insomnia, because that boring mess of scientific equations would really lull me into a great sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want Lenny anywhere near me when I’m sleeping,” I shudder. “That’s why I’m so glad that the boys have to sleep in the west wing of the house.”

“You’re so mean to poor Lenny,” Nadia frowns. “He’s a nice boy. And he likes you because you’re not afraid of his massive brain.”

“He also likes me because of my massive chest,” I scowl.

Nadia laughs as she looks down at my boobs without thinking about it. I don’t know why God’s sense of humor involves making one twin with a much slower metabolism than the other, but I am the super obnoxiously curvy twin, while Nadia is more lean and slender. On days when I can’t come close to zipping my jeans, I wish we were identical twins.

“I will never understand why you got the D’s,” Nadia points.

I cross my arms, hiding my ample chestage. “You and me both, sister.”

A thought occurs to me then, and my eyes widen.

Nadia laughs out loud. “No, Georgia. That’s not what Lucas Browning likes about you.”

“Not the only thing, you mean,” I grin.

“Yes,” Nadia smirks. “He is still a man, after all.”

“Thank God for that,” I laugh.

 

“Girl,” Zahari says the second Nadia and I stroll back into the dining room, “Are you two okay? Because, you looked really pissed when you left.”

“We’re fine,” I assure her. “We just needed to clear some stuff up, is all.”

“Good,” Zahari breathes a sigh of relief, holding a hand to her chest. “I hate when you two fight. It like, never happens, so it makes me really nervous when it does. What was the problem?”

Nadia smirks. “Lucas Browning.”

“Oh, damn! Are you two fighting over him?!” Zahari asks, her eyes wide.

“No, Z, we are not fighting over him,” I sigh. “Quite the opposite, actually. Nadia is practically pushing him on me.”

Z raises her dark eyebrows. “For real? Because, that’d be kind of awkward…”

“ZAHARI, I DO NOT MEAN ON TOP OF ME,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Ohhh. I get ya now. Why doesn’t she want him? That man is fine,” Z purses her lips.

“I asked her the same thing,” I tell her. “And she told me she doesn’t want a reader.”

“That’s kind of hypocritical, ain’t it?” Z asks Nadia, an amused grin on her face.

“Trust me, Zahari, you would hate it, too,” Nadia tells her. “I mean, what if some guy could do exactly what you do? It would be weird.”

Z gives her a look. “What, recreate things from a photographic memory with any sort of artistic instrument? We could create amazing stuff together, Nadia.”

“Okay, wrong question,” Nadia rolls her eyes. “Just, trust me. If you were a reader, you wouldn’t want another reader. We wouldn’t have to talk to each other. We’d create little baby readers. And that’s just… weird.”

“I believe you,” Z tells her, even as she’s making the symbol for ‘crazy’ behind her back to me.

I snicker, and Nadia sighs.

“Zahari, you know that I’m a reader. You know that I know that you’re currently making fun of me to my twin, because I see you doing it in her perfect memory.”

“I know,” Z grins.

Nadia gives her a deadpan glance.

“You know I love you, baby,” Zahari squeezes her cheek. Nadia laughs and walks away shaking her head.

“Girl,” Z squeezes my shoulders. “I hear you had a spat with Mr. You-Have-To-See-Lynyrd-Skynyrd-Play-Free-Bird-Live-With-Me today. Which, by the way, I should never have to hear things about your life from Charlotte Braxton ever again.”

I ignore her obvious prying with big, star-struck eyes. “You noticed that, too? He really does want to take me to see them live?”

“Lawd have mercy, Georgia Lynn, you better be giving me some details,” Z shakes me a bit.

I regale the whole dramatic tale for her, fulfilling her need for some excitement in our lives – other than the usual bizarreness of our existence – and Z heaves a sigh at the end.

“His voice really is sexy,” she admits. “So are various other parts of him.”

I give her a threatening look.

Z laughs at my intensity. “Hey, baby doll, he ain’t your man, yet. I can make casual observations without you having a hissy.”

“Yet,” I snort. “If he ever is my man.”

Zahari smiles at me. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. I’m the one who pointed it out to your oblivious self! Those gorgeous eyes light up like he’s a little boy and you’re his first Christmas tree or fireworks on the Fourth of July. And you’re the only light he sees.”

“It isn’t fair to the rest of the world,” I say. “There are so many other more beautiful, gifted, fascinating women here. Like Nadia, or Charlotte, or even Lydia.”

“But there’s gonna be one less lonely giiiirl,” Z sings to me, and a few people still eating lunch turn around to give us a look. I recognize one of them as Eleanor – the ‘straight bitch’ who can move things with her mind – and choose to ignore her. “Hey wait a minute, skank ho. Why didn’t you mention me as one of the beautiful, gifted, fascinating, luscious women who Lucas Browning could be chasing besides your sorry ass?”

I give her a knowing look. “Because I think Jonathan LeBlanc would have a serious issue with that. And I really don’t want to see them get into an ugly fistfight anytime soon.”

Zahari’s face melts into a pleased smile and she looks down at her feet.

“Ha,” I point to her. “I knew it. You are so in love with him.”

“I am not in love with him, Georgia Lynn. Don’t be such a middle-schooler.”

“Yes you are,” I taunt her. “You write his last name with yours all over your notebooks, and draw little hearts all over and around it.”

“Stop it,” she tries really hard not to smile. “I mean it!”

“Zahari Elise LeBlanc, Mrs. Zahari LeBlanc, Z. E. L.,” I chant, and she reaches out and pinches my spongy stomach. “Ow! Z! Why you gotta go there like that?”

“Because you always gotta go there like that,” Z grins. “Besides, he just flirts with me. It’s his Nawlins-boy charm. He does it with all the girls.”

“Uh-uh,” I shake my head. “Jonathan LeBlanc has never flirted with me once the way he flirts with you. It is crazy intense. You are seriously like… the prettiest dessert he’s ever laid eyes on.”

“Oh sure! You get to be Christmas decorations, and I’m food. That’s not insulting,” Zahari rolls her bright blue eyes.

“You’re not just food. You’re the prettiest, fluffiest plate of powdered-sugar-sprinkled beignets in the whole wide South,” I tease her. “And that boy has seen some beignets. They’re his aunt’s most cherished recipe, remember.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Z says. “He just told us that this morning.”

“Oh, it is only like four o’clock now, right? Man, I feel like a whole week has passed since breakfast.” I scratch my head.

“Yeah, you missed lunch,” Zahari smirks. “I guess you had something waaaay tastier, though.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Oh, geez, will y’all stop it with this whole Lucas Browning thing? We talked about his family. That’s it.”

“Yeaaah, but your miiind was sayin’ so much moooore,” Zahari sing-songs.

“Yeah, and now I know I gotta keep those things locked up out of his reach,” I scowl. “I can’t believe he heard the insane lust fest going on in my brain.”

“Baby girl, that was definitely not a lust fest. You weren’t picturing him naked doing dirty things to you, right? You were merely appreciating the perfect work of God’s hands,” Zahari waggles her eyebrows.

She looks over my head and sees something she likes. I know this, because she lowers her eyes and shakes her head and says, “Mm.”

“What?” I grin.

“Just…appreciating the perfect work of God’s hands,” Zahari grins, not looking at me anymore.

I look over my shoulder and there is Jonathan LeBlanc, collecting plates and now staring over this way. A brilliant smile parts his thick lips, and he tosses a wink to my best friend.

“You need to walk over there,” I poke her in the ribs. “Admire him from up close, so he can return the favor.”

“Lawd a’mercy, what kind of crazy modern woman do you take me for?” Zahari throws a hand to her chest dramatically.

“The kind who pictures that perfect work of God’s hands naked,” I deadpan.

“Hey, hey, it was only one time. And I didn’t know Nadia was right there,” Z holds up a corrective finger and grins.

“It also doesn’t help that your mind is like a freaking photograph,” I laugh. “Nadia was so red when she told me about it.”

Z is unashamed. “Hey, my gift is fine art. So I appreciate fine art… especially from the Master Artist. I mean seriously, God is so good at what He does.”

I shake my head.

Her eyes suddenly widen and she looks directly at my face. Her expression is a mixture of fear and elation.

“What is your problem?” I snicker.

“He’s coming over here,” Z squeezes my hand. “Uh… act natural.”

“I don’t know why people always say that. I’m not doing anything unusual. Talking to you in the middle of the dining room is totally normal for me.”

“I realize that, but, he makes me really nervous. So, I just want you to act normal so that I can try and feel normal.”

“You’re good at hiding your nerves,” I tell her. “I can feel your insides in a knot whenever he talks to us, but you keep your cool. I envy that so much.”

“Don’t –“ she reprimands. “It’s not that great of a skill. Playing hard to get is not fun for me.”

“Yes it is,” I roll my eyes. “It’s fun for every girl who is capable of it.”

“You aren’t missing much,” she tells me.

“Says the girl who has the ability,” I counter.

“Hello, ladies,” Jonathan walks up to us with a stack of dirty plates in his hands. “Do you have anything for me?”

Zahari covers my mouth, heading off the onslaught. “No, I think we’re okay. How are you, Jonathan?”

“I’m just fine, cher,” Jonathan smiles at her. “And yourself?”

“About the same,” she shrugs.

“So, there’s supposed to be this really great club about twenty miles from here,” Jonathan says, balancing the plates and keeping his eyes on Zahari. “I was thinking maybe we… I mean, a group of us, could go and check it out this weekend.”

“Me? Dancing? Jonathan, you obviously don’t know me very well,” I pipe up.

 “Oh, mon ami, it’s not so hard. You just move your body to the music,” Jonathan laughs. “Most of those people will probably be drunk and won’t care about your skill or lack thereof, anyway.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it actually sounds like it could be a lot of fun. Don’t you think so, Z?” I grin at her, and Zahari pinches me where Jonathan can’t see for forcing her hand.

“I love dancing,” she admits. “I haven’t ever been to a club before, though.”

“It’s wonderful,” Jonathan explains. “I’ve only been once or twice, but when the music’s good, it makes for some good memories. What do you say, girls? Are you interested?”

“You don’t mean just us three, do you? I mean, I’d hate to be the third wheel,” I say, wanting to laugh at my OG of verbal diarrhea ruining any out for Zahari.

“No, I was thinking of asking a handful of good friends to make it more interesting,” Jonathan smirks, knowing I can’t help my brutal honesty.

“I’d love to tag along, then,” I say, trying to subtly elbow Zahari in the gut.

“Count me in,” Zahari says, trying to keep her voice collected.

“It’s settled then,” Jonathan smiles. “We’ll see if Lydia will let us borrow her SUV, and we’ll go as a group.”

“Just curious, Jonathan dear,” I lean forward a little conspiratorially. “Who else were you planning on inviting to this little outing?”

“Well, who else did you have in mind? I was thinking Nadia and Charlotte may enjoy it, as well,” Jonathan shrugs.

“Oh, okay. That’s fine. They would have a lot of fun,” I shake my head.

“Did you mean a certain man who just happens to be staring at you right now, like always?” Zahari points over Jonathan’s shoulder in revenge. I follow the direction of her finger with my gaze, and it lands on Lucas Browning’s face.

He smiles at me, and my stomach knots.

“Yeah,” I nod, “We should invite Lucas. He’s new, and I’m sure he’d like to be included.”

“Of course, mon ami. I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Jonathan winks.

“Yeah right,” Zahari says sarcastically.

I just keep my mouth shut, avoiding the come-hither eyes I’m trying not to see.

 

___________________________________________________

now i'm feelin' so fly, like a G6.

 

 

Friday night comes a lot faster than any of expected, and when the sun goes down we find ourselves piling into Lydia’s huge pearl white Cadillac Escalade. Lydia has been avoiding us by hiding in her office this week, as Ms. Regina Ward is coming on Sunday afternoon to discuss important matters with her, so we do not see much of her – she does not even wake us with loud rap music in the morning.

