Freckle Boy

05: main character

POV: LEAH WALTERS

I really never thought I would show up to something like this.

This is practically a ball. This is the kind of room that you would see in Cinderella. The live action, of course.

I feel slightly underdressed as I look around the room, but my nerves settle as I see some of the other kiddos wearing just jeans and a t-shirt. I make a mental note to try and talk to them before I talk to any of the nicely dressed teens. I usually get along better with people who prefer jeans anyways.

The room is beautiful, and no matter how out of place I might feel, I can't help but smile at my fortune of being here.

The invitation arrived in the mail a couple of days ago, and I snuck it away from Mom so she wouldn't discourage me from going.

I make my way to the snack table and my eyes water. I wipe away my tears as I look at the vast amount of food and treats all within my arms reach.

I'm so hungry.

I slow my movements down as much as possible, reaching for the foods I think are the most substantial. Bread, pasta salad, strawberries and other things fill my smooth porcelain plate.

As I turn around, my elbow bumps into someone's chest and I loose my balance, my plate nearly falling to the ground.

But the person catches it and as I go to say thank you, I realize who it is.

"Oh. Owen," I breathe out. I study his outfit, much nicer than mine. A black suit and tie, his hair still as messy as this morning. He looks so good right now. "Thank god it's just you. It would have been even more embarrassing then it is now if what just happened, happened to me with someone else. Can you imagine all the food split and wasted?" I ramble on, wondering when I ever was this talkative? I can't remember the last time I spoke for that long.

"Yeah, I can imagine. I'm always saving your ass, huh?" He laughs.

"Yes, and thank you. Thank you for earlier today."

"It's no problem. Take a seat at one of the tables, will you? And try and not to bump into someone again on your way over."

I blush in response and stumble over to a table, bumping into someone. Again.

My plate clatters to the floor and the whole room spins to look at me and my eyes sting for the second time this evening but I catch Owen's eye from across the room and he gives me a sympathetic look that somehow makes me feel better. The DJ in the corner shouts something about "getting ready to tear this place up", and soon everyone's eyes are on each other and everyone is happy and laughing and dancing and I don't have to worry about saying sorry to the nice man who I bumped into on my way over to the table.

Owen walks over only a moment later, sliding a plate of food over with everything I had on my own plate originally.

"So..." He starts. I can barely look him in the eye as I pull my plate closer and pick up a nice piece of bread. I rip apart the center slowly, trying to contain my hunger but stop when I realize Owen is watching me.

I don't move, thinking I'm doing something bad, maybe eating the bread the wrong way, but a wash of relief floods over me when I see him pick his bread up and do the same.

Phew. Close call. Almost exposed myself as the girl with a Mom unable to provide her with basic dinner table etiquette.

—————

"You look really good right now," I blurt out on the walk back to my house. Well not my house exactly, but near it.

Owen offered to walk me home after I told him I didn't catch a ride to the banquet. Now, as I stroll with him, my cheeks flushing pink, I'm starting to wonder if it was a good idea to take him up on it.

He laughs quietly but with his eyes, which are completely glowing under the street light.

He doesn't say anything in response to my embarrassing remark but he holds my eye contact and I swear something flashes for a second but then I loose it to my imagination.

"Why were you there?" I ask, looking to start a productive conversation. "The banquet, I mean."

"My—," He starts, but hesitates. "My guardians run the charity for the gala."

"Guardians?"

"I'm adopted," he says quietly.

"Oh." I'm not sure what else to say.

"Yeah. They're pretty loaded. Made a living out of helping other people which is a good kind of living, you know? Anyways, this was my first time attending an event against my will." I laugh at his joke. "Usually they let me stay home but I'm glad I went this time cause you happened to be there." He smiles at me so sweetly that my heart forgets a couple of its beats. "You were invited, huh? To the event?"

Owen being at the banquet really ripped the Band-Aid off quickly. I didn't really tell him anything but he's sure as hell figured it out, with my being there and all.

I look away for a second and let out a sigh.

"Yeah. My mom just needed help with the bills. That's all. We're doing fine now." I force that last part out because only I know that we are indeed, not doing fine now.

"That's okay. My parents struggled with finances growing up too. Then the Londons swooped me up and I'm doing just fine."

I know there's no diss to his words but that doesn't make them sting any less.

"I don't need new guardians. My mom is a good parent. I'm good staying with her," I snap. My head hurts, as all the pressure I willed myself to forget tonight, comes crashing back in.

"No!" Owen tries to save it. "That's not what I meant. I'm sure you're fine. I wasn't trying to imply... anything. Just trying to understand you. That's all, I'm sorry."

"I'm afraid that you'll never understand me fully, and because of that, sometimes you'll be frightened, disgusted, annoyed, or pleased." I say almost on an impulse, and regret it almost immediately.

Except my regret blooms into pure delight when Owen says: "Jack Kerouac? You've got good taste."

I eye him, skeptically. "Are we becoming one of those walking clichés?"

"Well, we are walking right now, so I mean—"

"No. Like, in every movie possibly ever known to mankind, the main characters always speak through some sort of language, most often poetry or books or quotes. We just did that, therefore, we are a walking cliché."

"I see. Well that's okay. I like being the main character. Are frightened, disgusted, annoyed or pleased with that?" He smirks.

"None of the above. Actually... I'm quite pleased, if I do say so. Never have I ever met someone as well versed in literature to be able to spot a Jack Kerouac quote out of the blue."

"I'm pleased that you're pleased," he nods, and then, like it is the most natural thing in the world, he slips his palm into mine and intertwines our fingers. My breath catches slightly but my hand sinks into his, because as much as I would like to deny it, I feel safe like this. Safe with a person I barely know, yet who seems to get me more than anyone ever has.

And for this moment, I'm okay with that.

And for the rest of the moments after, as we walk back to my house, hands interlocked, the silence of the wind brushing across our faces, I'm okay with it then too.

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