Page 47 of Easy Out

When did you learn how to do hair?

Dots appear and disappear for a few minutes.

ME

You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

LAUREN

It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s hard to explain. I knew a few girls who didn’t have parents to do their hair for them. They got bullied at school about it. I’m not much of a fighter so I taught myself how to braid instead.

ME

That’s nice of you.

I want to tell her she’s unreal and I’ve never met anyone like her. Most people would ignore something like that or fight the problem. Not Lauren. She eradicated the issue completely.

LAUREN

It’s no big deal. I have to go. Syd’s getting impatient.

Text me later?

I can’t fight the grin.

ME

Yeah, cariño, I’ll text you later.

“This is just another example of why y’all need to start takin’ me more seriously. This ain’t just a pretty face,” Wyatt says, pointing to his head. “Look at my boy. He’s smiling. Do you need to take the conversation to your room?”

“It’s not like that.” I push Wyatt away. “We’re just talking.”

The guys wouldn’t understand how Lauren asking me to text her is such a big deal. The girl who has been avoiding me for days wants to talk more. Not about assignments or classes, but about me, her, whatever.

I put my phone away and focus on my friends, the game on the T.V., and anything else I can to keep myself from texting Lauren.

How long do I have to wait until it’s considered later?

11

LAUREN

Hart is waiting for me outside of Morelli’s lecture hall with two coffees. I could cry, I’m so grateful. He knows I was up late last night. I texted him when I got home. He convinced me to watch a few episodes of my favorite murder documentary with him while we texted commentary back and forth.

I’m done avoiding him and the fluttery feeling he gives me when he’s nearby. I want to explore this friendship we’ve started. After texting with Hart a little on Sunday, thanks to Sydney’s encouragement, and hanging out Monday night at the library, I have a little crush on the guy.

It’s pathetic. I hate myself for it. Hart has this quiet charm. He is a slow drip of dopamine into my system. It hardly seems logical coming from a guy who doesn’t smile freely. And maybe that’s the thing. Every time you earn a smile from him, it’s a gift. Hart’s smiles are little trinkets I want to hoard like a dragon hoards gold.

I soak in the sight of him from afar. Hart’s casual lean against the wall should be criminal. He is wearing black mesh shorts and a matching Newhouse Knights shirt. His beautiful body is accentuated by tattoos on his arms and thighs.

“Do you really think that guy is innocent?” Hart asks once I’m within range. “Or is it all a mind game with editing?” He’s talking about the show we watched last night.

“I think they make a compelling argument that he was set up,” I say, walking into the room and taking my seat. Hart settles beside me and hands me a cup filled with manna from the Lord.

I take a sip of my coffee. “It’s perfect. Thanks, Hart.”

“No problemo, cariño.” There is a gasp from the girl sitting a few rows behind us. I glance over my shoulder. Several students are intrigued by our interactions. That makes me tense. I don’t want any attention on me.

---