This fact allows me to look forward to the copious amounts of wall-shaking bass I am going to hear in the next few hours.

I am admittedly a little nervous, even though I am dressed in some of my cutest clothes and my high-top black Converses, and I’m ready to get out of the boarding house and have some fun. With me are Nadia, Charlotte, Louise, Wyatt, Lenny, and Lucas Browning, while Jonathan is driving and Zahari is riding shotgun (at Jonathan’s subtle request). My blood is electric in my veins, and I am shoved none-too-gently by Charlotte into the backseat beside Lucas, and she sits beside me so that I cannot escape. I have been practicing for the past two days keeping my thoughts in check, and I do very well all afternoon. But then his leg is touching my leg, and we are sitting hip to hip, and as Charlotte refuses us breathing room, Nadia crushes Charlotte even closer to me, pushing me even closer to Lucas Browning.

“I’m sorry for crushing you,” I half-smile up at him apologetically. “We girls are kind of used to hanging out in packs.”

And then the bastard smiles back down at me, and all the barriers Nadia has taught me, that I have carefully constructed and reinforced tumble down to nothing. And all I can think about is how good he smells, and that our bodies are touching, and how awkward I am.

“It’s alright,” he reassures me. “You smell much nicer than my older brother did after hours in the Toyota Camry when we used to take long family road trips.”

I bite my lip and he winks at me, and I know he’s hearing all of my reckless inner dialogue. I wish that Nadia and Charlotte weren’t so obnoxious, and that I wouldn’t be such a little girl about sitting so close to someone so attractive, but I’m unable to help it.

He is still smiling, and inevitably still listening.

I apologize in advance for any embarrassing thoughts I may have in your direction, Lucas Browning. But I’m pretty sheltered, and when it comes to the opposite sex, I’m very awkward in general – let alone with someone who can read my innermost craziness. I make it clear I am not thinking toward Nadia, who is deep in conversation with Charlotte about getting song ideas for the New Year’s Dance.

He looks me right in the eyes and shrugs.

I take that to mean that it doesn’t bother him. Too bad it bothers me.

“Padiddle!” Zahari yells, and punches the ceiling.

“Dammit!” I yell. “How did I miss it?”

“What are you two talking about?” Wyatt laughs.

“It’s a game, Wyatt,” I explain. “The first person to see a car with a headlight out has to punch the ceiling and yell ‘padiddle’ to get a point. At the end of the ride, the person with the most points wins.”

“I was told that you have to call it first, because the rest of the passengers who don’t witness the missing headlight have to remove an item of clothing,” Lenny pipes up from the middle seat beside Louise.

“Oh, my God, Lenny, who have you been playing with?” Charlotte bursts out laughing.

“My older sister and her friends,” Lenny says innocently. “I kept winning, but they just laughed at me whenever I said ‘padiddle’, instead of… well, you know.”

“That is definitely not part of the objective, Len,” I assure him, insanely glad we’ve never been in the same car before tonight.

“That would be called Strip Padiddle, Leonard,” Lucas chimes in. “You don’t just start whipping your clothes off during a game of poker, do you?”

Dammit.

He snickers as I picture him taking his shirt off.

I punch him in the leg. Don’t be an ass. You totally set me up for that.

The right corner of his mouth, the side facing me, curls upward.

Thankfully, we arrive at the club before I picture any other clothing articles disappearing.

“Remember, everyone,” Charlotte takes the lead, already bobbing her head to the throbbing bass we can hear pouring outside, “keep your clothes on, don’t accept drinks from strangers, keep an eye on your glass at all times, and never, ever, attempt to do any of the dance moves I am going to dazzle you with tonight.”

Louise laughs. “That’s our humble Charlotte.”

Charlotte shrugs as we reach the door. “Hey, I just don’t want any injuries. You know I’d have to handle it, and I really just want to get down.”

I watch in envy as Charlotte makes her way to the dance floor, completely bypassing any unwanted conversation or thoughts of alcohol. Her moves are subtle at first, and I know she’s not trying to attract attention to herself or our group, but it’s like she can’t help it. The song changes and her body reacts accordingly, her moves are fluid and fascinating, and soon there are a lot of people – especially men – staring.

Lucas Browning is one of them. “Charlotte is…”

“Amazing,” I smile. “I swear that girl came out of the womb dancing.”

“That’s a really gross mental image, but you’re probably right,” Lucas agrees.

“It’s like her muscles are puppets and the music has the strings,” I say, and feel like a dork afterward. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” he laughs.

After a moment of awkward silence, he asks, “Do you mind if I join her?”

I’m taken aback by the nature of this question. “No, of course not,” I say. “I don’t know if she will mind – she kind of likes her space when she gets like this. But, I can’t dance like that, so, feel free.”

He grins at me. “We’ll have to see about that.”

I watch him as he throws himself in at the chorus of the song, dancing with unattainable rhythm, answering Charlotte’s impossible challenge with more precision than I could’ve imagined – let alone carried out for myself.

Louise lets out a low whistle at the circle that has formed around Lucas and Charlotte, pursing her lips like she wants to say something.

“Just say it,” I mutter.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she scolds.

“Done what? Let him do what he wants?” I scrunch up my face. “I don’t own him.”

“No, and now you’re never going to,” Louise shakes her head. “When a woman can move like that, there ain’t no competing with it.”

“That’s fine,” I shrug. “He can be with whomever he wants to. It’s not my place to tell him who he can or cannot dance with, let alone be attracted to.”

“Yes, but he likes you,” Louise rolls her eyes. “And I’m messing with you. He’s showing off for you right now.”

“Shut up,” I laugh.

“No, I’m serious,” Louise points. “Look, see that right there? He’s looking right at you.”

I’m looking at her as I’m listening to her, and haven’t noticed. I turn my eyes back to the crazed dancers, and Lucas tosses me a wink.

“Oh,” I say sheepishly.

“Grab Zahari and go out there,” Louise encourages. “I know this is your song. I’ve seen you two dancing to this in your pajamas plenty of times to know that.”

I grin as I recognize the Flo Rida song that is blaring right now, and before I can say anything else, Zahari is pulling me onto the dance floor.

“Girl, this is my jam!” Z hollers as she drags me.

I laugh and shake my head as she leads me into the crowd of people who have dispersed, as Lucas and Charlotte are taking a break from tearing up the first three songs. I focus all of my attention to the song, remembering the countless nights Louise mentioned, channeling ridiculous, pajama-wearing Georgia, instead of the terrified, shy person I feel like in this moment.

It starts with a twitch of my hips and a wave of my shoulders, and pretty soon I look like a regular, unabashed ho. Zahari is right with me, and the music leads us to carry out fabulous moves that we would never attempt in public otherwise.

The song changes, and the moves get a bit less appropriate, but we are having fun. And there is not a single drink in my system, just pure adrenaline running through my veins. Nadia has joined in now, with her hopping and arm-swaying, and now the three of us are dancing way too close together. My hair is sticking to my temples and my shirt is clinging to my body, but my hips will not stop swinging.

I am white, I am sweaty, and I am very much alive.

 

Right now, you are listening to Charlie Daniels Band (I mean come on. Be proud to be a rebel, 'cause the South's gonna do it again.). A minute ago, it was La Roux, and before that, Justin Bieber -- whom you just decided you like last night, and now your sister won't talk to you even though she loves Lil Wayne. You are a complicated soul, your room is always a mess (you're supposed to be cleaning it right now, and instead you're writing a letter to your older self -- in case you didn't know already, you're a huge procrastinator), laundry tends to pile up, and you're way too loud most of the time. You're trying to write a novel in thirty days, which is going pretty well, all things considered (it's actually kind of interesting so far, if I do say so myself). You're working forty hour weeks chasing 18-24-month old kids around all day, keeping them out of trouble, changing their diapers, cleaning up after them, reading them stories. You love it and even though you haven't found your niche with your coworkers yet, you're doing better -- cut yourself some slack, it hasn't even been 2 months of knowing them, and them knowing you. Your list of friends is small, but you know you could call any one of them at the drop of a hat with a problem or a need or even just news, and they would be there for you and you would do the same for them, because that's what real friendship is.

You don't talk to God enough, which there's no real excuse for, but you do still thank Him for what you have, and you know where good things in your life come from -- and it isn't your own hands. You're just starting to learn how to let go of selfishness, especially with money (because of worrying you won't have enough if you open up your clenched fists and share it), which is a daunting lesson to tackle. You haven't been obsessing (much) about the fact that you're still very single, even being surrounded by kids all week, which is something that I'm proud of you for. And even though it's hard and weird, you're starting to develop this little thing called your own life. It's good for you, and everyone who loves you will understand and make room for it; but that doesn't mean you need to be fully selfish and ignore everyone else's needs (so, in the recycled words of Ethan Tremblay, 'check yourself, before you wreck yourself').

You love saving pictures from the internet (especially Tumblr) like a high school girl; you love collages made out of magazine cuttings and said internet pictures (you have a book with Klare, Abbi and Danika just for that, and have talked about getting one with Tiffany); your love for Lynyrd Skynyrd has everything to do with your adoration of the South and nothing to do with a taste for whiskey (which you've never tried) -- and has even leaked into your current novel; your taste in music cannot be nailed down to one word (now it's Vampire Weekend... go figure); you enjoy video games that have to do with shooting zombies (Left 4 Dead 2 is your favorite and this love even inspired ridiculous fanfiction, but the adoration started with Call of Duty's original Nazi Zombies level); you love the first 3 Twilight books and even though you're team Jacob and even though Edward and Bella finally get married in the fourth one you think it's kind of like bad fanfiction instead of a real book but respect Stephenie's right to do whatever she wants with her characters because they are HERS; you collect & save change and get excited when you cash it in at the bank because it's such an accomplishment; you wish you journaled more but can't seem to make the time; your walls are covered in so much random (cork squares with pictures and quotes, bulletin boards with collages, records held up with push pins that match the labels, art, Star Wars and Left 4 Dead 2 posters, drawings, song lyrics and Pokemon drawn on with washable markers, coloring pages) it looks kind of like a really sweet college dorm even though you didn't make it to a four-year college -- life had other plans; you love movies like Princess and the Frog & Enchanted without shame; you love graphic novels, comic books and the superheroes that dwell within -- mainly Batman and X-Men (cough, Wolverine, cough); you still eat like a child - chicken nuggets and fries are your favorite meal in the world and your best dishes you cook are grilled chicken and grilled cheese; you try to be an intellectual and read classic Literature but other than Little Women and Pride and Prejudice, you get kind of bored and feel stupid because of it; you love your Beetle (Chewie!) that you've had since you were sixteen because it's amazing on gas, and freaking adorable, even when it costs you money for parts to fix it; your dad and you still dream about hitting the lotto and starting a huge crazy ministry because that's really your hearts; you love everything about the South and can't wait to move to Tennessee someday, but are trying to love where you are in the meantime...

Your little sister is really more like your best friend -- you need to work to keep it that way, because she is amazing, and you guys have way too much in common besides just your bloodline; your little brother is growing up too fast and you adore him but you two fight a lot because you're both mouthy jerks sometimes; your twin lives too far away and you miss each other but you guys mail random crap between Indiana and Pennsylvania because that's just how you are; your best friend (the one you never thought you'd keep from high school, who turned out to be a sister to you, whom you could not replace) treats you to Starbucks without letting you get a word in and you guys always say you're gonna hang out for like an hour and end up talking (or hitting Sheetz and McDonald's with her crazy-ass husband) all night because there is so much to be saidyour dad is awesome and helps you save a trillion dollars because he's like a freaking mechanic/handyman/contractor and can fix anything: do not ever freaking forget that, you owe him so much that he won't let you repay (and this includes living in his house rent-free); your mom is another on your very short list of best friends and you treasure her, though I don't think that will really change when you ever get to move out - I think it can only get better because you're honest with each other and know each other better than anyone else, down to what she likes on her corn on the cob; you're doing better keeping your jealousy in check, which is allowing you to have a better relationship with your brother's girlfriend of almost four years whom you adore (and love her sister, too, because they are both amazing people) -- you can't ever listen to "Sexy Chick" without thinking about her because it is the soundtrack of your Christmas shopping tradition together; you're weird and hard to get but the people who do wouldn't have you any other way.

