Odette and Conrad

chapter two // she inked his hand

The red ink she left on my hand fades the day after church. When I can barely make out the numbers, I reprint it with blue pen on my forearm. Then, on my wrist with a Sharpie. Despite the Sharpie's claim of being permanent, it fades after two days; the blue pen fades after one and a half.

This means I manage to stall for four and a half days before I finally call Odette Gibbons.

I sit on the ledge of the bay window in my bedroom and dial the number.

"Hello?" she answers on the second ring.

Its evening and relatively cool outside, but I'm suddenly sweating as if I was sitting on the goddamn equator.

"Hi," my voice cracks worse then it ever did in the seventh grade. I barely even know this girl. I must be insane.

"Who is this?" she asks. Her side of the line is startlingly quiet. No background noise whatsoever. I wonder if she hears any on mine.

"It's Conrad." I feel dumb for waiting to call her now. She's probably forgotten all about me and our short conversation.

"I don't know a Conrad," she says.

"Conrad Sampson?" I must sound desperate.

"Oh," she breathes, and I can almost see her smiling.

"Took you long enough." I cringe at that.

"You sound different on the phone," she continues.

"So do you," I reply lamely. It's true, though. Her voice is static and not half as raspy as it was in person.

"Different good or different bad?"

Good, I want to say. Not as gravelly as it should be, but still golden. The kind of voice you want to lose yourself in.

"Neither, really," I say hesitantly, closing my eyes. "Just different.

She lets out an audible sigh, and then there's some rustling on her line, breaking the silence we'd fallen into.

"Do you want to hang out tonight, maybe?"

She's quiet for a long second. My eyes are still closed, and I imagine her leaning against a wall somewhere, blinking slowly and twirling one of her curls around her finger.

God.

"I barely know you, Conrad Sampson."

I don't know what to say to that.

"It'll be dark soon, so we should hurry," I say too loudly, trying to sound less desperate and more confident.

"Can you be at our tree in fifteen minutes?" she asks, and my eyes open with a start.

"Our tree?"

"Yeah, you know, the willow at the church?"

"Oh, uh, for sure."

The church is walking distance from my house. I could be there in five if I tried.

We have a tree.

She hangs up without saying goodbye. ___________________________________________________________

She's already at our tree by the time I get to the church. I lumber over slowly, because I realize how desperate and stupid I must've sounded on the phone.

She's leaning against the willow, and I can only barely make out her profile in the dark. I sit down in front of her and she lowers herself to the ground until her face is a ruler length away from mine.

Then, she pulls a flashlight out of her jacket pocket.

"Why don't you use your phone?" I whisper-ask, like there's people around us to hear me.

"Not as fun." She smiles faintly at me before speaking again, "now, shhh."

I'm silent until she turns on the flashlight and points it right in my face. Then, I curse under my breath.

"Conrad Sampson," I hear. I can't see her face, it's getting darker by the minute now.

"Tell me about yourself." She shuts off the flashlight, finally, before erupting into hushed laughter. Her voice is still as raspy as it was on Sunday.

"There's not much to tell," I say, and she snorts. "I grew up here, just me and my mom. White picket fence, good grades, et cetera."

She smiles, turning the flashlight on herself. Her ringlets are shiny, shellacked with what I assume is a product of some sort. Her pupils are so dilated, I can barely see the indigo rings bordering them. It's unnatural and startling.

"What's up with your eyes?"

"They do that sometimes, the black part gets huge." She waves a hand dismissively, and with the light on her, I can see just how translucent her skin is.

“I don’t know much of your personal life.” she says, glancing up at me.

She must be shorter than me by a good foot, and I’m 5’11". Our obvious height difference is clearly noticeable, even sitting down.

“I read a lot.”

She widens her eyes at this, pressing her hand over her heart and eliciting an overly theatrical gasp.

“A boy who can read and is pleasing to look at?” She smirks, and I can feel my face going red. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, I do,” I murmur, turning my towards her. “Maybe I could ask you some questions now?”

___________________________________________________________

We ask questions back and forth for the next twenty minutes, because she refuses to give me the monopoly over asking. I don't even mind.

Odette grew up in Arizona. She has two brothers, twins who are both fifteen; Archer and Hunter. We laugh at their names together. She tells me about her tattoo, a black X on her left hip. She doesn't show me it. She was drunk when she got it.

I tell her about what growing up here was like. When I tell her I'm one of two recent graduates going to a college that isn't community, she doesn't believe me. She's not going to college; not soon, anyways.

I ask her why.

She refuses to answer, then says it's getting late.

She leaves.

I leave.

I don't stop thinking about her until I'm fast asleep.

[A/N]:

Author's notes are difficult for me, somehow. I could go on for ages telling you about the characters i'm working on, how much i love this, and everything else. We could talk like we were old friends, we could plot together.

But, I am tired and don't care to talk right now.

So, please, VOTE COMMENT AND FAVORITE, and fan me! I'm so thrilled to be posting this. I love it.

EXPECT A PLAYLIST SOON!

Love Always,

Kenzi