by Sara Ney
She’s not going to lower her arm until I take it.
I snatch it out of her hand.
The small scrap of paper with her phone number sits on my desk, folded into thirds, in a neat little square.
It’s been there for four days. Untouched.
Rising from my desk, I pluck it up, unfold it. The crumbly paper makes a crinkling sound and I smooth out the wrinkles on the edge of my desk before spreading it flat.
I stare down at Violet’s neat, tidy handwriting. The loop on the V in her first name. The blue, fine-tipped marker lines, bold and crisp. I palm my phone, unlocking the screen, and scroll with my thumb over the green messenger icon. Click. Hit compose with a scowl.
Zeke: We should talk about this Thursday. Figure out this play date crap.
Her reply comes almost immediately.
Violet: All right.
I roll my eyes and huff at her unenthusiastic reply before tapping out mine.
Zeke: Where do you think we should take the kids
Violet: Where would you like to take them?
Zeke: This wasn’t my brilliant ducking idea so this is all on you.
Violet: LOL
Zeke: What’s so funny?
Violet: You when you’re trying to be badass but your phone autocorrects to ducking.
Zeke: Shit, I didn’t even notice.
Violet: Okay, so, play date…how about bowling?
Zeke: God no.
Violet: What about painting pottery at one of those fun studios—the kids would LOVE THAT.
Zeke: Are you fucking serious?
Violet: I’m trying to be helpful!
Zeke: It’s a no.
Zeke: I said I’d play date; I never said I’d play nice.
Violet: Okay, how about the zoo?
Zeke: I would literally rather have my balls sliced off with a dull knife.
It takes her four minutes to respond to that, and I smirk, imagining her face is bright red to the roots of that light blonde hair.
Violet: It’s warm enough outside for the zoo—we should try to take advantage while we can.
Zeke: No to the zoo. Next.
Violet: Um…
Zeke: Try again, you’re doing great so far.
Violet: They have dollar movies and dollar popcorn at the Cineplex on Tuesdays and Thursdays when they show old movies.
Zeke: Which theater does that?
Violet: The little one on Main. I think Fantastic Beasts is playing?
Zeke: Then afterward, you can go ahead and shoot me?
Her next text takes an entire eight minutes.
Violet: I’m going to be honest with you, even if it makes me uncomfortable talking about it—I think you should know these kids come from really low-income families and they get to go to the movies almost NEVER
Zeke: I’m not sitting through a flipping cartoon.
Violet: It’s not a cartoon. It’s kind of like Harry Potter.
Zeke: …which I have not seen.
Violet: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.
Zeke: Well have you seen the complete Star Wars trilogy?
Violet: Uh. NO.
Violet: Okay, what about a trampoline park?
Zeke: No offense Violet, but your ideas suck.
Violet: Really? I thought FOR SURE you were going to bite on that one…
Zeke: Wait. Did you say trampoline park?
Violet: One just opened in the industrial park off McDermott.
Zeke: Fine.
Her texts stop again. I wait a few minutes.
Violet: Was that a YES to the trampoline park?
Zeke: If there are actual tramps there, then it was a yes.
Violet: Haha, very funny.
Zeke: I thought so.
Violet: That is EXCELLENT! They’re going to be so excited!
Zeke: I too am thrilled beyond my wildest dreams, but not shouty caps thrilled.
Violet: Oh hey, Zeke?
Zeke: What.
Violet: Just a gentle reminder, don’t forget to get permission from Kyle’s mom.
Zeke: Peachy. I’ll get right on that.
Zeke
In the end, I didn’t forget to message Kyle’s mom. In fact, it was the one thing I didn’t fuck up this week, and Krystal Jones was ecstatic that I was taking Kyle to do something he rarely gets to do.
Be a kid.
Have fun.
Play somewhere she normally can’t afford to take him.
