“I don’t like litter, and I didn’t want any of it blowing into the ocean. It’s not good for the environment.”
“I meant why don’t you just throw it out?”
“Because I was sitting down.”
“That’s mean.”
“Sometimes the mean justifies the end, right?”
Ha ha, I thought. But actually, I’d walked right into the stupid pun, grudgingly acknowledging that it was kind of original as far as puns went.
“Besides, Daisy doesn’t mind,” he went on. “She thinks it’s a game. Do you want to meet her?”
Even before I could respond, he said, “Break,” and Daisy quickly rose to her feet. Walking over, she curled around my legs, whining, her tongue lapping at my fingers. Not only did she look like Sandy, she felt like her, and while I stroked her fur, I was transported back to a simpler, happier life in Seattle, before everything went sour.
But just as quickly, reality came rushing back and I realized that I had no desire to linger. I offered Daisy a couple of final pats and put my hands in my pockets while trying to think of an excuse to leave. Bryce was not deterred.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“I didn’t tell you my name.”
“That’s true,” he said. “But I can probably figure it out.”
“You think you can guess my name?”
“I’m usually pretty good,” he said. “I can read palms, too.”
“Are you serious?”
“Would you like a demonstration?”
Before I could answer, he gracefully rose from his chair and started toward me. He was a little taller than I’d expected, and lanky, like a basketball player. Not a center or forward like Zeke Watkins, but maybe a shooting guard.
When he was close, I could see flecks of hazel in his brown eyes, and again I noticed the trace of amusement in his expression that I’d seen earlier. He seemed to scan my face, and when he was satisfied, he motioned to my hands, which were still buried in my pockets. “Can I see your hands now? Just hold them faceup.”
“It’s cold.”
“It won’t take long.”
This was weird and getting weirder, but whatever. After I showed him my palms, he leaned closer to them, concentrating. He held a finger up.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
“Go ahead.”
He traced his finger lightly over the lines in my palms, one after the other. It struck me as strangely intimate, and I felt a little unsettled.
“You’re definitely not from Ocracoke,” he intoned.
“Wow,” I said, trying to keep him from knowing how I felt. “Amazing. And your guess probably has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve never seen me around here before.”
“I meant that you’re not from North Carolina. You’re not even from the South.”
“You might have also noticed I don’t have a Southern accent.”
Nor did he, I suddenly realized, which was strange, since I thought everyone in the South was supposed to sound like Andy Griffith. He continued to trace for another few seconds before pulling his finger back. “Okay, I think I’ve got it now. You can put your hands back in your pockets.”
I did. I waited but he said nothing. “And?”
“And what?”
“Do you have all your answers?”
“Not all of them. But enough. And I’m pretty sure I know your name.”
“No, you don’t.”
“If you say so.”
Whether he was cute or not, I was done with the game and it was time for me to go. “I think I’m going to go sit in the car for a while,” I said. “It’s getting cold. Nice meeting you.” Turning around, I took a couple of steps before I heard him clear his throat.
“You’re from the West Coast,” he called out. “But not California. I’m thinking…Washington? Maybe Seattle?”
His words stopped me in my tracks and when I turned, I knew I couldn’t hide my shock.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“How did you know?”
“The same way I know you’re sixteen and a sophomore. You’ve also got an older sibling and I’m guessing it’s…a sister? And your name starts with an M…not Molly or Mary or Marie, but something even more formal. Like…Margaret? Only you probably call yourself Maggie or something like that.”
I felt my jaw drop slightly, too stunned to say anything at all.