Nine Lives of Chloe King: A Rough Draft Continuation

Chapter 17

"How'd it go?" Amy inquired, as she rocked us back and forward on the balcony swing chair. The soft wind brushed my hair away from my face and cooled the intense unease I was feeling.

"Good," I replied, but quickly crumpled in to myself afterwards as reality sunk in. "Bad. Oh I don't know!" I thrust my hands in to the crisp, polluted city air with a flurry of emotion.

Amy patted me on the back gently, consolingly. "That's okay," she stated. There was a moment of silence aside from the thrum of cars down below, and the creak of the swing as Amy's feet pushed off the ground.

Part of me mused at the scene: typical best friend helping best friend with boy trouble.

"Hey, it's cool Chlo," Amy broke through the quiet. "We all have boy troubles. I mean, look at Bella Swan. She was in a pret-ty similar situation as you. Two boys, two worlds, two-"

"Oh my god," I sputtered dramatically. "Oh my god." I hit Amy's shoulder. "Oh my god!"

"What?!" She giggled, as she hid behind her arm, preparing for another blow.

"YOU DID NOT JUST COMPARE ME TO CHEESY-TWICHTY MCGEE?"

"Maybe," she admitted in a small voice.

"What's wrong?"

Amy 's and my head whipped around in surprise. Alek was standing rigidly between the newly refurbished glass doors; his expression was beyond serious. He looked ready to fight, and yet so ready to sleep too.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "We were just-" I motioned to Amy helplessly.

"Being girls," Amy saved.

Alek huffed and purposefully did not stifle an eye roll as he turned and marched back in to the house.

"Whoops," Amy chuckled.

My giggles were cut short by a knowing sigh. "He has every reason to be on guard right now."

A second passed. Our eyes automatically drooped shut. The breeze played with our hair, our eyelashes, and our cloths. The salty chill swept us away to another place, as did the consistent flying motion of the bench. I felt infinite. I felt calm. I felt capable.

After a while though . . . .

"So what are we going to do now?" Amy muttered quietly.

I allowed one eye to peek at her.

"About what?" I asked, though I already knew.

The swing paused mid-decent. It was almost like we were suspended in the sky, away from everything so that I could gather my thoughts and finally work things out.

"I mean about this," and with that Amy's hands swept past each other like a showgirl demonstrating a game show.

Slowly, contemplatively, my other eye shuttered open. I had to control a gasp as I studied my best friend.

As if I had been wearing 3D glasses up until now, Amy suddenly appeared to me like a child: dark bags weighed her eyes down, specks of red flecked the edges of her eyes, her cheeks were flushed a pale reddish yellow, and her shoulders remained tightly by the edge of her chin.

God, what was I doing to my friends? We were all exhausted and ready to go home, real home.

Sadness washed through my system, but so did determination. With fiery eyes I made contact with Amy's.