The conversation was awkward. Made me feel…like an over-privileged asshole…which I’ll admit to being, through no fault of my own. I didn’t choose to have wealthy parents, just like Kyle didn’t choose to have a deadbeat, piece-of-shit absentee father. His mom works her ass off and they still have no money.
But whatever.
Not my problem.
Not really.
Instead of dwelling on it, I shift my focus to Violet, who’s standing next to a tall blue trampoline, still wearing her fall coat.
I eyeball her skeptically. “Aren’t you going to take off your shoes and shit and bounce? Let’s go, chop chop.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
She’s fiddling with the front of her jacket, nimble fingers tugging on the silver zipper pull, gently wrenching up.
I sigh. “Yes or no, Violet.”
“I…” She stops to take a deep breath and I know it’s because she’s determined not to stutter. “I don’t think I’m planning on it.”
“This was your idea. I’m not trampolining by myself with those cretins. Have you seen some of the little psychopaths they let loose out there?” She glances around me at the kids already jumping—a dozen little humans all riding that sugar high. “No fucking way are you abandoning me.”
“Would you please, please watch your mouth in front of the kids?” she all but hisses.
I glance around to pinpoint the exact location of Summer and Kyle; they’re a safe distance away, on the ground, untying their shoes and placing them in cubbies. Verdict: they’re in no danger of any profanity that might come flying out of my mouth.
“Are you trying to change the subject?”
“No, Zeke, if I was trying to change the subject, I-I’d ask you to help me with my zipper. It’s stuck.” Her mouth tips down into a frown. “I’m stuck.”
My eyes shoot from her pouty pink lips to her pink jacket, down to the slender fingers with those purple nails pinching the silver pull and tugging to no avail.
“Stop yanking on it, you’ll make it worse,” I demand, stepping the four paces into her personal space and closing my large fingers around hers, brushing them aside so I can access her zipper.
I bend my head to get a closer look at it, kneel in front of her to get a better look. A long strand of thread from the interior lining of her coat is caught in the track. It doesn’t look like it’s coming out any time soon, not without some actual time put into it; I’d need a scissors, better lighting, and about twenty minutes to fix it.
I hear an intake of breath above me, against the top of my head. Is she sniffing me? She must be—the hairs on the back of my neck are prickling.
Bizarre.
“Did you just sniff me?”
“No!” She gasps, horrified.
I snort, shaking off a shiver. “Yeah right. Don’t lie.”
Violet scoffs. “Not every girl wants to date you, you know. You’re not that irresistible.”
The way she says it makes me think I just might be—to her. Otherwise, why would she bring it up?
“Who said anything about dating?” I give a rueful laugh, fingers working the pink metal teeth on her jacket. “No girls want to date me.”
I give the zipper another gentle tug as she laughs, warm breath tickling my ear as she leans to watch my progress.
I lift my head to meet her eyes. They’re curious and close to my face, annoyingly…naïve.
“There’s a big difference between a
groupie wanting to fuck because I’m an athlete and someone who’s seriously interested in dating, Violet. Only one of them ever happens to me.”
I am right up in her face, still down on my knees, so damn close I can feel and smell her minty breath; my nostrils flare, involuntarily inhaling more of her.
I notice the distinctive colors in her eyes as she gazes down at me quizzically. Black mascara sets off soft hues of brown, gold, and blue. A stark onyx circle surrounds her vibrant irises. Her eyes are fucking magnificent.
There isn’t a single freckle or blemish on her skin, and I curse myself for never noticing.
I’m definitely noticing now.
Dropping my hands from her coat, I rise to my full height, shoving them into the pockets of my jeans. “It’s not coming open. Sorry.”
“W-What do I do?”
“Clearly you have two options: jump with your jacket on, or pull the damn thing off over your head.”
“I’m not jumping in my jacket; I’ll die of heat stroke.”
I smugly grin. “So you are going to jump with us.”
Violet’s wide eyes are directed at my grinning lips.
“Why are you staring at my mouth like that?”
