Black Beauty- Steve HarringtonxOC

Chapter 9

"And she says, "Really?" Like it's such a chore to say "I love you". Then Bertie called me back to the game. She didn't stop me. Nothing." Steve nearly worked himself to hysterics regaling his friend with his latest tiff. Nancy had approached him at basketball practice. In between school and Billy's constant disruptions, he'd barely found the time to process it all. After school, he retreated to his junkyard paradise, population: one. Until he arrives and makes it two.

"Have you spoken since?" Filly picks absently at a thread on her knee. Steve's head is nestled on her crossed legs. The metal hood of his BMW is cool on the flesh of her left hand, propped up to look at the teen in her lap.

"No. She and Jonathan skipped the rest of the day together." Steve's black sunglasses hide his eyes, but Filly knows he's looking at her. His head hasn't moved in twenty minutes. "And that's the other thing. This new guy, Billy, thinks he's a bad dude. He's a real son of a bitch. Always giving me shit. He wants to... knock me down a peg I guess."

"That sounds... difficult. How do you know this... "Billy" is being truthful?" Her shaggy, obsidian hair blocks out the sun when she leans over him. "Should you not speak with her candidly?"

She isn't trying to confuse him as she often does. She tries to be more mindful of her speech, taking on as much as she can of the dialect around her these days, but some things never go away.

"Candidly?"

"In an honest and straightforward way."

He likes that she doesn't poke fun at him. Doesn't make him feel stupid for not knowing something. Most would. Nancy doesn't, but she's one of the few. He can't look at her right now, though. The girl had pulled out his heart, for Christ's sake. "No. I'm angry. I feel... I don't know, betrayed?"

"You should. You can't know how she feels otherwise."

-------

She can't believe she let him convince her to do this. She had told him to talk with Nancy, but she hadn't expected to be going along.

She'd ridden in this seat only once before. Steve is on her left and the town flies by on her right. A gray hoodie from his backseat is wrapped firmly around her. She only hopes the hood conceals her face well enough.

"Tell me again why I must be here?"

"You're my shoulder to cry on. You know, in case things go south."

"Things will not go south." She relents, though, holding onto the fresh bundle of roses gently. That is until her curious mind spots new stimuli.

"What is Reagan 84 Bush?"

"It's just a presidential campaign. And it's Reagan Bush 84," he corrects, switching off the engine once he's parked. "Now you wait here. I'll be back in a moment to tell you how it went."

"Okay," she replies kindly, thrusting out the bouquet for him to take. "You will do amazingly, Steve."

"Thanks, Fil."

She smiles at him as he closes the door, a big Before him is a hard road with many possible endings. He begins his path to the Wheeler's door and runs a hand along his hair, starting at his temples and smoothing it back. He steels himself, wishing he were as convinced as the girl in his car.

She watches him intently, following his form as it goes. Acting as naturally as a human experiment can, Filly picks at her fingernails and tries to stay calm. They've been cut short with a pair of safety scissors, courtesy of Lucas's school supplies. Their length can be irritating when she's trying to carve spears and the like, snapping off and lessening their durability. She should find a good rock to blunt their sharps and file away the parts that snag on her fabrics.