Page 40 of Fortunate Misfortune
“Gee, you really know how to sweet talk a lady.”
“It’s a compliment, which is why I need your help. You’re the only person I trust to tear into it.” I nudge it closer to her. “I promise I won’t get butt hurt. I need your painful honesty.”
Helping each other is foreign for us. Well, at least discussing it is. We’ve always just done it and moved on without a word.
I wait for a scoff or outright refusal. Surprisingly, neither come.
“Sure. Why not?” The contents of her pencil bag spill onto the table, searching through the colorful pens and highlighters. “You must be freaking out if you’re asking for my help. Feeling desperate, Gray?”
“And nervous. It’s all coming up so fast. It’ll be the end of the semester before we know it, and I don’t want to mess up my opportunity.”
If she catches the double meaning in my words, she doesn’t show it.
Mallory opens her own folder and hands over two sheets of paper. “Here. If I’m doing this, then I might as well put you to work. Feel free to give me some feedback. I’ve been told I ramble.”
I take the papers and scan a random section. “Eddie. Why is this bullet point six lines long?”
One bare shoulder rises and falls, and I swear she lets out a small giggle.
I savor the sound and continue reading. “‘Cabin two was comprised of two four-year-olds, six five-year-olds, and four three-year-olds.’ You really wrote out the demographics of the kids at camp. Race and ethnicities too. Are you advertising or bragging? Either way, it’s working. Straight to the semifinals.”
Mallory’sreallaugh takes me by surprise. Not because I don’t hear it often, because any time she’s around Cade, she’s laughing.
This time it’s because of me, and I’d do anything to hear it again and again on repeat for the rest of my life. Her wild, full-of-life cackle will forever be ingrained into my brain, along with this moment. There are many faces to Mallory, and I feel honored to get to be part of the one that’s shown the least.
Relaxed.
An hour later, my resume is colorful and full of comments. Green highlighter means good, which is severely lacking. Yellow highlighter means expand on this topic. Red highlighter means delete.
The markings are supplemented with copious notes in her loopy handwriting. Only the ones in blue pen though. Purple pen dictates her random thoughts throughout our time of silence.
“Hamsters scare me”is written in the upper left corner and“Math is the worst”is scribbled at least thirteen times throughout my math-heavy resume.
In an hour, I’ve learned more about Mallory from her resume than she has allowed me to know in almost three years. Her middle name is Ella. She plays the saxophone. On top of school and soccer, she worked at a year-round camp for kids with diabetes, which is one of many reasons she’s qualified to write and edit donation letters for a camp Dr. Martin is hoping to open. Hours and hours of volunteering line the page, each one a testament to her hard work.
Her words from the carnival replay in my head. She’s never been one to stand still.
“Well, your resume is practically perfect,” I say. “Everything on here is applicable and will make a big impact on the judges.” Mallory beams until I add, “But you’ve got to slim down some of these sections.”
I tap on a line that contains the definition of autoimmune disease. “They already know this!”is scribbled beside it.
“Okay, okay. I see what you mean,” she concedes, scanning the rest of my notes. “Thanks for the help,Adrian.” Mischief sparkles in those big brown eyes as she taps my middle name at the top of my resume. “Adri is going to love that you guys have the same name. Kenneth Adrian Gray. Makes you sound like a socialite.”
“At least I don’t have the middle name of an old white woman, Ella.”
Mallory leans forward to rest on her elbows. “Who says I’m not an old white woman?”
We stare at each other for a moment, lips quirked and features mellow.
That is until her phone rings, stealing her eyes from me. Although I can’t hear what Shay’s saying on the other side, I’m sure our night is over because she hangs up with a promise to be home soon.
With her backpack zipped, we step into the darkness. I walk ahead to open her car door and close it once she’s in.
When I make it back onto the sidewalk, the quiet whir of the window rolling down makes me turn back. The moonlight illuminates Mallory as she rests on the console. Waiting for me.
I poke my head through the window. “You watching me, Ed?”
“Shut up before I run over your toes.” Her eye roll stops short, landing on the steering wheel. “Thanks for letting me crash your solo party. It was weird, but…” She trails off, and I already know what she’s thinking.
