Read Online Bright Lights, Dark Nights by Stephen Emond - Free Book Online Page A

picture it. What’s the one image that captures the whole trip?” She was looking at me when she asked it, not looking at her feet like I had been doing. She was good at this. And she was really interested. I had an answer.
    â€œFireworks,” I said. “They had this parade and these crazy fireworks that went on forever, and the sky was so bright it seemed like daytime. They do it every night there, too. But, yeah, just sitting on this sidewalk with my family watching the fireworks, that was the image that popped into my head. My sister had her arm around me, which was rare, but it was nice.”
    â€œGood answer,” Naomi said. “I feel like I know you more already. Now you ask me something.” She had her hands in her jacket pockets now. I wished I could hold them again.
    We were walking under a line of trees downhill toward the park bus stop while I thought up my next question. What I really wanted to know I wasn’t sure how to bring up, but she did say something earlier I could use to get there. “Why was it so weird to you that those guys were trying to ask you out?” I asked. “Was it just because they were older? Or was that just really strange for you in general?”
    We sat down at a bench across from a guy eating a slice of pizza. It was Saturday night but it could have been Saturday morning with the amount of foot traffic in the park.
    â€œThey were old, but it wasn’t just that,” Naomi said. “You go right for the personal questions. Why was that so weird? I don’t know. I guess because it’s never happened before? It’s gotta be weird the first time someone hits on you, right?”
    â€œI would not know,” I said. That was a feet-watching answer, not a face-watching answer.
    â€œMe, neither,” Naomi said. “I’m kind of a dork. I don’t really come across as super approachable or anything. Which is fine because I’m really not, my parents wouldn’t let me date anyone anyway. Never mind. I’m gonna change the subject. My question. Here’s an easy one: favorite color, and why.”
    She didn’t look like a dork, that was for sure, and she didn’t have a dork vibe until she was calling herself one. After a few hours with Naomi, I was starting to see it a bit, in a good way. Our differences were attractive, but the similarities were what I really enjoyed. Our mutual dorkiness.
    The bus showed up, a perfect diversion from Naomi’s hard-hitting question. The bus was packed and we had to stand and hold on to the rails. Naomi and I faced each other on the bus, no room for anything but face-watching and eye contact for the ride. The game was a little embarrassing with so many ears in the vicinity now.
    â€œSo my favorite color. Maybe purple?” I said. I focused on her shoulder. The dark purplish black of her jean jacket. “Like a night-sky purple. Shadows. In my head it’s the color of the city, even though I can look around and not see a ton of purple. That’s a bad answer, I know. I’m going to use my question to ask you the same thing. Favorite color.”
    â€œAll right, but you only get to copy me this once, and only because I have an answer,” Naomi said, confident smile. “I like combinations. Like blue and black, or blue and brown.”
    â€œSo anything with blue, but not blue by itself,” I said. I looked up, tried to match her eye contact. I didn’t want to seem intense or creepy but not too soft or insecure, either. Life is difficult.
    â€œHey, blue goes with a lot,” Naomi said. “My question. We’ll get a little deeper. Who was your first crush?”
    I looked around. No one was paying any attention to us. The people in seats were asleep or listening to their iPods, or talking to each other.
    â€œI guess it was this girl Ellen, from third grade,” I said. “I just picked her at random because everyone else at our