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Speechless(43)

By:Hannah Harrington


                The first thing I did when I got the car was swing by Kristen’s                     house. She was totally unimpressed. “You got it in yellow?” she’d said, her                     mouth turned down with distaste. “It looks like a taxi.” She acted like it was                     the tackiest thing she’d ever laid eyes on. I went from feeling excited to                     wanting to crawl under a rock in five seconds flat.

                I don’t know why I’m thinking about that right now.

                We’re heading toward my parking spot when a voice calls out                     from behind us.

                “Asha!”

                It’s Sam. He’s on his skateboard, rolling in our direction,                     pushing off the pavement easily with one foot. Who skateboards in the winter?                     The parking lot is clear of snow, but it’s still odd. He skids to a stop a few                     feet away, surprise registering on his face when he notices me standing                     there.

                Asha turns around and smiles. “Hi, Sam,” she says. “What’re you                     still doing here?”

                “Library research. Thrilling stuff, I know,” he replies. His                     gaze flickers to mine and then back to Asha’s. “What about you?”

                “Detention,” she says brightly. I can’t help but smile a little                     at her nonchalance.

                Sam’s eyebrows shoot skyward. “Why, Asha, you little deviant.                     Guess I should go before your bad influence rubs off on me.”

                He starts skating past us, until Asha reaches out and grabs his                     backpack handle, yanking him to a stop. He laughs and pops his board up with one                     foot. It’s kind of cool. I don’t know how to skateboard, or even use                     Rollerblades. My mom is paranoid because growing up, she knew a boy who had an                     in-line skating accident and hit his head on a rock and died, so she never let                     me learn. She doesn’t trust anything with wheels. It took weeks of convincing to                     even talk her into letting me take the training wheels off my bike.

                “Hey, when are you gonna make my scarf?” Sam asks Asha.

                “You still have to pick out the colors,” she says. “I was                     thinking red and blue.”

                “Nah. Too Captain America for me. I’m more of a—”