I'm sure there is a lot more I haven't written down. That's okay. You'll probably remember, I just want you to have a tangible glimpse of who you are, right now, at twenty-one.

I don't know what you're doing right now with your life as you're reading this. And to be perfectly frank, I don't give a damn. That's up to us. Each day is another step on the path of life, and that's all that it is. You're in your Father's hands. You're growing up, and things are going to change. Let it happen. Be yourself, do the work it takes to repair your apathetic relationship with your savior, work hard, and make amazing memories. Take more pictures: even the little things you love now will make you smile down the road. Recover your love for taking video and editing it -- you'll want that for life now, and your life in the future. Let go of others' opinion of you, something that tends to choke you. Become who you are, who you were made to be. Just LIVE. You're coming out of hiding, and stretching out your wings, and that's a huge step. Don't forget to congratulate yourself. Tiffany is so proud of you (and addicted to your story) that she treated you to Starbucks just because you're sticking to your writing commitments. I mean, that's gotta mean something, right?

Love the life you have. Stop worrying about what you don't. Chances are, you don't really need it.

Your lips, my biggest weakness:
shouldn't have let you know 
I'm always gonna do what they say.
♥

“You look like you just spoke face-to-face with the harbinger of death,” Charlotte is lying upside-down on my bed, writing a list of party items in charcoal pencil. There are glamorous miniature doodles all over the borders of the page. “Spill, please.”

I sink down into the closest giant beanbag and hook my fingers in my thick, dark brown hair. “I just slapped Lucas Browning across the face.”

“What?” Charlotte jumps up and falls backward onto the floor, throwing her usual grace out the window to make way for surprise. She scrambles to her knees. “Why on earth would you feel the need to slap that beautiful, perfect, chocolate-dipped jaw?”

I screw up my face. “First of all, that’s a really gross euphemism for stubble, please don’t use it around me anymore. Second of all, it’s because he interrupted my first freaking kiss…”

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE,” Charlotte holds up a hand, walking on her knees over to where I had fallen. “Your what? With who?”

“Whom,” I correct automatically. “And, my first kiss. With Ellis.”

“Ellis Hill? The mailboy?” Charlotte’s face is a mixture of impressed and mocking – something only she could pull off, ever. “My, my, Georgia Lynn Freebird, what dirty little fantasies you have. Okay, go on, so you’re about to suck face with our mailman, when…”

“Did I not emphasize the ‘first kiss’ part enough? I don’t know how much face sucking there would have been with someone as inexperienced as myself,” I muse.

“Yeah, yeah, moving on, kiss virgin! I want gory details, and I want ‘em now,” Charlotte pulls up the other huge purple beanbag and is now resting her tiny, fragile-looking frame in it.

“Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

“Not really,” Charlotte shakes her head. “Just get to the good stuff.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “So, Ellis hooks my hair behind my ear, and we’re leaning closer and closer to each other, and I can smell the coffee on his breath, when all of a sudden Lucas Browning butts in, and he’s all, ‘hey guys, is there any mail for me? I’m waiting for this super important – completely nonexistent! – letter from my folks and it’s supposed to come today.’ And Ellis leaves and I’m like, ‘What the heck is your problem, you’ve got some serious balls,’ and he’s like ‘yeah, I do, actually…’”

Charlotte interrupts me with her snorting laughter. “Oh my God, Georgia Lynn, you did not tell a man he has serious balls.”

My face turns instantly red. “I did! I didn’t mean it like that, and he knows it. Anyway, he’s all like, you don’t really wanna be kissing that guy. And I’m like, it’s none of your damn business who I wanna be kissing, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch. And he’s like, fine, screw up your life, you condescending little know-it-all. And then I smacked his face. And then I ran up here to talk to you. The end.”

“You guys are like, Jerry Springer drinking beer in his backyard,” Charlotte is still laughing. “And my God, the passion it takes to hit somebody you barely know. You guys have a serious spark. It’d do you some good to explore that, ya kiss virgin.”

I reach out and smack her leg. “Stop mocking my kiss virginity. I used to be really proud of it, because it was a lifestyle choice. Now it’s just starting to piss me off.”

Charlotte snorts. “I’d be pissed off too if I had just hit that, instead of hitting that – if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, ya big ho, I catch your drift. You wanna know the worst part?” I cringe.

Charlotte gives me a look. “Does George Michael like boys?”

“Yes,” I nod, and get her meaning. “The worst part is that the whole time he’s making my blood boil from being such a total dick, he’s making my stomach tie itself in knots just because he’s talking to me. Like, I just wanted to jump up and throw my arms around his neck and be all, ‘take me now, sailor!’ …makes me feel like a slut.”

“You aren’t a slut, Georgia. You’re attracted to a man. That isn’t a mortal sin. It’s perfectly natural, and a really awesome thing when handled properly,” Charlotte smiles sideways, like a proud mother. “I’m kind of excited about this. I’m used to being the only one with man-crushes. But you got yourself a perfect specimen for us to dish about now and that makes me really, really proud. I seriously can’t wait until you start asking me really embarrassing questions about tongues and hands and…”

I interrupt her. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte grins and stands up, patting me on the head as she starts to walk out of the room. “Okay, sorry, my darling little KV. I’ll keep those to myself until the time is ripe. Just know, your kissing expert is right here waiting for you when you need those vital answers.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, Charlotte Reese,” I mock her as she disappears from the doorway.

Left alone for a rare moment of peace, I release a heavy sigh and try to let my mind settle as each of the puzzle pieces of the day wriggle into place.

One, I am starting to believe that I should just label myself a counselor and just be okay with that. It makes sense logically, and I want to take that on, but for some reason, it doesn’t sit right in my guts. I wish it would – things might be a little less complicated.

Two, Regina Ward is coming here, here – to Autumn Creek Lodge, to speak with Lydia about something important which she cannot name for whatever reason. I don’t know what to think about that, other than to worry, so I push that piece aside.

Three, I almost got my first kiss this morning, from my morning mail friend Ellis, and my mind is still reeling over that in itself. What on earth possesses a man to just lean forward over a stack of envelopes and try to kiss her? Did I invite him to press his lips to mine? Is my body speaking in a come-get-it sort of language that I don’t realize it’s speaking?

And four, Lucas Browning interrupting my first kiss for God only knows what reason, and then I smack him in the face – something I have always secretly wanted to do to someone, I don’t know why – and then he just walks away and lets it go, at least for the time being, and I still can’t get his blazing hazel eyes out of my head. He stares at me whenever my eyelids cover my vision. And the more he does, the more I want him to be the one to teach me how to kiss a man. These thoughts are so unwarranted, it makes me feel completely foreign in my own skin, and I wonder for a brief moment if he is a projector like the Baxter boys. (Those little brats need someone to just take a switch to their behinds, if you ask me. Thirteen year old terrors, those! I don’t enjoy being under the same roof with such a creepy gift. But I guess you could say that about Nadia, so I should keep my mouth shut about it.)

What is Lucas Browning’s gift? I hear he’s a reader, but I still have no real idea about him, and yet I want to chase him down and ask him a million questions.

I am beginning to question my own sanity.

Especially since I am now standing up and running for the hallway, so I can chase down the man whom I just slapped across the face and ask him my million questions.

 

“Nadia, have you seen Lucas anywhere?” I ask her as I pass her in the long hall to the library.

Nadia looks at my disheveled breathlessness and raises her eyebrows. “No, Georgia, I haven’t. Lydia may know where he is. Or you could just… y’know, keep looking for him.”

“Gee, thanks, you’re a gigantic help. I’m so glad I asked you,” I say, snide and short.

She frowns. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry, Nadia. I’m just feeling really impatient. I need to talk to him, and I can’t find him, and it’s making me mad. It isn’t your fault.”

Nadia smiles knowingly. “It’s alright. I can tell you’re frazzled. And you might wanna rein in the frustration – your worries are like a home movie rolling in my brain right now. You really hit him in the face?”

“I’ll explain later,” I squeeze her hand and continue seeking out the source of my most recent bout of insanity.

 

I feel more and more like a huge idiot as I run down hallways and open doors. I decide when I hit the lobby for the third time that I am heading outside to enjoy the cooling down of the afternoon, praying it gets as cold as it was this morning and just run into Lucas Browning whenever it happens naturally. Chasing him down is the stupidest idea I’ve had in a while, so, I stop trying, slinging my white scarf that is covered in rainbow colored polka dots around my neck, and push open the front doors just as someone is trying to pull them from the exterior. I hit said person quite hard with the door, and apologies instantly begin falling from my chapped lips.

“Oh my goodness I am so sorry, I didn’t know you were there—“ I stop short as I register who I just plowed over carelessly.

“At least it was an accident this time,” Lucas Browning says. His tone is light and my heart is in my throat.

“I—“ My voice catches in my throat, hitting into my heart, causing a ten-car-pile-up in my windpipe.

“Hold on a minute. I think I need to go first, if that’s alright…” Lucas Browning steps away from the door and gestures with a sweep of his arm. “Would you mind taking a walk with me?”

I swallow hard, and force myself to say, “No, I don’t mind. I was headed out here anyway.”

“Shall we?” He holds the door open for me and waits patiently until I step out onto the small patio before the huge staircase. I look down at the paved structure so that I do not trip over my own two feet, and quietly thank him for holding the door.

We walk down the steps in silence, the tension in my gut is not pleasant, and just as I wish for him to start the inevitably awkward conversation, he parts his perfect boy lips and does just that.

“I wanted to apologize for my rude behavior earlier. It was uncalled for, especially since I am neither your father, brother, nor your best friend. It was unfair of me to assume that you would welcome my clumsy attempt at chivalry. It’s difficult for me not to be protective of you…because you remind me so much of my younger sister, Kylie. And if some guy were blatantly playing on her naïve, trusting heart – like that… mail carrier was doing to you, there is no way I’d be able to stay out of it,” he explains.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his way-too-perfect milk chocolate brown hair. I realize then that I am developing a tiny ulcer in my mouth from biting the inside my cheeks so frequently.

“Can you please forgive my impulse? Such unwarranted involvement will not interrupt your life ever again,” Lucas Browning promises, turning the full disarming arsenal of his face to me, his hazel eyes wide and his lips in a straight line with earnest contrition.

“It was unwarranted in my eyes, but not unwelcome in the future – if you promise to be honest with me about what prompted your brother bear tendencies,” I offer.

His crooked smile reappears, wrinkling his lovely face in the best possible way, and I try very hard to protect my thoughts – just in case.

“I heard both your voices and had a vision of him taking…something of yours that does not belong to him, which turned you into a total zombie – depression, reclusion, solid white-gray eyes – afterward. I knew that if you kissed him, it would lead to a huge list of regrets you couldn’t take back,” he tells me, his tone honest and gentle. And even as he regaled of poor decisions and lack of proper judgment on my part, I found his voice beyond alluring.

“And I wouldn’t be able to forget, either. Not even as time passed,” I sigh, tugging at a loose thread along the bottom of my black long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Yeah, I definitely beat myself up over things way too long after they happen,” Lucas Browning admits in what he believes is agreement, pulling on his left earlobe thoughtfully.

