Page 27 of Lotus

The back of my head pulses in recollection.

Sydney leaves me alone with Alexis, and I’m not sure how to proceed. I stand there like a statue for a few moments before my arms begin to tire, then I gently place the feline on the floor. She immediately curls around my ankles, humming and singing for more attention.

“Alexis, you’re an appealing animal,” I say, patting the top of the cat’s head.

I’m startled when I hear a voice from the kitchen, my hackles going on high alert. I follow the sound that appears to be female, and I ponder if Sydney’s sister is still present.

The cat follows, now pawing at my shoelaces like they are one of her toys. “Alexis, be careful. I do not wish to step on you.”

The woman answers me, louder this time. I spot a black cylinder on the countertop, lighting up in response to my voice.

“Hmm. I don’t know that.”

Odd and concerning.

Sydney appears behind me, causing me to jolt. “Everything okay?” she questions.

I squint my eyes at the strange device before turning my attention to Sydney. “Every time I address your cat, the woman in the speaker talks to me.”

Laughter is her response.

Loud, jovial belly laughter.

She glances to the speaker, providing it with a new order: “Alexa, play nineties music.”

“Alexa” obeys, and music fills the air.

“It’s one of the cooler things to come out of modern technology,” Sydney declares, her grin holding in place as I process this. “Do you like music?”

“I’m not accustomed to it. Perhaps…” The rate of my heart increases with an unexpected request that lands on the tip of my tongue. “Perhaps you can introduce me to your favorite music.”

Sydney’s eyes widen, a rebellious strand of hair falling forward and tickling her temple. She combs it back, swallowing through an eager nod. “I’d love that.”

I feel my walls cracking, my armor crumbling, my nerves and tension dissipating.

And I’m not sure if it’s the pleasant melodies filtering out of the speaker, the cat settled on my shoes, warming my toes, or the look in Sydney’s eyes right now.

All I know is this is certainly a look I’ll be keeping.

E I G H T

“WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND,OLIVERLYNCH?”

I approach the neighbor boy, sitting on the stoop of his front porch, shoveling cookies into his mouth. The crumbs disperse onto his lap as he glances at me, a mop of light brown hair sticking to his forehead from the summer sun.

He narrows his eyes through a mouthful of cookie. “Girls have cooties.”

“No, they don’t.” I cross my arms over my denim jumper, hoping he shares his cookies with me. They look really good.

“Yes, they do. That’s what Anthony told me.”

“Anthony is a big, fat liar. Maybe he has cooties.”

Oliver shrugs. “Maybe.”

I decide to take a seat beside him on the cement stoop, and I’m glad he doesn’t tell me to get lost. I really want a cookie—they smell like Mama’s oatmeal. “Did your mom make these?”

“Yes.”

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