Read Online A Little Friendly Advice by Siobhan Vivian - Free Book Online
Authors: Siobhan Vivian
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smile widens. “Well … then I’ll take your picture.” And he actually tries to grab the camera right out of my hands.
There’s no way that’s going to happen. So I aim and pull the trigger, just so he’ll back off. Before I can say, “That’ll be five dollars, jerk.” He yanks the picture right out of the camera. Then he drags a squiggly line through the milky film with his finger.
“You tell me to take your picture and then you ruin it?” I’m beyond pissed off.
“Watch,” he says and hands me the square. “We used to do this at art camp.”
His face begins to develop, but the line he’s drawn on the film doesn’t. Instead, it forms the ghostly colorless outline of a bird. The shape frames his head perfectly. I look up and see the very same bird, on a yellow button the size of a quarter, pinned to the center of his plain navy-blue baseball cap. “Pretty cool, right?”
I notice now that this boy is cute. He’s got a couple of light freckles that look like a dusting of cinnamon on the bridge of his nose. And even though he has plain old brown eyes, they look more sparkly than other ones I’ve seen.
I try to muster up some game, so I flick the button. “This is like your trademark or something?” Beth wasn’t kidding. I am so bad at flirting.
“Not exactly. I have this button maker and, well, I like to make buttons.” He looks down at his gray New Balances and rubs the shaggy fringe of dirty-blond hair creeping out from the band of his cap, because I guess he knows that hobby sounds sort of weird. “I made a bunch of these baby chick ones for my little cousins last Easter.”
His hand dives into his back pocket and surfaces with another tiny button. He hands this one to me. It’s white and says HELLO in green teacher-perfect script.
“Hello,” he says.
“How many of these have you given out tonight?” I ask. I can feel myself blushing.
“Two.” He grins. “I like to make friends.”
“Sorry, but I can’t really see you having many friends here.” I don’t feel like I’m going out on a limb. The other guys from Fisher Prep have congealed into tidy groups of similarities, like weight class or bad haircut. This boy doesn’t fit the scene. And that definitely works in his favor.
“You’re right,” he tells me. Then he pulls me toward the back door.
“Wait. My friends are leaving.” I try to pull free, but he’s holding my hand too tight. My feet feel light and clumsy, and I bobble behind him like a balloon full of week-old helium.
“C’mon! We’ll wait for them outside. Besides, I want you to meet someone.”
The night is dark and dense in Teddy’s manicured backyard. We waft through a cloud of smokers that congregate near the back door. One of them is Katherine. I beam my smile in her direction. She watches me through her long final drag, flicks the butt away, and goes back inside looking very unhappy. I guess she really does want to get out of here. I realize I’m squeezing this boy’s hand in a hot, very sweaty vise grip. I let my hand slip free, but he catches my pinkie and links it with his.
I follow this boy down a slate path that leads toward Teddy’s pool house. Automatic floodlights click on and guide our way. The sounds of bad music grow fainter with every step. I actually relax a little.
In the corner, Teddy’s golden retriever lies near his doghouse, his silver chain linked to a twisted, carved topiary. When he was a puppy, Teddy would parade him hourly around our block. Now the dog is ancient, its sandy coat flecked with white hair. Nevertheless, the dog is happy to have some company. He struggles to his feet to greet us, but ultimately opts to sit and wait instead. His wagging tail sweeps aside fallen leaves from a triangle of grass.
The boy pats the dog on the head and draws me closer. He pushes back some fur. Another white HELLO button is pinned to the dog’s collar.
“Wow. Making friends with the dog. We’ve established that this party
There’s no way that’s going to happen. So I aim and pull the trigger, just so he’ll back off. Before I can say, “That’ll be five dollars, jerk.” He yanks the picture right out of the camera. Then he drags a squiggly line through the milky film with his finger.
“You tell me to take your picture and then you ruin it?” I’m beyond pissed off.
“Watch,” he says and hands me the square. “We used to do this at art camp.”
His face begins to develop, but the line he’s drawn on the film doesn’t. Instead, it forms the ghostly colorless outline of a bird. The shape frames his head perfectly. I look up and see the very same bird, on a yellow button the size of a quarter, pinned to the center of his plain navy-blue baseball cap. “Pretty cool, right?”
I notice now that this boy is cute. He’s got a couple of light freckles that look like a dusting of cinnamon on the bridge of his nose. And even though he has plain old brown eyes, they look more sparkly than other ones I’ve seen.
I try to muster up some game, so I flick the button. “This is like your trademark or something?” Beth wasn’t kidding. I am so bad at flirting.
“Not exactly. I have this button maker and, well, I like to make buttons.” He looks down at his gray New Balances and rubs the shaggy fringe of dirty-blond hair creeping out from the band of his cap, because I guess he knows that hobby sounds sort of weird. “I made a bunch of these baby chick ones for my little cousins last Easter.”
His hand dives into his back pocket and surfaces with another tiny button. He hands this one to me. It’s white and says HELLO in green teacher-perfect script.
“Hello,” he says.
“How many of these have you given out tonight?” I ask. I can feel myself blushing.
“Two.” He grins. “I like to make friends.”
“Sorry, but I can’t really see you having many friends here.” I don’t feel like I’m going out on a limb. The other guys from Fisher Prep have congealed into tidy groups of similarities, like weight class or bad haircut. This boy doesn’t fit the scene. And that definitely works in his favor.
“You’re right,” he tells me. Then he pulls me toward the back door.
“Wait. My friends are leaving.” I try to pull free, but he’s holding my hand too tight. My feet feel light and clumsy, and I bobble behind him like a balloon full of week-old helium.
“C’mon! We’ll wait for them outside. Besides, I want you to meet someone.”
The night is dark and dense in Teddy’s manicured backyard. We waft through a cloud of smokers that congregate near the back door. One of them is Katherine. I beam my smile in her direction. She watches me through her long final drag, flicks the butt away, and goes back inside looking very unhappy. I guess she really does want to get out of here. I realize I’m squeezing this boy’s hand in a hot, very sweaty vise grip. I let my hand slip free, but he catches my pinkie and links it with his.
I follow this boy down a slate path that leads toward Teddy’s pool house. Automatic floodlights click on and guide our way. The sounds of bad music grow fainter with every step. I actually relax a little.
In the corner, Teddy’s golden retriever lies near his doghouse, his silver chain linked to a twisted, carved topiary. When he was a puppy, Teddy would parade him hourly around our block. Now the dog is ancient, its sandy coat flecked with white hair. Nevertheless, the dog is happy to have some company. He struggles to his feet to greet us, but ultimately opts to sit and wait instead. His wagging tail sweeps aside fallen leaves from a triangle of grass.
The boy pats the dog on the head and draws me closer. He pushes back some fur. Another white HELLO button is pinned to the dog’s collar.
“Wow. Making friends with the dog. We’ve established that this party
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