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Speechless(82)

By:Hannah Harrington


                “He worked earlier today,” she explains as she ties on her                     apron. “Don’t worry. Dex will fix you something.”

                Dex looks up from where he’s cooking meat on the industrial                     stove. “You hungry?” he asks, and before I can shake my head, he turns his back                     to me. “You look hungry. Tonight’s special is goulash. It’s a new recipe, and if                     you allow me to test drive it on you, it’s on the house.”

                I apparently don’t have a say in the matter, because he starts                     fixing it before I can communicate any affirmative answer. That’s okay; my                     stomach is actually rumbling with hunger and the delicious smells of his cooking                     only make it growl louder. By the time he serves me the bowl, I’m all but                     salivating.

                Dex watches me like a hawk as I lift the spoon to my mouth and                     take my first tentative bite. I’ve never had goulash; it tastes similar to beef                     stew, except better, thick and warm and a little spicy. I grab a pen from my bag                     and scribble on a napkin.

                I want you to feed me forever!

                I slide it across the counter to him, and he laughs as he reads                     it.

                “I’ll take that as a stamp of approval.” He grins. He turns to                     Asha and says, “I like this girl. She can stay.”





                                      day eight

                I’m almost feeling good when I get to school on Monday.                     Refreshed. Rejuvenated. I park my car in the student lot and walk toward the                     school with a little swing in my step.

                And then I run into Derek and Lowell.

                They’re both standing at the edge of the parking lot, looking                     straight at me. I freeze for a moment. No one else is around. No one to witness                     whatever is about to happen. I hate the helpless feeling that crawls its way                     into my stomach.

                As I come up to them, I veer to the right, trying to walk past,                     but Lowell steps in front of me, blocks my path.

                “Hey,” he says, and when I keep walking, more sharply, “Hey.”

                I stop and look at him. I try not to let it show the way my                     heart is beating, fast and hard, like it’s trying to free itself from my                     chest.