Read Online Girl Defective by Simmone Howell - Free Book Online

officer. Remember Constable Eve Brennan? They were . . .” He stopped and blinked forcefully. “Wrestling, I think.”
    â€œJust wipe it from your mind,” I suggested.
    Gully nodded. Then: “The new operative is downstairs.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLuke Casey.”
    My stomach dipped. I tried to keep a straight face, blowing coolly on my tea. “What’s he like?”
    â€œTall. Doesn’t say much. He smokes Peter Stuyvesants and carries a sketchbook. He has a muscular twitch.” Gully brought a finger to his cheek. “Here. Indicates a level of discomfort.”
    â€œGood,” I said. “We wouldn’t want him to be too comfortable.”
    Gully chh ed his fist. Then he relaxed his pose, jiggling his shoulders. He could never stay completely still. “Come down? It’s too different.”
    â€œUm. Half a tick.”
    I was not interested in Luke Casey. I was not going to jump him or fall for his hot and tragic combo. I told myself this as I changed out of my pj’s into the green dress that Nancy said made me look like an ingenue. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. My hair was cowlicky. No amount of wet would suppress the bumps. At the last minute I remembered Luke’s glasses and put them in my bag.
    â€œHow are you going to play it?” Nancy had asked. “I say, do it on the down-low, act like you don’t even see him.” But that was before last night.
    I stood on the pavement looking through the shop window. Dad and Luke were behind the counter, their heads bent together like dark, punk flowers. They had similar angular frames and unkempt hair. I took Luke’s glasses out of my bag and put them on. I didn’t smile or move my head. I just stood there, bespectacled. It was the kind of move that Nancy would pull. I was slightly proud of myself until I realized he was shortsighted and probably couldn’t see me. Then I took his glasses off and entered the shop as nonchalantly as my speedy heart would allow. As I walked toward him, I was thinking this: Nancy was right, Luke was pretty. I considered his cheekbones, the soft set of his mouth, and suddenly it was like I was standing in front of him, waiting to be remembered.

DON’T ENGAGE
    D AD WAS PLAYING LOVE’S Da Capo , which meant he was in a good mood despite my infraction. He was moony, lovestruck even. He waited until “Orange Skies” had floated off on little pop clouds before paying me any attention.
    â€œHow’s your head?”
    â€œHow’s yours?”
    Dad ignored that and made the introductions. “Skylark, this is Luke. Luke, Skylark.”
    Luke had been sitting on my stool. He stood and offered his hand. He had paint around his fingernails, a mist of black that looked gangrenous. We shook hands. I looked into his eyes and saw that he recognized me. He didn’t smile; he swallowed. He’s nervous, I thought. And that made me nervous. When I brought my hand back, it felt limp and like it didn’t belong to me. The rest of me was messy too. My stomach felt like it had slipped its moorings.
    Dad was in impressive-boss mode. “Now that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, I have to see a man about some records. I’ll take Gully.”
    I felt panic snapping at me. I might have even clutched Dad’s arm. “Wait”—I lowered my voice—“You’re going to leave us alone?”
    Dad looked from me to Luke. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Give Luke the grand tour.”
    â€œHow long are you going to be?”
    â€œNot long.”
    Dad shuffled off with Gully in tow. I slipped onto his stool. Then it was me and Luke sitting side by side while sweet psychedelic pop sparkled around us. I took Luke’s glasses out of my pocket and put them on the counter. He waited for a few seconds, then put them on. “Thanks,” he said, not looking at