Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
A silence as long as a lifetime stretches between us. Vann is back to staring at the ground, like he has an obsession with his big feet and those military-style boots he wears. I wonder if he even heard me. Did I ask the question at all, or did I imagine it?
Then he gazes at me. I wasn’t prepared for his gaze, his eyes lit by the streetlamp nearby, and even in the semidarkness, he is beautiful in his mystery. Tortured. Curious. Hiding in his shell, yet reaching out to me somehow.
And then he shrugs. “Sure.”
My heart stops at once and falls in love with that one, tiny, lovely, stupid word. Sure.
07 | VANN
Sure?
Really, Vann? Sure? That’s all you’re gonna say to him? After he invites you—still a total stranger—into his house at midnight? After you just happened to encounter him on the streets of this small spiderweb of a town?
“Uh, alright, yeah, cool!” Toby exclaims cheerily, then leads the way. I follow a few steps behind, my eyes dropping to his cute butt in those slacks he’s got on from the restaurant.
Yes, I know where he came from. I heard Ms. Joy say it during auditions, asking him about his job at Biggie’s Bites. It wasn’t hard to find where the rinky-dink burger joint was, and when I passed by the place around 9:30 or so, I saw a lot of noisy … commotion through the giant windows that very much dissuaded my asocial ass from stepping foot in there. In the middle of that commotion, I spotted Toby in his apron and uniform taking a plate of fries out to a customer. Sweat dressed his forehead, but that cute smile of his never fell off his face, even when a seemingly irritated old man flagged him down with an obvious complaint, which Toby took in stride as he briskly headed back to the kitchen, maybe to fix the grouchy man’s order. I did a few leisurely circles of the block, in truth wondering if Toby might step outside for a break, or a quick breather, and then I could run into him and strike up a chat.
That break never happened.
Instead, a couple hours later while walking the perimeter of Spruce High, bored out of my mind, I caught Toby running away from a pesky-looking mutt that didn’t look like it could bite the ice cream off the end of a cone. I followed them to the dead-end of the street, where I proceeded to watch him wrestle in the mud with the assailing dog. It was adorable, but also kind of sad.
“So, uh, this … is kinda my …” Toby stops at the fence of his house, then sighs as he gestures at the opened gate. “Yep. Just as I thought.” He quickly leads me in before shutting and locking the gate, the dog wagging her tail as she watches on excitedly. Then he makes some soft noises at her, getting her to head back toward the side of the house. It’s a rundown countryside one-story, but has a lot of charm. Well, as much charm as can be seen in the dead of night. The wooden side paneling is discolored from age and has a sketchy spot or two I think termites might’ve had a party with. I’m so wrapped up taking in my surroundings that the hiss of the hose turning on surprises me. I spin around to find Toby rinsing the dog off by the back porch, taking care to hold her in place as she tries to steal a bite of the stream of water. “This won’t take too long,” Toby assures me as he, once or twice, fights to keep the dog in his grasp. She apparently enjoys the attention a bit too much, thinking Toby is trying to engage in some sort of game with her. “Really, this is just … such a pain in the … Winona, hold still … such a totally, totally avoidable pain in the … Winona! … if only Lee or Carl hadn’t left open the … Winona, stop tryin’ to bite at the dang hose …”
“This happens often?” I ask. “The dog getting out?”
“Winona here just needs more lovin’ than she gets. She’s … a sorely neglected birthday present to my stepbrother. Hey!”
The dog breaks free from his grasp and tears off across the backyard, running around in circles. She barks a few times, then starts shaking her body, droplets of water spraying everywhere in the dark. Toby sighs, and there’s a whole damned world of feelings and frustrations in that one unassuming exhale. “Sorry,” he says again. “Just not my night.”
“At least she’s drying off,” I point out with a shrug.
Toby untucks his dress shirt, then wipes his forehead before he starts to wrap up the hose. The poor guy has mud all over his shirt, down the side of his pants, and halfway up his face. There’s a few streaks in his hair I don’t think he’s even aware of.