The Girl in Seat 23 {l.r.h.}

twelve.

I stood in my front yard, wiggling my bare toes in the cool grass until Luke pulled into my driveway.

"Hey," he called, walking towards me.

"Do we have reservations somewhere?"

He nodded. "Yes we do."

"Cancel 'em."

He looked at me like I was absolutely crazy. "What?"

"Cancel them: a phrase commonly used, meaning 'to cancel previous plans or engagements.' " He just stood there. Poor thing had no clue where to go from here. I smirked, grabbing his hand. "Come on."

His pulse quickened as I led him towards the door. "Oh... Ok."

See, the Francinos were an odd family at best. Little handprints in all sorts of new colors dotted the outside of our house-- reds and greens and aquamarines like warpaint masking the original paint of the wooden home. Through the creaky screen door revealed soft purple walls and drawings right on the wall, no paper or anything. Ma said art in a frame was an eagle on a cage. Dad quickly adopted that concept once he was a single father and didn't have time to clean the walls.

A sudden wave of the aroma of garlic and tomatoes hit us like a freight train. My father stood at the stove stirring a large pot. "Dad, this is the friend I told you about," I said, pushing Luke forward.

Dad spun around and nearly fell over. "A boy? You never told me your friend was a boy." Luke stood wide-eyed, shaking in his boots in front of probably the largest Italian man in the U.S. "Hey." He whistled. "Young man, what's your name?"

"L-Luke."

All at once, my father pulled him into a tight bear-hug. "Welcome to the Francino home, Luke."

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I read this to my very Italian mom & she said it was scary accurate ~Laura :)