“No. I mean, I can’t forget anything. It’s part of my…curse, gift, whatever you want to call it. My memory is flawless. I can’t remove anything from it,” I explain.

“So that argument we just had today…” he asks.

“I can’t ever say, ‘it’s already forgotten’, because it isn’t the truth,” I shrug.

Lucas Browning cringes.

“Don’t worry about it, Lucas Browning. I’ll try not to hold it against you, since I’m pretty sure your intentions were good,” I smile, and I can feel that the expression is a little cocky.

“You can call me Luke, you know.” His voice lowers just barely, and takes on the slightest hint of flirtation. “I mean, everybody else does.”

“Well, I’m not like everybody else,” I say.

“I’ve noticed,” he agrees.

I smile and look down, because I’m grateful that he sees me, at least a portion of how clearly I see him.

Lucas Browning lets out a breathy chuckle. “So, you can’t lie. You have a perfect memory. You kiss mail boys. What else should I know about you?”

“My eyes change color,” I shrug.

“What? You mean like when you wear different colored shirts?”

“No, I mean, like, all the time. They change color of their own volition. Usually with my mood, though,” I clarify.

“So, you have mood rings for irises.”

“Basically.”

“That’s…”

“Bizarre? Off-putting? Creepy?”

“I was going to say that it’s kind of amazing, but, whatever works,” Lucas Browning’s eyes scintillate a bit.

I give him a sideways glance. “You’re a bit of a flirt, aren’t you?”

He smiles. “I have been accused of being charming, yes. But that’s not an OG or anything – that’s just my personality. Mama says I get that from my daddy.”

“How nice,” I smirk. “I was beginning to believe that smooth-talking was an Outsider Gift. Thank you for clearing that up for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he offers.

“So, you know the basics about me – though, sadly, I’m way more complicated than that – but what should I know about you?” I force myself to look away from him to take in the fleeting beauty of autumn’s landscape.

“Well,” he sighs lightly. “I am a seer – in case you didn’t catch that earlier. And, I have a younger sister –“

“Kylie,” I remind him.

“Flawless memory, weren’t kidding, got it. And, I have an older brother, Heath. He’s twenty-seven, married to his high school sweetheart, Norah, and they have two boys – Matthew, who is six and named after my dad, and Arnold, who is three, and named after my mom’s father.”

“What’s your mom’s name?” I ask, filling in the blanks he missed.

“Anna,” he says softly.

I feel a wave of honor and respect come over me, and I realize he thinks very highly of her.

“You really love her,” I smile.

He smiles back down at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I do, indeed. I only wish I could talk to her again. I miss her voice. She always knew just what to say.”

“Oh, my gosh, Lucas, I am so sorry,” I say quietly, touching his arm instinctively.

He looks over at me and seems completely distracted by my cold fingertips brushing his skin. I know they must be freezing, because when I pull away I leave a trail of goose bumps behind.

He stares at me, and I wish with every living cell that I could read his mind. I know I am thinking about his warm, light tan skin – the color of my morning coffee, mixed with too much creamer – and wondering what his skilled hands would feel like linked with mine… or touching my skin. I lose the staring contest first, dropping my gaze to the grass as my cheeks turn pink.

His crooked half-smile creases his profile that I behold in my peripheral vision.

“She’s not dead, Georgia. You don’t need to apologize. But she is in a coma, and has been for several months. I visited her every day until I couldn’t take it another second. I heard about this place – Autumn Creek – one night in my own dreams, the night that Mom’s doctor came to Dad to find out if she had a living will. She doesn’t, and my dad is a Christian who believes with all of his good, honorable heart and soul that my mother is going to wake up from this.”

“And you?” I ask gently.

“I… am not so sure that God is listening.” Lucas looks upward.

“He always does,” I assure him, conviction adding depth and color to my words. “He just doesn’t always answer right away – or in the way we expect. I know this may sound trite, Lucas, but I’ve learned it from experience. Sometimes when someone needs healed, they don’t fully recover – they die, and they get their health and their freedom with the One they loved with their lives. For them, it’s a beautiful reunion. But for us, it’s a trip through hell while we’re stuck here in our weak bodies.”

Lucas Browning is silent, thoughtful and probably brooding as we walk along the grounds. I quietly pray for the strength to say (or be) whatever Lucas needs me to.

“You didn’t tell me where you were from,” Lucas points out softly.

“Oh.” I scratch my forearm. “I’m from a little hick town in Pennsylvania, close to Gettysburg.”

“Like, the battlefields? No kidding?”

I give him a wry look.

“Oh. Well. I wasn’t sure if you could joke or not. But you use sarcasm well enough,” he teases.

“My OG has weird loopholes,” I shrug.

“Ah. Well, I’m from Maryland, near Baltimore.”

“So your mom is probably at Johns Hopkins, then,” I offer and instantly regret my lack of forethought.

“Yes,” he says graciously without making me feel (more) guilty. “They’ve been taking good care of her. Though, they’re also taking a lot of my dad’s hard-earned money.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what does he do for a living?” I ask.

“He’s a lawyer,” Lucas informs me with a sardonic smirk.

“You know, that explains so much,” I smile up at him. I wonder absently if his father is also where he got his impossibly good looks, and then want to smack myself.

“Yeah,” he says and I start a bit – thinking he was answering my inner inquiry, much like Nadia always does. “He is a really good one, too. Really intelligent and knowledgeable, but one of the few good, honest men left in the world – let alone in his profession.”

“Do you want to be just like him when you grow up?” I smile up at him.

Lucas grins and shows his white teeth, deepening the crease he has where a dimple would normally be.

One of these times, I am going to taste blood from chewing the insides of my poor cheeks.

“Isn’t that what every little boy wants?” Lucas asks, half-teasing, doing that impossibly attractive thing with his voice again.

Oh, wait. He’s just talking.

“I would imagine so. Though, I only have a twin sister – Nadia, whom you’ve met – and neither of us are boys, so I don’t exactly know from experience… but I always wanted to be like my mom,” I laugh. “Well, ‘til I became a teenager and my honesty became a big problem between us when I’d call her out on things even when it wasn’t my place. Thennnn I just wanted to avoid her as much as possible.”

“Yeah, I think my teenage years were the most difficult, especially with my Outsiderness,” he chuckles.

Lost in conversation, we do not realize we’ve already come full circle and are back at the front steps at Autumn Creek.

“Well, this is my stop,” I joke, throwing a thumb over my shoulder at the huge wooden doors.

“Mine, too. Fancy that,” he grins.

We walk up the stairs slowly and quietly, lost in our own thoughts, and he opens the door for me, which makes my heart squeeze.

“It was very nice talking to you, Lucas Browning,” I say once we are in the foyer.

“It was entirely wonderful talking to you, as well, Georgia Freebird,” he smiles.

I turn to walk away and he leans close and says in my ear, “And, I just thought I would let you know, I have been told many times that I get my good looks from my father, in addition to my charm.”

I gasp a bit as the truth occurs to me.

“You mean you’re a—“

“I find your voice to be extraordinarily pleasant to my ears as well,” he says, his voice low and his tone far too casual, before he strolls away.

 

 

I AM GETTING AHEAD TONIGHT. SERIOUS.

“Mutants don’t even exist, Georgia,” Lydia laughs.

“I am aware,” I tell her, looking up and smiling like an idiot. “I just wish there was an easy explanation for…whatever it is I am.”

Lydia is nodding her understanding, but pulls out a piece of sage advice. “There is no easy explanation for anything in this life, you know that. Things too easily gained are regarded with the least amount of gratitude.”

“I think I could be very grateful for the gift of simplicity,” I assure her, and she shrugs.

We arrive back at the boarding house in comfortable silence, just as the mailman is trekking up the long staircase to the front doors.

“Ellis!” I call out, my voice full of glee at seeing the back of his head.

Ellis looks over his broad shoulder at me, a shy smile making its way across his familiar face. He’s young, maybe twenty-five, with big blue eyes and light brown hair and a dimple in his chin.

“Hello there, Miss Georgia,” he drawls. “How are you this lovely Wednesday?”

“Better, now that you’re here,” I say, blushing a little as the words come tumbling clumsily past my teeth. “What did you bring me today?”

“I think I have two of your magazines,” he says. “Mind if I come inside to sort all of this out, Miss Lydia?”

“No, I don’t mind. Come on in, and have some breakfast, Ellis,” Lydia offers.

“Oh, thank you kindly, ma’am, but I need to be continuing my route after this,” Ellis tips his hat and holds the door open for both of us to walk through, like a true Southern gentleman.

Truth is, I have had a crush on him since the first time I opened the door to let him inside. It goes like this: I swing open the door, he is standing there holding his little mailbag, and I blurt out: “Wow, you’re really cute.”

I do not know why he is still so nice to me, or how we have become such good friends, but he doesn’t visibly flinch when I greet him at the door – he usually just smiles.

“Your eyes look especially lovely today, Miss Georgia. I’ve never seen such a light brown before – you know, in someone’s eyes,” Ellis smiles, blushing a little bit.

I bite the inside of my cheek. He is so cute.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, pulling on a strand of my hair and twirling it nervously.

“You’re surely welcome,” he says as he sets his mailbag down on the solid wooden coffee table in the huge foyer.

“Can I help you with anything?” I ask politely, when I realize I’ve just been staring at him.

Ellis smiles crookedly, showing half of his teeth. “It’s a Federal offense for you to be touchin’ on this here U.S. Mail, darlin’. Only those approved and certified like myself can do the…touchin’.” His eyes glitter with mischief – as he obviously realizes how dirty his words must sound to my ears.

“It should be a Federal offense for you to be so obvious about flirting with me,” I purse my lips.

“Well, now, where’s the fun in that law?” Ellis’ smile is still crooked and impish.

“I said it should be against the law, but I, personally, am quite glad that it isn’t,” I look down at my feet, biting my lower lip as I smile.

“So am I,” Ellis agrees as he collects the huge stack of mail for this highly populated living place. “’Specially since I kept this route so I could have this address. My day would be so boring without you in it.”

I swallow, trying to fight the crazed butterflies with a flood of saliva. It’s strange how very alone we are in this usually busy place, in the very open foyer. It seems as though we’re in a tiny room with a lot less oxygen than is healthy. “I would definitely miss you if you ever decided there was more to life than the U.S. Postal Service.”

“Oh, there may be, but this job is much more wonderful because of pretty eyes like yours,” Ellis rests a hand on the stack of sorted mail and levels his gaze so it is in direct contact with my own. “In fact, I ain’t never seen a more beautiful set of eyes in all my life – and I’ve met a lot of people in my line of work.”

His admission makes me feel much more thankful for my unique irises.

“Really?” I ask, without thought, swallowing again.

“Really, truly,” his voice is lower, and he leans toward me on instinct.

I copy his movement, drawn like a magnet, our eyes locked, everything else becoming enveloped in a slow motion haze…

This is it, I think as my terrified heart pounds ferociously in my chest. My first kiss – finally! I’m not going to be an old, never-been-kissed lady. I don’t have to start liking stupid, creepy cats!

Ellis reaches up and tucks a loose bit of my hair behind my ear; the touch of his fingertips to my skin makes me feel like shivering. I am about to close my eyes as he moves to close the gap, when a silky baritone voice interjects,

“Anything for me?”

I jump in surprise, my forehead crashes into Ellis’ forehead, and we both mumble curse words, rubbing our offended skulls.

The voice continues, and sounds like fake contrition lacquered over genuine pleasure. “I’m sorry, I really hope I didn’t interrupt an important conversation, I’m just expecting an urgent letter from home and I was hoping it had shown up today.”

I look up into Lucas Browning’s hazel eyes – the ones filled with total amusement – and I want to sink my short, glitter-covered fingernails into the light skin of his neck as I strangle him. The upward curve of his lips cannot be seen by Ellis, who is currently fixing his USPS hat.