Her teeth drag across her lower lip. “You just smiled.”
“So? I smile.”
Occasionally.
Fine. Rarely.
“It’s…” She gives her head a shake. “Never mind.”
“Tell me what you were going to say.”
Her unblemished skin reddens. “It was nice. You should do it more.”
“I’m not an asshole all the time you know; I do know how to smile.” To prove it, I clamp down on my teeth and give her a toothy grin.
“You look like a hyena about to pounce on a gazelle.”
“Uh, what the hell kind of metaphor is that?”
“Cheshire Cat?”
“Ha ha.” Not funny.
“Crocodile?”
I snap my teeth together a few times, chomping down and advancing on her. She shoves at me with the palm of her hand, reaching for the hem of her jacket and pulling upward.
“It’s just…you smile so rarely, it’s like a Bigfoot sighting,” she teases, yanking her coat. Lifts it up higher. “And you should—smile more, I mean.”
Her hands grapple with the bottom of her jacket and she gives another tug—tug—inadvertently tugging her shirt along with it, baring her abs. The smooth pale expanse of her stomach and perky little bellybutton become exposed; my eyes are fastened to that indentation on her stomach and the cherry-colored birthmark slashing across her flesh.
Her jeans ride low in front, that tender skin dipping down into her waistline…into places I’m assuming no one but a doctor has ever been.
As she struggles, I catch a glimpse of Kyle’s horrified expression at the sight of her bare stomach.
I react. “Stop! Jesus Violet, are you trying to give everyone a free show?”
“Why! W-What’s happening? I can’t see!” Her panicked voice is muffled, trapped in the prison of her jacket, unable to see.
“Your shirt is about to come off.” I reach for the hem of her shirt, ignoring the spark from her skin when my fingers hastily pull the fabric over her flat stomach. “Let’s try this again, shall we? I’ll pull down while you pull up.”
My knuckles graze the skin above her hips, tugging. Hurriedly, Violet yanks and pulls at the stubborn pink jacket, wiggling her way out until it’s clear above her head.
Obviously, since she’s wearing a V-neck shirt, I check out her rack.
Or lack thereof.
Beneath that tee are two discernable bumps, smooth but small, and why the fuck am I all of a sudden staring at her tits?
I rush through peeling off her jacket, and when she’s free, the pale blonde hair surrounding her head sticks up in several directions. Adorable. Violet pats at it, smoothing away the flyaway strands, but even with her hair sticking out every which way, she looks flushed and happy and cute as all hell.
“I don’t even want to know what I look like right now,” she grumbles, stuffing her coat into Summer’s cubby.
“Your hair is a rat’s nest,” I put in helpfully.
Summer, who appears at our side, rolls her eyes and shoots me a hostile glare. “You’re not supposed to tell girls they look like rats.”
“First of all, I said her hair is a rat’s nest. I didn’t say she looked like one—there’s a big difference. Secondly, since when do five-year-old kids roll their eyes at grownups?”
“I’m seven.”
“Whatever kid. If you keep doing that, your eyeballs are going to get lodged inside your skull—permanently.”
Summer gasps. “No they won’t!”
“Try it and find out,” I intone cryptically.
The kid gives me another scowl so deep I have mad respect for her. “Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh.” I raise my black brows. “It’s true.”
Violet clears her throat. “Okay you two, stop arguing.” She digs into the back pocket of her jeans and produces a twenty-dollar bill, tries handing it to me. “Zeke, do you want to get our tickets?”
I stare down at the money then up into her compassionate hazel eyes. “You are not paying for the tickets. Like I’d ever let you pay for our shit.” The idea is ludicrous.
I roll my eyes heavenward.
“You rolled your eyes!” Summer screeches, jumping up and down; she’s hyper—to say the least—and her long dark pigtails bounce as she hops around us.
“I did not,” I argue.
“Your eyes are going to be stuck up in your big, giant skull!”
Giant skull?
