Letters From A Stranger |COMPLETE|

Part 2

Shutdown: what my brain headed toward, I could feel it. My tonsils were doubling in size, my stomach shuddered as if I'd dropped on a roller coaster hill. My eyes were alert but gazing. But I blinked back, batting my thin eyelashes at him. I regained composure. "Hi."

The response: heart-melting. He smiled, his teeth whiter than anyone's I've ever seen. Celebrity white. Bleached white. Either way, they glowed. His hand reached out to me, like a prince offering his hand out to a princess for a dance, and then I realized he was holding a clipboard in his other. I swallowed hard, held out my hand, and was immediately humiliated by my chewed up nails. Would he notice?

His introduction: remarkable. As he shook my hand firmly, but gently, I sensed his grip, his frictionless hands glide through mine. He dropped the gesture, though I didn't want to let go. His sky blue eyes sparkled in the daylight, and not smiling back wasn't an option. "My name's Carson Wheeler. I'm from Newport, and I'm in the area looking for any community service I could do? Are your parents home by chance?"

Crushed: how I felt. Him, the almighty sex god of Newport, came to grungy Samson searching for community service because he knows no one here can afford to pay anyone to do anything. I had the instant urge to shoo him off my porch. He continued to grin persuasively.

Facts: given to him. "Well, I don't have any parents, and my guardian isn't here right now."

Carson Wheeler: stared. His face morphed from happy and cheery, to contrite and sympathetic, but I wasn't asking for sympathy. I just thought maybe he'd leave after that. "Oh, I'm really sorry about that. Well, do you need anything done? I mean it is free."

My thoughts: jumbled. Never would I make him dirty himself up to clean my house. Free or not, that was beyond mortifying. I'd be the laughingstock of his school. Community service or not.

Him: "How old are you? Sixteen, seventeen? You gotta be in high school. Am I right?"

Me: "I'll be seventeen tomorrow."

His face: all too ecstatic to hear that. He had another way to trick me into it. "Perfect, I can get something done so that you won't have to do it on your birthday." He smiled suggestively. When I didn't automatically take the bait, he dropped the act. "Okay. Just help me out. I'm trying to get into this college, and it really likes community service hours, so I'm trying to rack up on them. I've got nine so far. Help me out."

A lightbulb: flickered in my head. "Can't I just sign your silly sheet saying you did something and you can be on your way?"

His arms: crossed reluctantly. He loosened his grip on the clipboard a bit. "At least make me do something. I'd feel terrible leaving without doing anything."

My sarcasm: "I'll say you walked my dog."

His retaliation: "You don't have a dog."

Giving in: never seemed so difficult before. Usually, I did it all the time. I always would let Christy have one more beer, or give her a few more minutes before eating dinner. This was different. Why? Was he flirting with me, or did he honestly want service hours? No matter, I ultimately caved. "Fine, you can finish vacuuming the rest of the room."