“Name, sir?” Ellis’ voice is low and rough, and the tiny hint of malice in it surprises me.

“Lucas Browning,” he says smoothly in response.

Even when I’m angry with him, Lucas’ voice is like warm honey for the ears. The thought pisses me off, so I push it away quickly. The corner of his lips lifts again quickly, as if he heard me audibly, so quickly I swear I must’ve imagined it.

“I don’t have anything here for that name,” Ellis’ voice is calm and gentle again, but not sweet like it is whenever he talks to me.

“Well, damn. Maybe tomorrow then, huh? Thanks for looking, man, I really do appreciate it.” Even with his underlying sarcasm, Lucas is still very charming – and difficult to ignore. I chew on the insides of my cheeks in frustration.

Lucas winks at me, behind Ellis’ back.

My anger melts to attraction in a matter of milliseconds, which drives me absolutely nuts. I don’t understand how this kid has a hold on me like this, so quickly and so unwelcome.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ellis shrugs the mailbag back onto his shoulder. He still hasn’t looked away from my face. “See you tomorrow, Georgia.”

“I’ll be here,” I promise and wave as he walks out the door. As soon as he is halfway down the huge brick-paved steps, I whirl around, glaring at Lucas Browning with all my frustrated might.

“What the heck is your problem?” I demand, crossing my arms.

“You don’t wanna be kissing that guy,” Lucas warns condescendingly.

I blink, confused by his candor. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, you really don’t want to be kissing that guy,” he repeats slowly, as if I’m mentally incapable of comprehending his words at normal speed.

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. That’s what I thought you said. You’ve got some serious balls, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he smirks, and I realize the innuendo and instantly wish I could take my words and shove them back down my throat.

I grind my teeth, trying to get the words to come out right. “What I mean is, douchebag, is that you don’t have a right to tell me who I should or should not be kissing because it is absolutely none of your business. You don’t even know me.”

Lucas’ maddening calm makes my skin itch. “You’re not that hard to read, sweetheart. And that little puke had you eating out of the palm of his hand. Do you know how many other girls he says that to? The reason he has this route is because nobody else wants to walk up all those damn old stairs to deliver packages to the freak parade. Wake up, kid. I thought you were a counselor?”

I bristle at his casual use of labels. “I don’t know what I am yet – that’s why I’m here. My gifts are weird and don’t fit together. And I’m not a kid, I’ll be twenty-two in a few months, and I really don’t need your sass!”

“Oh, God forbid I sass you, in the process of doing you a huge favor!” Lucas raises his voice. “And no, I don’t know you that well yet, but I’d like to – too bad you’re much more interested in kissing pack mules in blue button-up shirts than getting to know someone who might actually understand where you’re coming from!”

“Doing me a huge favor? Ha! You don’t even know Ellis. I’ve talked to him every morning for the past eight and a half months, and he is one of the kindest men I have ever met in my life.” I growl, my hands trembling with my growing anger. “And again, allow me to make it very clear that it’s none of your damn business who I want to kiss, you arrogant son-of-a-bitch!”

Lucas’ jaw is set, his chin jutting forward, until he barks out, “Fine! You want to go ahead and spill your secrets to some devoid mail lackey, that’s your problem. It’s your life, so go ahead and screw it up. I’ll be sure and stay the hell out of it, you condescending little know-it-all!”

Before either of us can blink, I slap him right across his gorgeous, cocky face. The sound my open palm makes against his cheek echoes down the hall, and at first I feel intensely satisfied, but then, my stomach drops. His nostrils flare and his jaw sets tightly right as mine drops loosely in shock at my own actions.

I expect to be thrown down on my ass, or at least screamed at some more, so I brace myself for either (or both). Instead, Lucas Browning bunches his hands into fists, closes his big hazel eyes, exhales slowly through his nose, and loosens his hands before turning around and walking completely away from me.

I take my trembling limbs and run headlong for the stairs to my bedroom.

Less than two hundred words shy and I have to throw in the towel because I'm exhausted.

“What do you think she wants to talk to you about? It must be serious if she is coming all the way here,” I muse, my senses heightened with fear.

“She wouldn’t tell me anything specific,” Lydia’s forehead wrinkles a bit. “Just that it was important and it involves our shelter.”

“That’s…vague and disconcerting.” I scratch my cheek.

“I’m trying not to worry, but Ms. Ward is not exactly the most reassuring personality I’ve had the pleasure of knowing,” Lydia sighs.

“She struck me as very cold,” I admit.

“Well, she is very businesslike about everything, like her brain is always making all sorts of calculations. But she does care about Outsiders, to be sure. She has spent her entire adult life dedicated to the creation and upkeep of the Network.” Lydia continually seeks out (and usually finds) the good in people.

I am not so gracious.

“She’d better care, especially if she’s one of us,” I scowl. “We’re not a science experiment, and we’re not freaks. We need someone who understands working on our behalf, keeping us safe.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” Lydia half-smiles at my outburst.

I look at her seriously, inspecting her too-calm exterior. “Safe from whatever has you completely freaked out right now.”

Lydia’s smile fades, but the creases in her forehead smooth away as well. “So, what part of your childhood should we explore today?”

I still feel unsettled, but I obediently reply, “I was thinking my sixth birthday. I want to remember what flavor the cake was.”

“Well,” she ignores my sarcasm, “You tell me.”

“It was chocolate, kind of dry but still good because when you’re six you don’t really think about whether or not chocolate cake is moist – it’s like soft spongy candy you’re allowed to eat the whole day – and the frosting was pink butter cream. It was covered in Barbie paraphernalia because that was the year that Nadia and I decided we were Barbie doll collectors. This was also the year that Nadia first spoke to anyone outside of our immediate family,” I smile.

“Really? What did she say?” Lydia inquires casually, a tone I recognize as the one she uses to help draw my memories to the surface for recollection. I don’t know how she does it, but it certainly helps me.

“She said, ‘Aunt Janet, can you please stop picturing my Daddy naked around me? It’s not as creepy when Mommy does it.”

Lydia smiles, deepening her dimples and wrinkling the skin around her eyes.

“My mother is horrified, she can’t even breathe. My father is choking on his bite of shrimp cocktail, my aunt Janet’s face is so red I don’t even recognize her, and my uncle Rick grabs his jacket and car keys and mutters, ‘I f---ing knew it,’ before striding right out of our front door.” I shake my head. “The irony is, my uncle never ever asked how Nadia knew Janet was picturing my dad in the nude, he just took it as confirmation that my mom’s sister really was a whore. And my dad had never been more than obligatorily polite to my aunt, because he was always so put off by how overtly flirtatious she was – especially toward him. My mom had always been the pure one. Needless to say, Mom and Janet haven’t spoken in 15 years, not even when uncle Rick divorced her sorry ass fourteen years ago.”

“That’s actually kind of a sad story,” Lydia says. “I’m glad I can keep my thoughts pure around you guys.”

“Just around us?” I joke. “All seriousness, Lydia, our family is better off. My aunt Janet has always been kind of…psycho. I don’t really miss her, or her really gross perfume she poured all over herself. Besides, I’m sure if Nadia hadn’t scared her off by now, my ruthless mouth would have.”

“You just don’t have the hindrance of polite discretion,” Lydia offers. “Most of us would love to be that honest, but fear of rejection usually stops us in the end.”

“I’m honestly – ha – surprised that I have any friends left at all,” I hook my hair behind my ear swiftly. “Most people are instantly put off by my wonderful superpower.”

“Most people may be, but I respect you for talking at all.”

“What do you mean?” I scrunch up my face.

“I mean, a lot of people with your gift would just go into hiding to keep from causing any unwanted awkwardness,” Lydia points out.

“That sounds like the smarter option,” I laugh.

“More like the coward’s way out,” Lydia pokes me in the shoulder. “You are so much stronger and more honorable than you give yourself credit for. I, for one, am very proud of how much you’ve grown in less than a year here.”

“Thank you,” I say shyly. “I know you’re right.”

“And it would serve you well to remember that fact,” Lydia gently chastises. “You are dear to my heart, and I want to se you become the whole person you can while you are under this roof. Work as hard as you can while you have the time and a safe place to fall. Those who are less than understanding will be found all over God’s earth. You have to find those who are worth keeping, and hold on with both hands.”

I realize as we are walking back through the trees toward the huge boarding house that it is unseasonably warm out for November. Granted, I am used to the chill in the air of the battlefields of Pennsylvania, but I suddenly long for my breath to be stolen and my cheeks to be kissed by cold winds.

“I will keep that in mind,  for your sake and mine,” I tell her, kicking a dead, brown leaf out of my path.

“Good. Speaking of people who are worth it… have you spoken to our newest roomie yet?” Lydia’s eyes take on the light of a teenager who has a juicy secret.

“Do you mean Lucas?” I ask, scrunching up my eyebrows.

“Of course I mean Lucas,” Lydia smirks. “We don’t have any other new roomies.”

“Oh. Well, then, yes. I have spoken with him, briefly.” I shrug.

“He is a very nice young man. I am quite impressed by him.” Lydia’s upbringing in a wealthy family, high in society, often comes out in her prim and proper use of the English language when she speaks, which always makes me smile.

“He is very nice,” I nod my head in agreement. “Handsome, too.”

“Is he?” Lydia says with a squeak in her voice and a smirk still in place. “I hadn’t really noticed.”

“Sure you hadn’t. I mean, yeah, he’s basically gorgeous. But he’s a prophet, which is really dangerous.” I shudder.

“Why are prophets dangerous?” Lydia raises a curious eyebrow.

I give her a look. “Because, unless their prophecies play out as proof of their words, there’s no way of knowing what they’re saying is true and no way of really trusting them.”

“You’re referring to Jazmin Santos,” Lydia’s voice takes on an understanding tone.

I shake my head in disgust. “She was such a skillful liar. I don’t know why I didn’t trust my senses about that. Either way, she didn’t get away with much, and for that I can be grateful.”

“It’s not your fault you’re kind of naïve,” Lydia smiles. “It’s a good thing – it helps you keep your innocence. It also is part of your gift. So be grateful.”

I pout a little bit. “I’m not grateful. I hate it. I wish I could just be all jaded and cynical like everyone else.”

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Lydia pinches my cheek. “But you wouldn’t be your amazing self if you were.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re practically my mother.”

“I am not,” Lydia frowns. “Your mother is a wonderful woman. She just couldn’t help you grow like I can. She doesn’t understand how you think like the people who live here, because she can only sympathize – not empathize. Seriously, talk to some of the elders – they’ve got horror stories to share. But your mom is a devoid, and you can’t help that any more than she can.”

“I wonder why Nadia and I are so special, then? As far as I know, my dad is a devoid, too, yet we are Outsiders. How does that even happen?”

“You know as well as I do that there is no explanation for Outsiders, Georgia,” Lydia bites her cheek. “Scientists have been trying to figure us out in secret for decades. But we aren’t X-Men, there is no mutated gene in us that gives us abilities.”

“I know,” I sigh, “we just use a higher percentage of our brain. But no one knows how or why it happens. I wish there was just a super simple explanation. Like, I could carry my Mutant card and think of myself as a superhero. Instead, I’m a weirdo who can’t forget anything.”

 

“Come on, now, that isn’t fair,” Charlotte scolds, flopping down into a nearby beanbag chair. “He’ll make some desperate girl a fine little whipping post one day.”

“He really is kind,” I say, “he’s just so creepy. I don’t understand it.”

I crouch down to retrieve a large, transparent pink plastic bin from underneath my bed while Lottie watches curiously. I remove the lid and pull out a dark pink binder with a collage-plastered cover and hold it up proudly.

“Behold: ideas,” I exclaim, and she claps.

