Soundtrack Roadtrip. •Harry Styles•

dos.

Lennon does this thing with her hands, she brushes them up against anything and everything. No matter what she’s doing her hands are always moving. I guess it’s because she’s an artist and painting is her specialty, so she’s used to the way her hands move as she strokes the paint brush against her canvases. I always notice small things about Lennon and im not sure if that makes me creepy or just interested and observant. Right now, much like any other time, her hands are at work counting the money we have stowed away in her old Barbie lunch box.

Saving up for a car has proved harder than we imagined. Her fingers, small and skilled, work over the bills and her hair falls lightly into her face and her full pink lips curl to blow the strands away. I watch as she pulls more cash out of the lunch box and puts the bills down one by one, counting in a whisper, and putting them into the pile of money that’s already been counted. Eventually all the money has been counted and she groans running her fingers through her hair, the fiery color moving over her pale skin.

“We are shit out of luck, kid” she says and slams the Barbie lunch kit closed “we haven’t gotten enough yet and we’ve been saving for months”

“Lennon, why don’t we just buy a used car” I say, trying to reason with the crazy red headed girl who’s sits on the floor next to me “it costs less, we’ll have enough”

“I don’t want a shit car Harry” she spits and I shake my head.

“Well we can’t afford the freaking vintage Mercedes you’re so hung up on” I retort “so a shit car is what’s on offer”

She groans because unfortunately, she knows im right. I don’t know how she came up with the idea that we’d be able to come with enough money before graduation which is in fact in two month, mind you, for a the white vintage Mercedes that Lennon so desperately must have. I have to agree the car is beautiful and hell, I would buy it in a second, if we had enough fucking money.

“It’s a pipe dream” my father would say. If he were here, that is. He was always negative come to think of it. The more I reminisce on the memories of my father the more I realize that no matter how much my mother and I would’ve liked to think otherwise, he was going to leave us in the end. Lennon shakes her legs, pretending to throw a fit like a two year old. She frowns and pulls her knees up to her chest, leans back on the bed and rests her head on my shoulder.

“I don’t want a shit car Harry” she repeats. I know she intends on getting enough money for the Mercedes whatever way she’s planning to get it, she will get it.

“I know you don’t Lennon” I say and I chuckle “and whatever scheme you’re planning now to get the money, I don’t want to be any part of it”

She chuckles and I watch as her fingers trace small patterns on her knees, which are pushed tightly to her chest. I can’t see her face, but I imagine she’s concentrating on something, thinking of something. I can imagine the small crease between her trimmed eyebrows and her slightly crooked teeth tugging on her bottom lip, when she looks up at me she is doing just so. I smile and her eyes light up and for a millisecond I think that I am responsible for that light but then she starts to talk and I see its not I who has excited her.

“I was thinking of getting a tattoo” she says and her eyes sparkle confirming the cause of her happiness.

“Of course you were” I say. She always comes up with crazy ideas and I’m convinced she thinks they’re normal in her eyes. She tells me she’s thinking of getting a small picture of a record player on her hip and I ask her why.

“Because you first brought up your mum when we broke the record and now that I’ve known you for so long, I understand how hard talking about her must’ve been” she says and I smile and rest my arm over her shoulders and she leans further into me. She tells me she also wants an ‘H’ on her wrist and she wants me to get an ‘L’ on mine.