Page 13 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson
As I watched her, cataloguingeverythingI could, I leaned against the stacks and folded my arms. Molly looked down at the book I’d given her.
“It's for a personal project. I thought I’d get used to the differences between British English and American English. You have the encyclopedia, we have the encyclopaedia. It sounds the same but is spelt differently. I’m just trying to get my head around the differences. You know, fries, chips, trunk, boot and all that stuff.”
Now she had my attention. If she needed someone to tutor her in all things American, look no fucking further.
So, I didn’t look too desperate, I said, “OK. Why?”
Lifting one of her delicate hands to her hair, she ran her fingers through it and explained, “Just for written work and stuff. I don't want to be lowballed if I write in British English and the spellings aren’t the same. I love English Literature, but am better with numbers, so I need all the help I can get.”
“So, you’re a math dweeb?”
She grinned so wide she got dimples, so fricking sweet.
“That’s me. I love problem solving.”
That figured. I was the opposite and fucking hated math. I wondered how successful she’d be insolvingme, aka the biggest, most unsolvable problem on campus.
I noticed her thumbs were painted pink and wondered if she was a rebel or didn’t know the rules yet. Girly shit like nail polish was forbidden at our School. I only knew that as Storm and Tate bitched about it all the time; like not being able to paint your fingers was a type of torture. That was justoneexample of the first-world problems thatthosegirls complained about.
Storm and Tate were students who were also seniors and occasionally hung out with me and my brothers. Maybe Mollyonlypainted her thumbs as an attempt to be half a bad girl. I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t imagine there beinganythingbad about this girl.
I grinned as I repeated Molly’s words, “Lowballed? See, you're already one of us by the sounds of it,” I paused before pointing out, “So American English versus British English? Surely, it won't matter? Why not use a blend of both? I can't imagine you losing marks by spelling something in British English. Unless you have Connors, he's as tight as they come when dishing out the grades.” Fuck me, if my brothers could hear me, they’d be laughing their asses off. Phoenix would saythere are easier ways to get a girl into bed.
And that was itrightthere.
That wasn’t what I was doing at all. I didn’tjustwant toget her into bed. I also wanted to establish what made her tick; her likes and dislikes.
Fuck, that was new.
Molly dragged my thoughts back, “I don't have a Mr Connors. Not that I remember anyway. I only just got my timetable—oh, sorry—schedule?”
She was learning. I grinned, nodded, and pushed off the stacks, moving closer to her, “You're lucky you don’t have Connors. He also has poor hygiene. I used to keep a spare packet of Tic Tacs on me, just in case. They’re…”
Molly cut me off, amused, “I know what they are. Mints.”
“Of course, sorry. You’re from England. Not another planet,” I replied, lifting my hand to thread a stray lock of Molly’s hair behind her ear. Did I imagine it, or did she move her face towards my palm? My gesture sent a flush through her cheeks before her smile dipped.
“It certainly feels like it sometimes,” she confessed. I hated that thread of sadness in her voice and the shadow that lingered in her eyes.
“I think I know what you mean. But right now, we’re on the same one. Ipromiseyou.” My words came thick and fast, washing away that expression I didn’t care for. I never wanted to see this girl unhappy. Her smile was too infectious to be hidden away.
We shared a silence. It was nice.
Cradling the book against her chest, she purposefully broke that moment, “So, Connors, bad breath, huh? Now I'm even more relieved I don't have him,”
We were suddenly interrupted by two students wanting to get past. I leaned down and started to collect the books.
They were heavy, and seeing what I was doing, Molly joined in.
“Maybe if you're just consistent in your Lit class, write in either one or the other,” I suggested, bringing the topic back to school shit. I watched her body stretch as she attempted to place one of the books back on the top shelf. She was way too short to reach, but gave it a good go.
“Here, let me,” I said, taking the book from her. Our fingers skimmed, and again I felt a jolt of excitement.
“Maybe consistencyisthe way to go,” Molly replied, thanking me with her smile.
We then got into a routine, and as she passed me each book from the floor, I placed them back in the stacks.
“Well, it's just a suggestion. I’m not top-of-the-class material. Maybe speak to the teacher. Whodoyou have?”
