I dried my hands off on a towel, finally done with the dishes. Dakota had offered to help out and at first, I'd obliged.
But soon, I saw he clearly had no idea what he was doing. I mean, he could dump soap onto things and run them under water, but he didn't have the needed technique nor eye for expelling remnants of stuck food. It was moments like these, where I witnessed him fall into confusion at little, sensical life skills, that really made me question what type of lifestyle he had lived before coming here.
I sighed.
Dad had texted me around seven, letting me know that he was going to be working late. Again. Man, this was becoming a trend. Sort of like Dakota and I having things in common. Speaking of Dakota, after our various water cleanses, I'd handed him a blow-dryer and said to make his extra clothes wearable again. Sadly for him, all he had was a thick, long-sleeve cotton shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. Luckily for me, that meant he spent a while shirtless trying to dry cotton while I inconspicuously ogled at him.
And mentally hit myself for the ogling.
I would never admit it to him for the fear of ego-boosting but you really had to appreciate the bodies of boys who played sports. It was a great service to the women of this nation. And men depending on the way you swung.
At the same time, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little jealous of him. Not only did he have a pretty face and a great body, Joe and Stanley looked up to him like he was an idol to be gawked at. Joe and Stanley adored him and he immediately got along seamlessly with them, enthusiastically playing countless games of Go-Fish and to the house's demise—indoor soccer. During Diner–which to my surprise he actually was able to help me cook thank god–they asked him questions about various sports players and teams that I'd never be able to answer, but had never been asked ever in the first place. In a way, I guess Dakota was like the big brother I could never be.
That should make me happy, so why didn't it?
"Hey." I felt something nudge my arm and observed as a phone smushed its way into my peripheral.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To The Moon
Novela JuvenilAs Dakota Akihara crashes, Rhea Walton falters. While one is drug away from a life in the 1%, the other finds it increasingly-unbearable to put up with the crushingly-expected and dependable monotony of slow business, bills to pay, and mou...