Read Online The Girl in the Gray Sweatshirt by Ann Aguirre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ann Aguirre
Tags: k12
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finds out because this wil certainly impact her
mood, which in turn influences extremis. And he’s so
eager to recruit her. Yeah, he’ll have my ass if he
catches me.
I don’t even care.
Quickening my step, I hurry past. A woman is standing
in a shop doorway, handing out cinnamon rol
samples. She brightens when she sees me, but that
reaction has lost its shine. If I’d known the pitfalls
beforehand, I wouldn’t have wished to be handsome.
But when you hit extremis young, there’s just so much
you don’t know and could never imagine. Now I’m bait
on a hook, a walking invitation for someone else to
repeat my mistakes.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“My friend in the gray sweatshirt is having a rough day.
She’d be upset if she knew I was seeing her this way,
so I was wondering...”
The clerk nods and smiles, taking my money with a
conspiratorial smile. “Get going before she spots you,
I’ll take care of it.”
I find a café two doors down and wait with an
anticipation I haven’t felt in a while. My target—and
the girl I’ve come to like—is approaching the bakery.
It’s ridiculous that I care when I’ve only watched from
a distance. In her eyes, I’d be a stalker. Or worse. It
doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t do this if I had a choice.
The end does not justify the means, Mr. Machiavelli.
But maybe I can offer her a spark of joy. Anonymously.
Now she’s at the door to the pastry shop. Though I
can’t hear what’s being said, my girl accepts a sweet
bun from the tray. She looks bewildered but pleased,
like random good things never happen to her. If I keep
this up, she’l smile before the end of the day; I know
she will.
Now I have a goal, and it’s better than the usual
surveillance.
Head down, I pretend to peruse the menu when she
ambles by, nibbling her treat. But I don’t linger; the
waitress gives me a look when I get up from the patio
table without ordering. Mouthing an apology, I rush
on. I need to get ahead of her and see what else she’d
like that’s on this street. The pastry was just an
impulse, so I have to do better next time. Let’s see, I
know she loves games and comics—that she’s into
SF—and she reads a lot.
Aha. There’s a used bookstore on the corner. Well, it’s
more of a consignment store, but they have books,
too. I pass her again, knowing that this risk could end
badly. The more I move around her, the greater the
probability that she’ll notice me. I’m willing to gamble
since there’s other foot traffic. Anyway, I don’t think
she’d ever suspect the truth, not in a thousand years.
People as special as she is never seem to believe it, no
matter how many times they hear it.
As long as she doesn’t turn off, this should work out
fine. I do my bit with the clerk inside and she agrees to
wait at the doorway and offer a gift certificate as a
“limited promotion”. This time, there’s nowhere for
me to wait, so I cross the street and keep my eyes on
the girl in the gray sweatshirt, quietly trundling toward
the intersection. Everyone pushes past her and one
guy bumps into her so hard, she stumbles. He doesn’t
pause or apologize. I’m tempted to fol ow him and
pound the shit out of him, but then I’d miss out on her
reaction to my next surprise.
She’s alarmed when the clerk stops her. At first she
shakes her head—no, not interested—and then she
apparently realizes she’s being offered a prize. She
cocks her head, dubious, but the cashier is earnest,
probably because I tipped wel . No, you don’t have to
buy anything, no hidden fees. But here’s a $20 gift
certificate good for anything in our store. They talk a
little more before my girl goes inside. I’m waiting for
half an hour before she comes out again, carrying a
smal cloth tote bag ful of books.
Her expression is definitely brighter, no secret tears.
She lifts her head a little, so when she moves on, I can
see her chin
mood, which in turn influences extremis. And he’s so
eager to recruit her. Yeah, he’ll have my ass if he
catches me.
I don’t even care.
Quickening my step, I hurry past. A woman is standing
in a shop doorway, handing out cinnamon rol
samples. She brightens when she sees me, but that
reaction has lost its shine. If I’d known the pitfalls
beforehand, I wouldn’t have wished to be handsome.
But when you hit extremis young, there’s just so much
you don’t know and could never imagine. Now I’m bait
on a hook, a walking invitation for someone else to
repeat my mistakes.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“My friend in the gray sweatshirt is having a rough day.
She’d be upset if she knew I was seeing her this way,
so I was wondering...”
The clerk nods and smiles, taking my money with a
conspiratorial smile. “Get going before she spots you,
I’ll take care of it.”
I find a café two doors down and wait with an
anticipation I haven’t felt in a while. My target—and
the girl I’ve come to like—is approaching the bakery.
It’s ridiculous that I care when I’ve only watched from
a distance. In her eyes, I’d be a stalker. Or worse. It
doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t do this if I had a choice.
The end does not justify the means, Mr. Machiavelli.
But maybe I can offer her a spark of joy. Anonymously.
Now she’s at the door to the pastry shop. Though I
can’t hear what’s being said, my girl accepts a sweet
bun from the tray. She looks bewildered but pleased,
like random good things never happen to her. If I keep
this up, she’l smile before the end of the day; I know
she will.
Now I have a goal, and it’s better than the usual
surveillance.
Head down, I pretend to peruse the menu when she
ambles by, nibbling her treat. But I don’t linger; the
waitress gives me a look when I get up from the patio
table without ordering. Mouthing an apology, I rush
on. I need to get ahead of her and see what else she’d
like that’s on this street. The pastry was just an
impulse, so I have to do better next time. Let’s see, I
know she loves games and comics—that she’s into
SF—and she reads a lot.
Aha. There’s a used bookstore on the corner. Well, it’s
more of a consignment store, but they have books,
too. I pass her again, knowing that this risk could end
badly. The more I move around her, the greater the
probability that she’ll notice me. I’m willing to gamble
since there’s other foot traffic. Anyway, I don’t think
she’d ever suspect the truth, not in a thousand years.
People as special as she is never seem to believe it, no
matter how many times they hear it.
As long as she doesn’t turn off, this should work out
fine. I do my bit with the clerk inside and she agrees to
wait at the doorway and offer a gift certificate as a
“limited promotion”. This time, there’s nowhere for
me to wait, so I cross the street and keep my eyes on
the girl in the gray sweatshirt, quietly trundling toward
the intersection. Everyone pushes past her and one
guy bumps into her so hard, she stumbles. He doesn’t
pause or apologize. I’m tempted to fol ow him and
pound the shit out of him, but then I’d miss out on her
reaction to my next surprise.
She’s alarmed when the clerk stops her. At first she
shakes her head—no, not interested—and then she
apparently realizes she’s being offered a prize. She
cocks her head, dubious, but the cashier is earnest,
probably because I tipped wel . No, you don’t have to
buy anything, no hidden fees. But here’s a $20 gift
certificate good for anything in our store. They talk a
little more before my girl goes inside. I’m waiting for
half an hour before she comes out again, carrying a
smal cloth tote bag ful of books.
Her expression is definitely brighter, no secret tears.
She lifts her head a little, so when she moves on, I can
see her chin
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