“See, I know about your artsy collage habit since we’re roomies. And I knew you’d be good at this whole planning thing,” Charlotte says, jumping up out of the beanbag seat and landing on my bottom bunk gracefully.

“So, you just want to use my creativity?” I peer at her sideways.

“Basically,” she shrugs.

I find that it’s much easier to get honesty in return from your friends when truth is all that you can successfully give away.

“Fair enough,” I shrug it off and sit down beside her.

She is eager like a little girl when I turn to my fantasy pages – foil stars and pictures of twinkle lights in pure white cover them, with model-thin women in incredibly exquisite dresses toting impossibly gorgeous men dancing across the bottoms of the sheets of lined paper. When I get to my interpretation of a black and white affair, we both gasp in awe of the loveliness.

“That’s the one,” Charlotte points a small finger at the stark contrast laid out before us.

“I agree,” I breathe, running my hand over more silver stars. “Lydia will be in charge of the music, Jonathan and Zahari will handle the food, you and I will definitely need some helpful volunteers for the decorating… but this could work. We should do it on New Year’s Eve – it’s a perfect excuse to have a big party. Lydia will be over the moon, I think, but I’ll run it past her at our meeting later…” I run off the mental checklist, but Charlotte is still just staring at all of the grayscale glory.

“What’s up? You are really quiet and distracted and it’s starting to freak me out,” I wave a hand in front of her too-serious face.

“Did you go to prom, Georgia?” she asks me, but her tone is distant.

“No, because Nadia and I were homeschooled,” I sigh. “It was always something I wanted to do, though.”

Charlotte’s eyes were far away and haunted as she stared off into space.

“I never made it to mine,” she begins.

I swallow, afraid of where this is going.

“My boyfriend Max was driving us to junior prom, and on the way there a man who was very, very drunk ran a red light to the left of us at seventy-two miles an hour. Max and I were both thrown from the car, and Max died on impact. The paramedics said I should have died too and technically, I did, but on the way to the hospital, in the ambulance, my heart started beating again on its own.”

I was struck dumb, and she swallows to compose herself, to continue.

“I remember the doctors were freaked out by my parents’ calmness when they found me. My mother couldn’t look at me, but my father told them he would take me home – that I could recover from this. The doctor in charge of my case insisted that I stay, at least for the night. In the end, I was simply in a deep sleep for a few days, but my broken bones healed without complication or scars. When I woke up, looking at me, it was like nothing had ever happened.”

Charlotte runs a hand through her short, messy layers of blonde hair and sighs. “That’s why I want to have this stupid dance. That’s why I’m reckless, and why I live my life without fear of consequences. I should have been dead, Georgia, and I survived. I loved Max very much, and he loved me back – my mother told me the first night I tried to kill myself that Max would want me to be as alive and free as I could.” Charlotte looks down at her little white hands and I see her brown eyes flooding with tears.

“Lottie, I’m sorry,” I squeeze her hand. I know there is nothing else I can say. She leans her head on my shoulder and I feel tears hitting my thin black shirt.

“Here I always thought you healers were just cocky like that because y’all can cheat death, and become fancy doctors without expensive degrees,” I tease her, even though I did think that about her at first. “But you actually have a legit reason to act crazy.”

“You’re really mean,” Charlotte laughs through her tears, “but I still love you.”

“Of course you do,” I snort. “Bitch, I’m awesome.”

“You speak the truth,” Charlotte smiles and wipes her eyes.

“All day, every day,” I roll my eyes.

“So, seriously, what’s it like feeling what other people feel? Do you suddenly feel like you had your heart cut out of you at sixteen which is why you can act like a total fool without feeling guilty?”

“Not quite. Most of the time, it’s really vague,” I admit. “Like, I feel your sadness, but I wouldn’t have known what it was about until you told me – wait.”

“What?” she asks. She closes up the binder with a loud whap.

My brow wrinkles in concentration. “I just had this same conversation, in reverse.”

“With whom?”

“Jonathan.”

“Isn’t Jonathan a Counselor?” Charlotte raises her eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Okayyy,” she prompts. “I thought you didn’t know what you were?”

I scratch my scalp above my right ear – a habit I’ve had since I was nine. “I didn’t – I don’t. But my gift is really sporadic, and I usually have to know the person before I get anything substantial from them.”

“Ohhh, so you didn’t notice the super sex vibes from Luke Browning, then?” Charlottle interjects coyly.

“Lucas Browning,” I correct as my face folds into a scowl. “I’m not really sure what ‘super sex vibes’ even are, so I’d have to say no, I did not notice them.”

“Girl, that boy is sixteen kinds of delicious. So, if you don’t want him, I will certainly take him off your hands.” Charlotte’s smile is absolute evil.

“He isn’t ‘on my hands’, Charlotte Reese,” I mock her with use of the middle name she hates.

“Do you want him to be?” Charlotte baits me.

“I don’t even know what you’re insinuating. But I find him very attractive, yes, and if he wanted me – well, I definitely wouldn’t turn him down. But if he doesn’t, which I’m fairly sure is or will be the case, you may have your evil, corrupting way with him.” The sarcasm and mockery flow freely.

“Yessss,” Charlotte pumps her fist in the air, punching the bunk above us at full speed, and then cradles the offended appendage to her chest, hissing through her teeth.

I am fully amused by her come-uppance. “Douche.”

Her fiery retort is interrupted by a rap on our doorframe.

“Georgia Lynn, you got a minute?” Lydia’s blazing red hair catches my eye as she pokes her head inside of the room.

“Yeah, I’m free. I thought we had a meeting later, though?” I get up from my seat on the mattress and Charlotte punches me right in the butt cheek. I grit my teeth and close one eye; her tiny fists are more effectual then you would believe.

Lydia smiles, all freckles and dimples. “We do, but I want to talk to you now, if that’s alright. I have something going on tonight, so I just figured if you weren’t busy, we’d up your meeting time.”

“Fine by me,” I say, but turn around to look at Charlotte. “You gonna be alright planning our crazy shindig for an hour or so?”

Charlotte smiles up at me like a grateful little sister. “Yes, Mama, I’ll be just fine while you go and have a big grown-up talk.” Her tiny, pale white legs dangle over the edge of the pillow-top mattress, a stark contrast from my pinkish-red sheets and the black bunk bed frame.

“Okay, but don’t use the oven or light any candles while I’m gone, dear. You remember what happened last time,” I tease.

“I won’t,” she calls after me as I follow Lydia out the door.

“So, what shindig is she planning?” Lydia asks as she links our arms together comfortably. We are very much like a big family, us Outsiders. And Lydia is like our crazy yet soft-spoken, red-headed mama.

“We want to have a big black and white formal to celebrate New Year’s Eve,” I explain, though I’m curious as to what she wanted to move our meeting for.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea to me,” Lydia says, obviously pleased. “I’ll help in any way I can, for sure.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“I know you’re probably wondering why I am not just talking to you in sifting class like we planned…” Lydia sighs. “But we can’t have our usual class because I have a very, very unexpected visitor coming.”

“Really? Who is it?” I ask, my pulse spiking at her words.

“Regina,” she says quietly.

I swallow. “Regina, as in… Regina? Like, head leader of all things Outsider Alliance, Regina?”

All I remember of my first and only meeting with that woman is her very black hair, her light gray eyes, and her scarlet lipstick. She did not acknowledge me for more than two seconds when she was here last, and I was fresh off of my airplane. All I remember is being extremely intimidated.

Lydia turns her usually serene pale blue eyes to me, and they are full of something I can’t pinpoint. “Yes, Regina Ward, founder of the Outsider Alliance. She’s coming here because she has something important she has to discuss with me.”

i made it through the first week!
(...i wonder if anyone but my sister tiffany is reading this...)

haha. 

In my head, I half-smile at his transparency and say, “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”

In reality, it comes out like this: “Definitely not. He and my best friend sort of have something going on between them, and there’s no way I’d get in the middle of that. I’m not that kind of girl.”

Lucas raises his dark eyebrows and smiles slightly. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or taken aback by my honesty, but either way, it doesn’t affect the outcome.

“Are you always so honest?”

I look up to the ceiling, blowing up my bangs as I exhale upward. “It’s a curse. You ask me a direct question, you get an honest answer. Period. It’s not something I enjoy, but I can’t exactly help it.”

What I can only interpret as amusement lights his big hazel eyes. “What happens if you try to lie? Does your nose grow?”

“I am not Pinocchio,” I say, deadpan.

“I know,” he smiles. “But everybody can lie. It’s human nature.”

I make a frustrated sound in my throat. “I wish I were able to perform any sort of deceit, even just the slightest blurring of the truth to keep my dignity intact. However, I physically cannot lie. A lie, even if it forms in my head, will never come out of my mouth. It’s been that way since I was born. The words will literally not come out. Okay?”

“Okay.” His smile is still in place as I turn around. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Please don’t,” I discourage him as I am walking away.

His quiet chuckle behind me tugs gently on a thread from the protective sweater I’ve knitted around the outside of my heart.

 

“Jonathan,” I call out, and he looks up quickly from the dough he is kneading to catch my gaze.

“Yes, mon ami,” he responds, dropping his eyes back to his work, though I know he is listening.

I sit down at a stool at the huge kitchen island where he is creating edible art, and put my dirty dish on the granite in front of me. “I brought you my plate.”

Jonathan looks up at me quickly. “You did not come in this kitchen just for that.”

“No,” I sigh. “I didn’t.”

He smiles and drops his eyes again. “So tell me what it is you came to tell me. Is it about Zahari?”

The way he says her name makes me smile. “No, Jonathan. It’s about me. Try not to sound disappointed.”

Jonathan chuckles, but it does nothing to my stomach. “Georgia, I adore you. You are a treasure of a friend to me, and I care about what you have to say. But that woman, she makes me… crazy.”

“I know. She’s beautiful, right?” I coax him.

He looks up and cocks an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Yes, but not like that,” I burst out laughing. “I am definitely heterosexual, sweetheart. That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

“You came in here to discuss your sexual orientation with me?” he teases.

“Absolutely not,” I shake my head. “More like… the object of said orientation.”

“Ah,” he smiles. “Why don’t you talk to your sister about this?”

“Because, she probably already knows how he feels. And that just takes the fun out of it for me, you know?” I frown.

“You women are so complicated,” he shakes his head, laughing. “You say you wish you could know what we are thinking, but when you have a direct link to our thoughts, you shy away because you realize that you really do not want to know.”

 “Basically,” I smile ruefully, resting my chin in my hands.

Jonathan is gentle with his words now. “I understand, though. I would hate to be in other people’s heads all the time. I’m grateful to be a counselor instead.”

“What does your gift entail? Are you just this good at talking to everyone?” I ask, looking at him quizzically.

“Yes, but I also can figure out the underlying cause beneath anger or sadness,” he explains. “A trauma in your childhood, a broken relationship: these sorts of things are all easily revealed to me.”

“Isn’t that kind of like being in people’s heads?” I scrunch up my face, confused.

“Not quite,” he smiles. “It is more like empathy, or an understanding. And it is very vague. I will not know the exact event or the details of the problem until I ask you. But usually that knowing helps me to ask the right questions to get to the issue at hand.”

“That’s very helpful, I think,” I smile back at him. “You should be a psychologist when you leave here. You’d be so rich and famous, and I’d be able to say, ‘I knew him when he was at freak school, making beignets to woo his gorgeous wife’.”

Jonathan’s eyes wrinkle at my insinuation. “Wife, hm?”

“I can totally see it,” I tell him. “You two are perfect for each other.”

He hesitates, and I know he is trying to respect the details of my gift – or curse, whatever you want to call it – by not asking a direct question.

“Just ask me,” I sigh.

“Do you think… she can see it, too?” he asks, and his voice is the most unsure I’ve ever heard.