I glance at Violet. “Can you make her stop?”
Violet shrugs. “You started it.”
With a grumble, I jerk my head toward Kyle. “Come on kid. Let’s get the tickets and get bouncing so I can be done and get the hell out of here.”
Ten minutes later, we’re bouncing.
“I-I can’t believe I suggested this.” A pouting Violet boxes out in the corner of a red trampoline, legs spread and knees braced to steady herself. She’s determined not to fall flat on her ass. “You were right. This was a shitty idea.”
Nearby, Summer and Kyle are tiny jumping maniacs, hopping from trampoline to trampoline like frogs leaping on lily pads.
“Well,” I gladly remind her, giving her a few quick bounces with the heels of my feet, causing her to lose her balance. She lands on her back with a flop as I lightly spring onto the net beneath us. “You were getting desperate for ideas I’d be willing to try.”
She stares up at from the mesh, flat on her back. “You’re right. I brought this on myself.” Her arm goes out, palm extended. “Help me to my feet?”
I stare at her hand like it’s a foreign object I’ve never seen and have no idea what to do with.
Must hesitate too long because she stutters, “N-Never mind,” and tries to twist her body into an upright position. Only then do I react, my palm gripping her hand, pulling her to stand with too much force. She tips forward, bumping into me.
Beneath our stocking feet, the net bounces. We stand inches apart, so I have to bend my neck to look down at her. A little closer and she’d be flush against my chest.
I stare down at her pink lips, that crooked, amused smile.
“Zeke, watch what I can do!” A small, high-pitched voice calls out, giddy. I crane my neck to see Summer kicking her legs out haphazardly.
“What is she doing?” I mutter. “She’s freaking out.”
“She’s showing off for you.”
“That kid has zero skills.”
“Just watch.”
I point to Summer, gesturing to her erratic movements. “That’s not even a thing, whatever that leg kick action is that she’s doing.”
Violet laughs. “She’s having fun.”
“She looks like a klutz.”
She jabs me in the ribcage. “Tell her she’s doing great.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not setting her up for failure by lying to her; that’s not doing her any favors. This is real life, not mamby pamby land.”
“Zeke watch me!” Summer shouts again, interrupting my speech. “Watch!” This time, she bounces and bounces and bounces, arms flapping like bird wings. “I’m flying!”
Her little feet have not left the ground.
“I don’t know, you’re not jumping high enough to be a bird.” My hand scratches the five o’clock shadow on my cheeks and I mutter to Violet, “I’m still not impressed.”
“Y-You’re the worst!” Violet chastises, but still, she’s smiling at me. “Can’t you be nice?”
“Fine,” I relent. Cupping my hands around my mouth to project my praises, I bellow, “Summer is the best jumper in the world! No, the universe! She’s a bird, she’s a plane, like a little godda—”
Violet grabs my arms, yanking my hands away from my mouth. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You can’t shout swear words in a room full of kids.”
“There are parents here, too.”
“Never mind. Just start jumping,” she says, uncharacteristically shoving my chest, pushing me. She laughs when I stumble, tripping onto another trampoline, almost falling flat on my ass.
I catch myself, bouncing back up to my feet like a boss.
“Someone isn’t as light on their feet as they think they are,” she teases, beginning a steady bounce.
Up and down…up and down…crossing her arms protectively across her chest, holding her rack like she’s afraid they’re going to be flopping around.
I smirk.
“I don’t know why you’re holding your chest like that. You have almost no boobs,” I say it in an effort to be helpful, because seriously, the girl has no tits.
Judging by her flaming red cheeks, I’ve embarrassed the shit out her, and she presents me with her back. Slows her roll. Stops jumping all together and makes her way to the edge of the padded safety mat.
“Hey, where are you going?”
She ignores me.
I roll my eyes.
“Oh come on, don’t get pissed.” Jesus, why is everyone so damn sensitive all the time? “Can’t you take a joke?”
