Read Online Sway by Amy Matayo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amy Matayo
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
college, right?”
She smiles to herself. I’m pretty sure she likes the nickname. I’m definitely sure I like that smile. “What gave me away?” She’s down to four, but she is so not winning this.
“The OU sweatshirt I saw hanging in your closet. It still had the tags on it, and looked brand new. So what’s your major?”
“Pre-Law with a minor in Child Development.” Another peg bites the dust.
“Interesting combination. Graduation day?” Three left for me.
“Next May. If I don’t bomb my term paper.” Her last two pegs are three spaces apart. With a longsuffering sigh, she shoves her board away and glares at mine. In every way you slant it, the outcome of my game looks promising. “I’ll need to start it after Christmas break, because it will take me all semester to write.”
“For what class?” Not trying to be a jerk here, but I bite my lip on a smile, because I’m down to two pegs, and they’re sitting side by side.
“Human growth and development.” She narrows her gaze. “We’re supposed to find a person to study—a kid who maybe doesn’t have the best home life or other less-than-perfect situation. Sounds easy, but it’s a little awkward trying to find someone like that without sounding rude. ‘ Excuse me,’ she mimics, ‘are you homeless? Does your dad beat you? If so, mind if I ask you a few questions over the next three months? —not exactly the easiest thing to ask. Anyway, we’re supposed to follow them, interview them, and that sort of—” She growls at the same moment I set the last red peg on the table. “I can’t believe you won that game. I’ve never won, not once.” She sits back with a thud. “You can probably do a Rubik’s Cube too.” Reaching into her purse, she produces a bottle, then squirts some clear gel in her hand.
I eye her movements. “I can do one in under two minutes. Do you always use that junk?”
She gives me a look. “Bull. And this isn’t junk.” She drops the bottle inside and rubs her hands together. “Do you know how many lives have been saved by the ingredients in this stuff?” She holds up her hands.
“Lives are saved in the emergency room. Not inside a bottle of Germ-X.” I make a face. “But if you’re up for finding a Wal-Mart next, I’ll buy a Rubik’s Cube and show you how it’s done.” I sit back, thinking about flexing my muscles, but then I remember I’d be gloating over a square game designed to keep a preschooler entertained, and think better of it.
“No. I believe you. Though I’ll pick one up the next time I go.”
I try not to smile at the implication that we’ll see each other again. It occurs to me then that I might be ruined…that in maybe another hour or so I could be whipped beyond recognition. This girl—competitive, beautiful, sarcastic, with a record collection I might die for.
That grip I had a short time ago is already beginning to come undone.
*
A few minutes later, we’ve made our way across the street to an outdoor shopping mall. With its vast blacktop parking lot and freshly lined spaces, the area smells like a country theme park—the kind that combines thrill rides and kettle corn with churned butter and nineteenth-century-style dress. I’ve been to Branson a few times in my life—everyone from Oklahoma has. It’s our Disney World in the Midwest, and it’s what I think of every time I walk these sidewalks.
The shopping center isn’t the kind of place that attracts hoards of customers, since the store that keeps the whole place in business is an arts and crafts establishment that sells scrapbooking material, ceramic pottery, and Christmas trees under the same roof. But the area is buzzing with activity. Bundled-up women and a few men emerge with bags bulging with Christmas wrapping and ornaments, and I even see a few artificial trees in giant boxes being wheeled away on flat carts. The season is in full swing, and I find myself growing kind of excited.
“What’s that smile
She smiles to herself. I’m pretty sure she likes the nickname. I’m definitely sure I like that smile. “What gave me away?” She’s down to four, but she is so not winning this.
“The OU sweatshirt I saw hanging in your closet. It still had the tags on it, and looked brand new. So what’s your major?”
“Pre-Law with a minor in Child Development.” Another peg bites the dust.
“Interesting combination. Graduation day?” Three left for me.
“Next May. If I don’t bomb my term paper.” Her last two pegs are three spaces apart. With a longsuffering sigh, she shoves her board away and glares at mine. In every way you slant it, the outcome of my game looks promising. “I’ll need to start it after Christmas break, because it will take me all semester to write.”
“For what class?” Not trying to be a jerk here, but I bite my lip on a smile, because I’m down to two pegs, and they’re sitting side by side.
“Human growth and development.” She narrows her gaze. “We’re supposed to find a person to study—a kid who maybe doesn’t have the best home life or other less-than-perfect situation. Sounds easy, but it’s a little awkward trying to find someone like that without sounding rude. ‘ Excuse me,’ she mimics, ‘are you homeless? Does your dad beat you? If so, mind if I ask you a few questions over the next three months? —not exactly the easiest thing to ask. Anyway, we’re supposed to follow them, interview them, and that sort of—” She growls at the same moment I set the last red peg on the table. “I can’t believe you won that game. I’ve never won, not once.” She sits back with a thud. “You can probably do a Rubik’s Cube too.” Reaching into her purse, she produces a bottle, then squirts some clear gel in her hand.
I eye her movements. “I can do one in under two minutes. Do you always use that junk?”
She gives me a look. “Bull. And this isn’t junk.” She drops the bottle inside and rubs her hands together. “Do you know how many lives have been saved by the ingredients in this stuff?” She holds up her hands.
“Lives are saved in the emergency room. Not inside a bottle of Germ-X.” I make a face. “But if you’re up for finding a Wal-Mart next, I’ll buy a Rubik’s Cube and show you how it’s done.” I sit back, thinking about flexing my muscles, but then I remember I’d be gloating over a square game designed to keep a preschooler entertained, and think better of it.
“No. I believe you. Though I’ll pick one up the next time I go.”
I try not to smile at the implication that we’ll see each other again. It occurs to me then that I might be ruined…that in maybe another hour or so I could be whipped beyond recognition. This girl—competitive, beautiful, sarcastic, with a record collection I might die for.
That grip I had a short time ago is already beginning to come undone.
*
A few minutes later, we’ve made our way across the street to an outdoor shopping mall. With its vast blacktop parking lot and freshly lined spaces, the area smells like a country theme park—the kind that combines thrill rides and kettle corn with churned butter and nineteenth-century-style dress. I’ve been to Branson a few times in my life—everyone from Oklahoma has. It’s our Disney World in the Midwest, and it’s what I think of every time I walk these sidewalks.
The shopping center isn’t the kind of place that attracts hoards of customers, since the store that keeps the whole place in business is an arts and crafts establishment that sells scrapbooking material, ceramic pottery, and Christmas trees under the same roof. But the area is buzzing with activity. Bundled-up women and a few men emerge with bags bulging with Christmas wrapping and ornaments, and I even see a few artificial trees in giant boxes being wheeled away on flat carts. The season is in full swing, and I find myself growing kind of excited.
“What’s that smile
Similar Books
