Page 12 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

He leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. “What were you listening to?”

“Who said I was listening to anything?”

“I saw you roll your cord up before I sat down.” He points to the phone that’s now in my hand.

“You were watching me?”

I remember how his eyes were glued to me at the concert, and slight discomfort makes its way through my stomach.

He adjusts himself on the bench, resting his ankle on his opposite leg. “Not precisely. Would you like me to?” When I don’t answer, he continues, “OK, honest truth. I saw you sitting here, and you looked like you needed company.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” is what I want to say, but I don’t. He hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason to bite back.

“Yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say that I am kind of lonely.”

“Alright.” He reaches his arm up and pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear. I hadn’t noticed it was there. Then again, I don’t notice much these days. He places one end between his lips and shuffles into the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a lighter. With one flick, the fire ignites, and he brings the flame to the other end. “Who do I have to fight?”

I laugh a little and shake my head. “No. No. My mother recently died, and I was…” I snap my mouth shut to stop myself from talking. He’s a stranger, and I shouldn’t have to explain anything to him.

He blows out a mouthful of smoke in the opposite direction of me. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

I press my lips together and sigh. “No need to be.”

Silence falls for a beat as I tap my phone in the palm of my hand, holding the white cord tight in my grip. He breaks the silence, saying, “So, are you going to tell me what you were listening to?”

I smile a little, unroll my cord, and pass him one of the earbuds before pressing play.

He takes his time listening to the song. His head lightly bobs, lifting his arm to take another drag of his cigarette. “You have good taste.”

That makes me smile, and I mean really smile. “Thanks.”

He reaches his arm toward me with the butt between his fingers, offering me a drag.

I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”

He nods. “That’s a good thing.”

“Smoking kills, you know.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward. He looks away and continues to puff on his cigarette.

We sit in silence through the rest of the song. When the song comes to an end, he passes my earbud back to me and I roll the cord back around my phone. He takes two more drags of his cigarette before putting the end out on the cement and tossing it into the trash can across from us.

He didn’t litter.

That makes me happy, but I don’t mention it.

He faces forward when he sits back down. “I understand how you’re feeling.”

“How could you possibly understand how I’m feeling?”

He looks at me as if he’s trying to read my mind before looking at the ground. “My parents died when I was sixteen.”

Nice going, Summer.

My heart sinks, and I look away. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “They overdosed. I found them in the basement, but I was too late.”

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