“Yes,” I smile broadly as I hop down from the stool. “I do think so.”

“Really?” he grins.

“Really truly,” I assure him.

“Hmm,” he says, and I know I am losing him to thoughts of her.

“You could ask Nadia to be sure, and if I’m wrong, you’ll just have to marry me,” I plant a tiny kiss on his milk chocolate cheek and skip out of the kitchen.

“Don’t tempt me like that,” he calls after me, and my laugh echoes down the hall.

 

Nadia, I think to myself. Where the heck are you?

“In here,” she says as I am passing the door to the library.

I smile and remind myself that sometimes, having a telepathic sister is not really all that bad.

“Why am I not surprised to find you in here?” I say as I plop into the giant old leather chair next to hers.

“Because both of our noses live in books,” Nadia shrugs.

“You’d think we’d enjoy our bizarre version of reality,” I muse, “instead, we love to escape it just like anyone else.”

Nadia smiles. “Sometimes, I’d kill for boring normalcy… like, a house on a hill and a big hairy dog, and no one’s thoughts but my own.”

“You know, if you had all that, you’d just want something crazy like telepathy or the ability to fly,” I point out.

She laughs. “You’re probably right.”

“Nadia, I know I’ve asked you this before, but what does it feel like to hear all those thoughts at once? Like, describe it for me.”

“Well…” Nadia stretches her legs out in front of her and closes her eyes. “I imagine it’s what life for a football team would be like if all of their fans’ simultaneous screams could rush through the TV’s airwaves and hit their ears. If they weren’t used to it, they’d lose the game. But as they practiced sorting the slew of voices, they could learn to pick out the encouraging words from fans who love them and want them to succeed, and could shut out all the rest.”

“That’s a freaking awesome take on it,” I declare. “I can picture a certain quarterback taking my words of love and support very seriously… maybe responding with a marriage proposal right there on the spot.” I lift my shoulders upward, squeezing them toward my face.

Nadia laughs. “Trust me; there are a lot of encouraging words that I get that I wish I’d never heard.”

“I don’t know how I’d handle that,” I admit.

She shrugs again. “You get used to it. But I don’t know how I’d feel about having the truth pouring out of me at every turn. I mean, not that I’m a compulsive liar or anything, I just keep some things to myself.”

“It’d be nice to have that option, I think,” I tell her. “But like you said, you get used to it.”

“I could get used to those gorgeous eyes of yours,” Nadia smiles at me. “They’re currently hazel. Is there any particular reason for that?”

She plays dumb, which would make me mad if I didn’t already want to tell her. I know she’s trying to give me privacy inside of my head, even though I want her to know.

“It’s probably because I was thinking about my conversation Lucas,” I shrug.

“And?” she nudges.

I frown. “And, he’s very attractive. So what?”

Nadia gives me a ‘duh, stupid’ look. “So, he asked you out on a date during your first conversation.”

“He did not,” I argue.

Nadia beams. “Yes, he did. He wants to take you to see Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

“Oh, please, Nadia. People say crap like that all the time when they find out they have something in common. It doesn’t mean he actually wants to go anywhere with me. Besides, he doesn’t even know me,” I swat a dismissive hand at her.

“Maybe not, but he wants to,” Nadia says coyly.

I give her a look. “Is that a fact, or speculation?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“What do you think?”

There is no possible way that attractive man wants me in any way, shape or form. So, I really don’t want to know if it was a date or not – better to not get my hopes up and oh my God please tell me it was a date please, please, please--

She takes a deep breath, deciding. “I think you want to know.”

I open my mouth to argue, and can’t.

“He has been watching you since he first got here, since you two first locked eyes.”

“We only ‘locked eyes’” —I make quotation marks with my fingers, mocking her—“for like, two seconds when Lydia introduced us, which was only because Zahari and I were walking by when they came into the lobby from outside.”

“Wasn’t there something completely magical in those two frozen seconds?” Nadia prods unfairly.

I choke on my choice of words, before the realest ones come out. “I thought about his face for hours when I tried to go to sleep. It was very cliché, and very stupid, and I don’t want to harp on it anymore.”

“Okay,” Nadia holds her hands up, like a white flag. “I won’t nag you about it. But we both know that Louise will, so keep your guard up around her.”

“I always do,” I promise.

“Then how did she see you naked this morning?” Nadia raises her eyebrows.

“I picture awkward things on purpose.” I grin. “That’s the fun of having friends who read minds.”

“You’re evil,” Nadia laughs.

I’m about to make a really good sarcastic comment when Charlotte dances stylishly into the door, cutting me off right away.

“Georgiaaa,” Charlotte sings, grabbing both of my hands and pulling me out of my chair. “We have a formal dance to plaaan.”

“How did I get roped into this?” I laugh as I stand on my own two feet.

Charlotte is still dancing as she stands in front of us. “Because, you’re my roomie, which means you have to go along with my craziness.”

“In that case, I think you need to move,” I raise my eyebrows.

“Don’t be mean,” Charlotte frowns, still swinging her hips. “You know I make you play along because you’re the closest thing to a sister I have. If you reject me, I’m going to have to ask Zahari, and you know we’re just gonna fight the whole time.”

I sigh, accepting defeat. “Is Lydia still playing rap music upstairs?”

“It’s Black Eyed Peas now,” Charlotte nods to a beat in her head, to the affirmative. “She has such good taste.”

“Indeed she does,” I agree. “Now let’s go plan a party.”

“Did somebody say ‘party’?” a voice from the nearby bookshelves interjects.

All three of us turn our heads, startled.

A boy about my height walks out with a thick graphic novel clutched in his hands. “What kind of party are we talking about? Because, I’m ready to get down with my bad self.” He snorts a laugh, and his hand twitches at his side as if he’s getting ready for a high five.

Lenny.

Leonard Clifton (the Third) is the sweetest boy you will ever meet, but I just get the feeling that he has pulled a Helga Pataki and made a full size statue of my body out of my used gum.

Yeah, I chew a lot of gum. And this kid has got a lot of crazy.

I swallow hard, trying to make my honesty monster behave itself.

“A formal dance,” Charlotte speaks up for me. “Nothing is official yet, so keep it on the down low, if you please, Leonardo.”

Lenny pushes his thin silver glasses frames further up on the bridge of his nose, and chuckles nervously. “Sometimes when you talk, you sound like a rap song, Charlotte.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Charlotte beams a saccharine smile his way, twisting and pushing me out of the door in one sinuous motion. “See you around, Lenny.”

“See you,” he says, and his tone is wistful.

“Oh my goodness, you and your lyrical voice, Charlotte,” I am laughing as she pushes me up the stairs toward our room.  “He is so in love with you.”

“You’re in denial, gorgeous,” Charlotte snorts. “You’re the one he’s made a shrine to in his bedroom closet.”

“That is just a nasty rumor that Louise started, and you know it,” I wave a finger at her.

“I started that one.” She laughs out loud. “You go ahead and keep on telling yourself that, Georgia.”

“I will keep telling myself that, Charlotte Reese Braxton,” I say, “otherwise I will jump into the shower after each time he looks in my general direction from feeling so creeped out.”

“Thank God you don’t say this stuff in front of him,” Charlotte laughs. “He would never ask a girl out as long as he lives.”

I sigh and scratch my arm. “Maybe I’d be doing the female gender a gigantic favor.”

(Feel free to comment if you like what you read!
See my November 1st entry to start at part one. <3)

“Jonathan LeBlanc, if every man cooked as well as you do, I’d be one happy polygamist,” Zahari says as he hands her a plate of beignets that smell beyond amazing.

“Sugar, you best not tell a man these things,” Jonathan narrows his big chocolate brown eyes and the corner of his full lips curls up in a flirtatious smile. “It gets him to thinkin’. And you know what happens when a man gets to thinkin’, don’t you?”

Z rewards him with childish, snarky wit. “His butt cheeks fall off?”

“Oh, cher,” he says, slapping his forehead. My limited knowledge of French all comes from conversations with Jonathan himself, and I know he’s calling Z ‘dear’. Jonathan’s thick New Orleans accent is alluring, especially paired with his mixture of French and English, and his deep voice. “I s’pose you guessed it.”

“I suppose I did,” Z hooks her nearly black hair behind one ear and gives him a slight smile. The spark between them is palpable, even to a naïve child like myself.

“I do hope you enjoy those beignets, though, cher. I used my grandmother’s recipe – see if you notice a difference from any you’ve ever tasted. I know you will – my Tante Josephine swears by it.” Jonathan wipes a bit of flour from his long black apron. He towers over the two of us, yet I’m not intimidated by him – he has a lovely heart.

“Baby doll, these are the first beignets that will ever touch my lips, and I know without a single doubt that they will be the greatest,” Z lifts one of the powdered-sugar-covered pastries and brings it to her lips.

Jonathan watches intently as she takes the first bite, his big, gorgeous eyes alight with fascinated anticipation. Once again, I am surprisingly grateful that I am not in everyone’s head like my sister and Louise both have to be. This time, I really just want to hear what they want to say out loud, not what they want kept hidden inside.

Zahari closes her eyes and chews slowly, savoring the classic bit of New Orleans culture, and probably enjoying the torture she is inflicting on Jonathan’s psyche at the same time. (She can be evil when she wants to be.)

“Well?” he says, his voice betraying his impatience.

“Well, Johnny boy, I’d have to say that this here beignet is very close to culinary perfection,” Z admits, smiling. She licks a bit of powdered sugar from the corner of her lip and I nearly laugh out loud at the deliberate flirtation.

“Very close to?” Jonathan smirks.

“Well, nothing is perfect, you know,” Zahari explains, “Mostly because I don’t want to know how many calories I just ingested with that one mouthful.”

“Oh, cher, do not worry about that,” Jonathan waves a flour-dusted hand at her. “You are what I consider to be very close to perfection.”

I bite the inside of my cheek in amusement, looking back and forth between them. Zahari lifts only one corner of her mouth, and I know she is very pleased but trying not to show Jonathan just how much he has flattered her.

“Very close to?” she echoes coyly.

“It is as you say,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, “Nothing is without flaw. However, if I could call you mon cher, then perhaps I could also consider you to be absolute perfection.”

“Well then.” Zahari says, keeping her cards close to her chest. “So, only things that are yours can be considered perfect?”

“You misunderstand,” he fires back, placing both hands on the table and leaning closer to her, “Others may achieve success on their own, but some can only reach true perfection at another’s side.”

Zahari looks up into his gorgeous face and her expression is taken aback; she opens her mouth to speak but nothing is released. This never happens to Z; she is seriously the wittiest woman I have ever met in my twenty-one years on Earth, and this is the first time in the three years that I have known her that I’ve seen her speechless.

Jonathan winks at her and leaves the table, heading back toward the kitchen from whence he came.

“Oh, my goodness,” I breathe for her. “That got pretty freakin’ intense.”

Zahari shakes her head, and I notice that her cheeks are pink.

“What are you thinking right now?” I ask my best friend, smiling broadly because I have a pretty good idea already.

“That I want to have his babies,” Zahari breathes, hiding her face in her hands.

I burst out laughing. “Right now?”

“Yeah, girl. Right here on the table,” she rolls her eyes, “On his perfect beignets.”

“See, now you gotta go and make beignets sound so dirty,” I scold her, taking one from her plate and taking a bite.

“Damn,” I say, my mouth full. “You are nuts, girl. These are perfect.”

Z gives me a look, and I grin at her with crushed, soggy beignet in my teeth.

“Zahari Elise Oliver!” Charlotte exclaims as she plops down across from us at the table, a plate of maple syrup soaked pancakes clutched in her little white hands. “That is one fine hunk of man you were just talking to. When are you gonna take care of that?”

“She was just talking about having his babies,” I inform her, turning my attention back to my bagel that is loaded with a wonderful mixture of eggs, cheese and bacon in the middle. “So, she’s way ahead of you.”

