spoken word. (gxg)

eleven.

eleven.

By the time we got back to June's house, it was already 6 pm. Time had passed quickly as we walked around from store to store, talking about whatever crossed our minds. Once, we had passed a giant cut-out of some actor I didn't recognize.

"Is he really this tall?" I wondered aloud, surveying the 6 and a half foot cardboard. "Can anyone get this tall?"

"Yes, they can," June teased, "you're just short." As if to make a point, she stood beside me. I looked up at her defiantly, but we were so close that I had to tip my head back quite a bit. She probably had seven or eight inches on me.

"It's taller than you, too," I insisted, not really focusing on the cardboard cutout anymore. She didn't reply, holding eye contact with me. If I took a half step closer, our bodies would have been pressing together.

Cold air blew around us, whipping my hair wildly. I made a face, pulling my dark strands out of my mouth. June snickered, flicking her ponytail.

"You should tie your hair up," she advised, "it's practical."

"But so not cute," I said, dragging out the 'so.' Her eyebrows lifted.

"Oh, so you think I'm not cute, then?" My face flushed.

"Uh," I stumbled, taking a step back. The wind blew my hair again, and she reached a hand toward me, tentatively, before hesitating and pulling back. I stilled, not daring to move. She pivoted, her face hidden.

"It's getting cold," she said, "let's go inside somewhere."

The slamming of a door brought me from my thoughts. June walked around the front of her truck, holding my door open for me. I practically jumped out, her truck was huge. And it had one of those bucket-like cabs where the edge of the floor rose a few inches, perfect for tripping on. I would have landed on my face if I didn't catch the side of the door in time. My face darkened. A smile tugged at June's lips.

I turned to grab my bags, following June into the house. When we walked in, warm air and the smell of food greeted us. June patted an expensive-looking short table chair thing, kicking off her shoes.

"You can place your stuff here," she told me. I did, abandoning my shoes as well.

We passed the kitchen as she led me to what I presumed to be a living room, and I giggled when I saw her brother cooking. He wasn't at all what I was expecting-- instead of a tall, gorgeous redhead, he was probably around 5'8", with dirty blond hair and a light pink apron wrapped around his waist, his tight shirt straining against bulked muscles. He winked as I passed, illustrating an excellent display of lip-syncing to Adele's 'Hello.' I covered my mouth in disbelief as we passed, June looking entirely unimpressed.

"Just ignore him," she advised. When her brother, who's name I remembered to be Tyler, changed the lyric0 'hello' to her name, practically bellowing, she flipped him off.

The living room was huge, which wasn't a shock. Everything in this house seemed to be twice as big as necessary. I sighed when I remembered June's comfy bed. My own futon, which lied unceremoniously against the ground, hardly compared. June flopped onto one of the couches, face down.

"I should probably go soon," I muttered, suddenly feeling very out of place. Everything here was so clean and nice and expensive and I was so... not. June lifted her head, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Stay to eat, at least," she said, then shuddered, "please, for my sake. I don't want to know what my mother would do to me if you left without dinner." If she was trying to make me feel less awkward, it was working. I let out a small giggle, walking around the front of the couch and sitting on the ground close to where she lay, leaning against it so my head was the same level as hers. It almost felt bold to do so, like we were two friends hanging out on a Saturday instead of acquaintances forced to spend time with each other after one saved the other.