Crash Into Me | ✓

ten

I had gotten up in the morning to run for the first time in weeks. I felt a strange wave of invigoration, which as much as I hated to admit, probably had something to do with the thought of seeing Brooklyn. By the time I had returned to the house, it was after noon, and Nikki was still asleep. Never in my life did I think I would be actively seeking Nikki's eccentric fashion advice, but here I was, tiptoeing around her dark room, grabbing random articles of clothing that just skirted the line between interesting and obnoxious. I turned back and sighed as I looked at Nikki, sound asleep under mounds of covers and pillows, before shutting the door quietly behind me.

I didn't even know why I cared so much about picking which one of Nikki's midriff bearing sweaters to wear - it's not like Brooklyn cared. We were just hanging out. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

My stomach did backflips as I thought back to yesterday, looping his words in my head over and over again like a broken record. It had been so short and sweet and horribly astonishing that I stood where he left me, dumbfounded in a hospital hallway, much like that very first day he had crashed into me.

My phone rang, and panic set in as I realized I spent so much time daydreaming, I had barely done anything with the tousled mess of hair atop my head. I breathed a sigh of relief when I checked the caller ID.

INCOMING CALL. KEVIN ROSSI.

I rolled my eyes and set my phone face down on my desk, determined to at least attempt to fix myself up before Brooklyn showed up.

I settled on a lightweight peach and yellow striped sweater and a pair of jeans. I raked a comb through my hair a few times before eventually giving up and tying it back in a ponytail. Gray clouds rolled in, and I heard rain start to drizzle down on the roof. At exactly 2:00, Brooklyn pulled up to my house in his orange Mustang, this time with the black cloth of the roof up. Rain started to collect in puddles on the pavement as I made a dash to his car, desperate to keep my hair dry.

"You look nice," he said as I hoisted myself into the passenger seat.

I fumbled with the seatbelt. "Thanks," I replied with a faint smile, hoping he didn't see the blush creeping up my cheeks. I glanced over at him, my face still warm, realizing it was impossible for him to ever look bad, even with his glasses, messy hair, and wrinkled green Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. Brooklyn did his usual song shuffling, and I sat in a quiet contentment, watching this small town I called home fly by in a dull blur. I smiled faintly as we passed the Thank You For Visiting Devil's Point sign.

Film Press was filled with old, rickety shelves of even older movies, but that wasn't all. Racks of vintage movie posters hung from the exposed brick walls, and glass cases of collectible items like figurines, props, and all sorts of other knickknacks lined the far side of the shop by the cash register. Brooklyn and I snaked our way around aisles of old DVDs.