James follows after me though. “We should play then—to assess your skills.”
I slide into the row where I know the poetry books are and boost my pile to the top shelf. I tap each binding with my pointer finger, looking through the Cs, Cook, Coolbirth, Corn…
“Come on, Esther.” James stands at the end of the row, his palms pressed together.
I snuff a laugh and slide the poetry collection by Stephen Crane next to Alfred Corns.
“Esther is not interested in our little fire nights.” Finn snatches the next book from my pile and starts to search the L’s. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“No,” I say, darting a glance his way. I can’t remember what I said to him or to Marley.
A touch at my hip jerks me backwards. James has slid my phone from my pocket. “Just adding my number,” he says, typing into my phone—Cytha’s right, I should have put a passcode on that thing. “I’m adding Dominic’s number and his address too.” He holds it out to me. “In case you change your mind.”
I snatch it back, wishing I would have agreed with Finn—I wasn’t interested and I wouldn’t be going.
James turns to Finn. “I gotta go. Ursula just wanted to stop by and say hi. See you tonight.”
“See you, man.”
“Ursula, let’s go,” he calls, but grins a goodbye to me. “You know you wanna come, Esther.”
I stare at the books in front of me and, for some dumb reason, have to repress the smile that his doting brings.
Half of Ursula comes into view. “See you, Finn.” She tilts her head, batting her eyes, her brown hair dangling to the side.
Finn’s goodbye to James is much more friendly than his curt wave to Ursula.
I wait for the bell over the door to ring before shifting a glance his way. “She clearly likes you. You could have been a littler nicer.”
“Wouldn’t that give her the wrong idea? That doesn’t seem very nice.” He slides another book from my pile onto the shelf. “James’ sister has been tagging along with him since I can remember. She doesn’t like me, she’s just always around.”
I smell garden peas and realize it’s Finn. “She tags along because she likes you.”
He smirks, but doesn’t argue. “How old are you, Esther?”
The shift in conversation throws me off and I stutter as if I’m not sure of my own age. “Seven—seventeen.”
“You have one year of school left and you decided to spend it at Jackson High?”
Sure, let’s go with that—my choice. But I can’t keep the coarseness from my voice. “Yep.” I slip open a book with a blank binding and find the author’s name, Quincy. “How about you? Any school left or off to college?”
His body tenses a little. “One semester left of online high school.” He raises his brows as if to fake excitement, but doesn’t add what he’ll do after that.
“So you’re—”
“Eighteen.”
Eighteen already? Maybe he flunked out, or quit, or got into trouble—any of the above could be true.
“What kind of art do you like?”
My lips form a flat line and I slide a glance his way, feeling the accusatory look on my face.
“I was upstairs. I heard over the balcony.”
I hesitate, but why not? This curious Finn is much better than the hostile one. “I like it all, really, but modern and abstract are probably my favorite.”
“So, is that what you want to do? Something artistic?”
We’re out of books, so we walk to the front together. “Like for a job?” I say.
Finn scoops up another pile and I follow him to the romance aisle. “Yeah,” he says with a touch of humor in his voice, “for a job.”
I lick my lips and fiddle with the book I’ve just picked up. “I don’t know.”
“Flawless Esther doesn’t know?”
I hate the way his tone fluctuates and the way he calls me flawless—I don’t even know why he’d say such a thing. “What about you? Does know-it-all Finn know what he wants to do?”
He stops his search to alphabetize the name Darnell among the shelved books and smirks. He slides the hardback between two others and stares at me. “Not a clue.”
8
“Essie, sit by me.” Harmony pats the chair she’s scooted right up to hers. Summer’s kitchen smells like an Italian restaurant and my mouth waters at the thought of a hot meal.
Still, I look around the table—not knowing where my place is. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal at a kitchen table. Lisa and I always ate together, but we’d sit in front of the TV and watch Jeopardy. It was silly, but our ritual. I don’t realize how much I’ve missed it until I sit on a hard kitchen chair next to Harmony and wish it were Lisa’s old couch.
We pass around the food with very little chit chat. Once our plates are full, Summer pushes her long hair from her shoulders. “Why don’t we play family question?”
Harmony claps. Angelo stuffs another bite of spaghetti into his mouth, not seeming to have even heard. Baby Brayden sleeps in a little bouncing chair on the floor—apparently he doesn’t care about the game either.
“Me first!” Harmony says, holding out her pudgy little hand. Amazingly, Brayden doesn’t make a move with her loud voice. Summer holds a small jar across the table and Harmony stuffs her hand inside, pulling out a strip of paper. She shoves it into my hand, but I don’t know what she wants me to do with it. “I don’t read,” she says, and her little face is so duh that I chortle out a laugh.
“Got it,” I say and unfold the paper. “What is your favorite movie?”
“Now everyone answers,” Summer prompts me. If Harmony hadn’t so clearly played this game before, I would be certain they’d made it up just for me.
A spark of nerves lights in my body and shoots off like a rocket, making all of my insides ill at ease. Family dinner and now so much sharing.
Harmony snatches the paper from my fingers. “I go first.” She holds her hands out wide, ready to wow us with her answer. “Mickey!”
“Mickey isn’t a movie,” Angelo says, rolling his eyes and stabbing his fork into the middle of his pile of pasta.
“That’s fine.” Rodrick intervenes, giving Angelo a little glare. But Rodrick couldn’t scare anyone with his teddy-bear face.
Angelo rolls his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling. “He’s a character, though.”
“So, what’s your favorite?” I ask him.
Harmony tugs on my arm. “No. Your turn.”
Angelo makes a face at her, one that his parents miss, and one Harmony isn’t bothered by.
“My turn? Umm…” I swirl the noodles on my plate, my nerves jumpy and my back stiff. “I don’t think I have one.”
“You have to answer, it’s the rule,” Angelo says, his mouth half full of meatball.
“Chew your food and stop being so bossy.” Rodrick tells him, but he winks as he says it. Ugh, he’s never going to scare these kids into anything.