"Thank you for saying," Paul cooed to Xackie as they walked down the sidewalk. His mom was safe so he could go to their broken home now and finally get some rest. He hasn't slept in days.
Xackie just brushed the gratitude off her shoulder, that's what friends do. "It's nothing."
"It is," he answered, putting his arm around her. "I don't even know you. You've been more of a friend to me than anyone else...."
"I'm no saint."
"Oh yeah?"
"I haven't even asked your name yet. I'm a narcissist," she sighed.
"Hi Xackie, I'm Paul." He shook her hand jokingly.
"Paul....where are we going?"
"I don't know....on a midnight stroll."
"We've been strolling for a while. My feet are starting to hurt and I'm cold."
He gave her the tacky blue flannel wrapped around his waist.
"You're sweet," she affirmed, putting it on. It was a little big. The sleeves went a few inches past her fingers.
"You said your feet hurt?"
"Yeah."
Paul picked her up and tossed her over his scrawny shoulder. He lugged her all the way to the the mailbox of 980 Aqua Avenue. She giggled hysterically the entire time.
She made him the happiest boy alive.
"This is where you live?"
"Yeah," Paul appealed.
T'was a dainty ranch-style; yellowish-white paint job with wild, untamed tall-fescue-grass mixed with Jennifer's own meadow-grass she planted herself.
He dug out the key buried in his pocket and unlocked the door. "You're welcomed in."
She pushed open the door and a loud nose-killing stench filled her nostrils and seeped into her clothes. Cigarettes. She didn't mention it, it didn't bother her. She's a smoker herself, even though to smoke she has to deal with deep motherly disapproval.
His room was the crimson door all the way at the end. "That's my room," he yawned.
"Why is your door red?"
"She let me paint it," he answered, leading her inside and shutting it behind them.
"Cool."
"Yeah. She's really cool. And hey, thank you again. I know you don't want me to but-"
"It's nothing, amigo. I went through it with my dad, too. I know how it is. We all need someone." She held his hand.
He chuckled. "Yo, do you speak Spanish?"
"I took it my senior year. Hasn't completely left my brain."
"How old are you?"
"19."
"How old are you?"
"18," he lied. Then, he kissed her. "I love you."
She didn't say it back. But he didn't need her to.
Then, the birds and the bees. So that happened.
YOU ARE READING
Yellow Marigolds (ck)
Teen FictionPaul's life unravels after the shocking death of his mother. As he begins to learn to survive on his own, he also begins making poor decisions, all while battling life with teen endeavors. SpOiler: It eventually leads to his ultimate downfall. ...
