Page 23 of Stealing Sunshine

“She’ll be fine here, Johnny. You’ve got my word.”

The corner of his mouth tips up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I really want to change.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s hard to have a serious conversation with you when you look like that.”

My lips flatten in a scowl. “Like what?”

“Your shirt is buttoned up so high I’m surprised it hasn’t choked you out. How much longer do you have to wear this shit?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d be used to it by now, but I think it grows itchier every day.”

Sliding a nail beneath the tight cuff around my wrist, I scrape at my skin. The tattoo on the back of my hand has healed a bit and is less itchy than the rest of my body.

“Can’t you just not wear it? What are your parents going to do? Fire you?”

“I’m picking my battles.”

And right now, I need to focus on getting my mom off my back with this blind date nonsense.

“Well, glad to see you’ve kept the boots, at least. Maybe you can get Daisy into a pair. I’ve been trying for a long fuckin’ time with no luck,” he says before offering me another grin and slipping past me to the door.

His boots aren’t inside, and while I didn’t look for them outside, I’d bet they’re on the other side of the door. He was raised proper despite his sometimes annoying demeanour. Dirty cowboy boots on my floor would have made me have a stroke.

“Your sister wears hand-painted Converse. I doubt she’ll ever slip on a pair of boots,” I state.

“Worth a shot. Thanks again, Bryce. Means a lot to me that you took her in. I know you like your space.”

“Stop thanking me.”

He chuckles and grips the door handle. “You got it. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

“Bye, Johnny.”

“Bye, Brycie.”

Once he’s gone, I pop open the top two buttons of my blouse and head for the kitchen. My collection of Fanta cans in the fridge is a welcome sight, and I snag one before cracking it open.

Skull aching from having my hair up all day, I tug the elastic from it and moan at the instant relief.

“Am I interrupting?”

I tighten my hold on the cold can in my hand and meet Daisy’s stare. With one leg in the kitchen and the other still in the hall, she visibly hesitates to join me. Even her expression is nervous, all rolled lips and hopeful eyes.

“You can come in,” I say.

She accepts the invitation she didn’t need and eyes the drink in my hand. The corner of my mouth twitches slightly as I twist and pull her a can from the fridge. Face carefully blank, I offer it to her.

“Thank you. I love Fanta.”

It sounds like a lie, but I can’t quite tell.

“I thought you’d be a Crush kind of girl.”

“Orange or cream soda?”

I cross my ankles and tap a nail against my can. “Cream soda.”

---