sharkbait \\ h.s

11

"Your family is nice," I tell Harry, taking a seat on his bed. Unbalanced, I flop over and hit my head on his pillow. Harry starts laughing. I mumble, "Jesus Christ," into the fabric. It smells like Irish Spring.

Still laughing, Harry says, "It's a waterbed."

I snort. "How old are you? Ten?"

Before he can retort, Harry's mom comes in carrying a plate of brownies. I silently pray they taste better than her son's. "I brought brownies." A smile is painted onto her face, the same one that's been there since Harry and I arrived an hour ago. "I figured you two probably won't come out again."

Harry stares at his mom. "Probably not," he says rudely. I kick his foot.

Anne leaves the room without saying anything, leaving the brownies on the desk and shutting the door quietly on her way out. The look on Harry's face tells me he's irritated, and I want to ask him why he would be, but I keep my questions to myself figuring I don't want there to be any tension between us. Harry opens his mouth first. "Sorry about her."

I look at him with raised eyebrows. "Sorry for what? She brought us brownies."

Looking at the floor he says, "She was intruding."

I roll my eyes. "Yes. I feel so violated."

"You should."

I get up from the bed carefully to avoid falling over again and grab a brownie from the top of the stack. "Oh my God." The noise that comes out of my mouth is almost inhuman. "This is so good."

"It can't be that good."

My eyes widen at him. "You have to try one of these, Harry," I say with a full mouth.

He shakes his head. "I don't like chocolate."

"Are you joking?"

"Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Chocolate is great."

"So is cheese." The scowl on his face remains unchanged, and the nosy part of my is trying to break free, but I refuse to make this awkward. The last thing I need is to be stuck having to call my dad to pick me up.

"I'm not leaving until you eat a brownie," I mock his words from that night in my room. The corners of his mouth twitch, but the look his face stays set in irritation.

"I don't want you to leave," he argues. "So I won't eat a brownie."

My face heats up and I'm sure my cheeks are tinted red. For the one hundredth time since I met Harry, I remind myself not to fall for him. There is no way he could ever like me back in anyway; I'm still not sure of he is even doing any of this at his own will or if my dad has been telling him to do things with me out of pity. The thought tugs at my heart and makes me want to cry.

When I'm finished eating my share of the brownies, three being the exact number, I make my way to Harry's bed again, sitting on the very edge so I don't wobble around. That makes Harry finally laugh slightly.

Silence sweeps over us, and I'm left with my heart fighting with my mind over my feelings and a plate of brownies staring me right in the face practically begging for me to eat them. Harry still sits in his desk chair, looking down at the floor with scrunched eyebrows that I can just barley see through his long hair that is cascading over his face. He doesn't wear his hair in braids anymore, and I must admit that I'm kind of disappointed. I like when his hair is in braids.

So I ask him, "What happened to your braids?"

He doesn't look up. "I don't know."

"Are you okay?"