Z gives me an indignant look, but I know she still loves me.

“Way to go, Zahari,” Charlotte waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and holds her hand way up for a high-five.

Zahari ignores her, and goes back to eating her beignets, so I reach out and slap Charlotte’s waiting hand without looking up from my breakfast.

“So, what are we getting into today?” Lottie asks, cutting into her short stack of fluffy yet drenched buttermilk pancakes.

“Well, I have a meeting with Lydia, but that’s not until seven. And seven-thirty is my memory-sorting class. But other than that, Wednesdays are pretty boring for me, as you know,” I inform her. “I was thinking maybe we could take a drive, check out all the freaking gorgeous trees – maybe bring my camera along to get some autumn shots before all of the leaves fall.”

Charlotte is pretending to snore loudly, her mouth hanging open and her head leaned all the way back, and I scowl at her.

Mockingly, I interrupt her phony sleep,  my tone biting and impatient. “Why, Lottie, what’s your remarkable idea for us to do today? Bungee jumping? Cliff diving?”

“Actually, I was thinkinnnng,” Charlotte draws the word out obnoxiously long, and Z mutters, “that’s never good,” under her breath.

Charlotte rolls her eyes and continues, “I was thinking we should organize some sort of formal dance. I mean, we’re all supposed to be at this super prestigious private college, right? So if we never have picture proof of collegiate events for our Facebook pages, how is anyone supposed to believe us?”

“Nobody I know expects pictures from me,” I tell her. “I was in a psych ward for the first three years of my expected college experience. You don’t take pictures in there. Everybody looks like a bunch of drugged-up monsters.”

“That is not true,” Charlotte argues, mocking me. “I bet you looked very cute with bags under your eyes, talking to yourself, with your loose-fitting clothing and plastic sporks at lunchtime.”

“You’re so cruel,” I laugh despite myself. “But you paint a beautiful picture.”

“Thanks, it’s a gift,” Charlotte shrugs.

“It wasn’t really like that,” Z pipes up finally, snapping out of her Louisiana trance. “I was in there with her, remember? It was just a safe place for us to fall. Although, in the end, they couldn’t ‘cure’ us, which is how we got shipped here. Thank God for Lydia being so in tune with our kind. I swear, I owe her my life.”

“Same here,” I admit. “I am grateful for her involvement at Quiet Creek every single day that I don’t have to be at Quiet Creek anymore.”

“The QC was a cruel mistress,” Z sighs. “I wonder how Carol-Ann is doing.”

“Carol-Ann was a girl in our wing who was constantly on suicide watch,” I answer the question on Charlotte’s pancake-eating face. “She was labeled bipolar schizophrenic, with a side of dissociative identity disorder.”

Charlotte swallows. “Dissociative what?”

“It used to be known as having multiple personality disorder,” I explain. “Her childhood trauma was so bad that her mind split up into like twenty different people.”

“I always liked Felicia,” Z admits. “She was freaking hilarious.”

“Felicia was the mean one,” I roll my eyes. “She was the one that got a kick out of calling us fat.”

“Well, whatever. She was funny anyway. And besides, we ain’t fat,” Z says confidently. “We’re dead sexy.”

“Damn straight,” I agree, high-fiving her.

“Yeah, yeah, curvy girls rule, skinny girls drool; you could use me as a toothpick; why have a twig when you can have the whole tree; eat a cheeseburger – I’ve heard it all,” Charlotte waves off our declaration of chubby girl pride. “Now tell me if this Carol-Ann girl was an Outsider like us.”

“No, Carol-Ann wasn’t an Outsider,” I shake my head. “She was just nuts.”

“She wasn’t nuts, Georgia Lynn,” Z corrects in Carol-Ann’s defense. “She was completely traumatized. Wrecked for life. Her stepfather was a cruel, sadistic bastard who did unspeakable things to her and her younger brother. I’d be nuts, too, if I went through what she had gone through.”

“What happened to her brother?” Charlotte asks, her face wrinkled with concern.

“He shot himself,” I state; the words come out before I can soften them.

“Oh, my God, I didn’t want to know that,” Charlotte blanches. “You couldn’t have shielded me from that ugliness?”

I give her a wry look. “Did you ask me a direct question?”

“Yeah, but…” Understanding lights her face. “Ohhhhh. Right. I’m sorry about that.”

“I forgive you,” I chuckle softly. “It’s easy for others to forget that truth comes out of me like projectile vomit against my will.”

“That’s just gross, Georgia,” Charlotte laughs. “Mm, now let me dig in to these gorgeous, soggy pancakes.”

“That’s what she said,” Z blurts, and we both burst out laughing.

“Sick!” Charlotte chokes. “You guys are sick!”

When the laughter dies down, and I wipe my eyes, I turn to face Charlotte again. “So are you serious about this whole formal dance thing, Lottie? It sounds a little tame for it to be your idea.”

“I resemble that remark,” Charlotte jokes. “But yeah, I am serious about it. I think it would be really fun. We could make it all, magical and whatnot. I was always a loner in high school, so I missed out on all that crap. But I think it’d be fun for us freaks to get all dolled up and dance around all night.”

“Should it have a theme? Like, a masquerade ball?” Z asks, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm and ideas.

“Yeah, and we should all speak in confusing period English, and go out and marry perfect strangers from rival families against our parents’ wishes,” Charlotte says, all Shakespearean sarcasm.

“Better have an apothecary on speed dial for that idea,” I joke, and Z scowls at me.

“You are both jerks,” she declares disapprovingly.

“And using classic literature to be jerks, no less,” Charlotte holds up a finger, pleased with herself.

“That’s what classic literature was meant for,” a male voice interjects from behind me. Charlotte’s golden brown eyes are wide for unknown reasons and I wonder at whom she’s staring.

“I mean, being a jerk is entertainment, right? And that’s what Will Shakespeare was all about – I’m pretty sure he was a total smartass,” the voice continues as it pulls out a chair right beside me and its owner plops down in it.

“I’d have to agree,” Z speaks up, and I can see she is hiding a huge grin from me. “You read a lot of Shakespeare in your spare time, Mr. Browning?”

My heart seizes at that name, and I’m ticked off at its unwelcome violent reaction.

“I do enjoy the Bard, yes,” Lucas Browning tells my best friend in a voice that’s nearly as smooth as a Frank Sinatra ballad. “I prefer to hear poetry in the form of lyrics, though.”

I swallow, hard.

He’s a musician? Come on, now, that just isn’t fair.

Nadia sits down beside Charlotte out of nowhere, and grins at my most recent thought.

Jerk, I think at her fumingly. You invited him over here just to torture me.

Her lips are still twisted in a smug grin, but she says nothing.

“How about you – Georgia, is it?” Lucas turns his attention on me, and I bite the inside of my cheeks.

“Georgia Freebird,” I hold my hand out to him, refusing to turn my head.

“Freebird, like the Skynyrd song? That’s incredible,” Lucas takes my hand and squeezes it, but I shake his, trying to ignore how warm and scratchy his palm is as it presses against mine.

“Our dad is an absolute superfan of Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Nadia tells him, her musical voice tinged with amusement as I pull my hand away. “He got his last name changed legally to Freebird the day he turned eighteen.”

“That is most likely the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lucas laughs, and the sound is so pleasant to my ears that it makes my stomach twist. “Did you guys ever get to see them play?”

“Dad has, at least ten times,” I speak up, trying to be friendly despite the discomfort I feel. Plus, I have no choice, knowing the question is probably directed at me. “I love them but I was young when he and my mom went to their more recent concerts, and the other times it was before I was born.”

“If you like them at all, you have to see them live,” Lucas tells me, waving his hands for emphasis. “It’s pretty much a redneck festival, but there is nothing in the world like Free Bird live.”

“I know, just the recording I’ve heard of it live is better than anything,” I admit. “I can’t listen to the shorter studio version – it isn’t the same.”

“I know!” he exclaims, squeezing my elbow.

The contact of his calloused fingertips with my bare skin forces me to look over at him, even though after I do, I wish I hadn’t.

His eyes are lit with excitement at our conversation, and are the greenest I’ve ever seen in my life, with just the slightest hint of brown; his hair is medium-dark brown and almost as perfect as Patrick Dempsey’s, and the matching thick stubble all over his perfectly angled jaw makes my stomach flip back to its original place in my guts. And when I realize that the girls have left us completely alone, it twists right back inside out again.

“We should go see them when they come on tour near here,” he is saying eagerly, and I’m trying not to watch his perfect boy lips as they move. “Even if it means we gotta take a road trip. I know hearing Free Bird pouring from those giant speakers for fifteen straight minutes will change your life, because it definitely changed mine.”

His speaking voice is so lovely to my ears, it’s like Michael Buble, John Mayer, and Frank Sinatra had some sort of freaky alien lovechild and he was sitting right beside me going on and on about one of my favorite songs in the universe. It makes my heart pound ridiculously fast, and I wonder what his singing sounds like.

“Do you sing?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

My cheeks burn, and I realize I have let my mouth get ahead of me yet again. “What I mean is, I do, which is why I love music so much, and often if people are music lovers, they tend to be musicians too because they can appreciate it…”

“Yes,” he smiles at me, which is just cruelty to my pulse. “I do sing. Do you?”

“I just said I do, didn’t I?” I tease.

“I didn’t hear it in all the gibberish,” he teases back. “Do you play?”

“No,” I shake my head, surprised by his calling me out. “I wish I did. For now, I can only strum the vocal chords.”

“Sometimes that’s more beautiful than any manmade instrument anyway,” Lucas shrugs.

“Do you play?” I ask, toying with my napkin.

“Yes.” This time, his smile is just a half-lifting of the corner of his lips, crooked and gorgeous, and I swallow hard so that I don’t say anything stupid.

“What?”

“What, what?” he cocks an eyebrow, still smirking at me like I’m a dork.

Which, I am.

“What do you play?” I concentrate very hard on my words so that nothing unnecessary falls out of my mouth.

“Piano, and guitar,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I started piano when I was four, thanks to my father being a piano teacher, and went through my rebellious phase at age thirteen when I first picked up an acoustic. My dad was mortified, but my mother paid for lessons because she didn’t want me living in his shadow.”

“That was a nice life story answer to my question,” I tease.

“Well, it was a loaded question,” he jokes back. “For me, anyway. Music has always been my life. So, in my ears, it sounded like you wanted to hear my life story.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say to him, getting up from the table with my dirty plate and glass in hand.

“Where are you going?” he asks, looking up at me with imploring eyes.

“To put my dishes in the kitchen,” I tell him, which is the simplest version of the truth. “I need to talk to Jonathan – one of the cooks – about something.”

“He your boyfriend?” Lucas asks, too casually.

I half-smile at his transparency. “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

you're already the voice inside my head.
(i miss you, i miss you.) 

tonight is the kind of night where i want to drink a venti white mocha to make up for the horrible one that i had on my break, dye my hair either bright red or very dark brown and cut it all off (i'm sick of this in between, trying to grow it out, it seriously ain't workin' for me), and then drive until my car dies while blaring blink 182, taylor swift, and the almost. i need to channel this indecisive mess into my writing somehow, so i don't do anything rash, come daylight. though, i guess there are worse things i could want to do. like, 'hey, i think i'll wake up and go find & try some meth'. cutting and dying my hair seems remarkably less...insane. ha.

it's so weird being busy. and i love my job so much that i do not understand what the hell i was doing for all those wasted months just sitting at home being depressed. i guess timing is everything, and i guess i had to go through that boredom to really appreciate what i have now, but i really wonder if i actually needed to experience that or if i just got really scared and lazy.

i think it's the latter.

 

where are you? and i'm so sorry.
i cannot sleep, i cannot dream tonight.