“We’re the motherfucking Elite Kings Club.” Nate waves off Hector. “Dare any dumb fucker to come near us and live to talk about it.”
“Well, that’s just it.” Hector shifts back in his chair, and for the first time ever, I see something foreign flash over his face. “It has.” Fear.
Saint
She’s so pretty it hurts. She has long dyed pink hair hiding her natural blonde. Not as blonde as me, but blonde. No one is as blonde as me naturally.
Her mouth is moving as she talks while zipping around the kitchen, flustered, her hair flying around the place. I have barely been able to get a word in. I hope she doesn’t think I’m rude.
“…so now I’m pregnant and my best friend isn’t here, her best friend has moved away with her boyfriend which, by the way, we wouldn’t be friends anyway. I don’t have any girlfriends except for those savages outside—” Her mouth stops moving. I realize she has stopped talking and she’s looking right at me. “Sorry, I’m not with it right now.”
I shake my head, running my sweaty palms over my thighs. “It’s fine. Really.” It’s sort of not. I don’t know how to talk to someone like this. Are most girls like this? I like her. Don’t get me wrong. She’s obviously fierce about the things she loves and I wouldn’t want to ever cross her, but she speaks at speeds I can’t catch. Maybe that comes from her confidence. She has a lot of it. She’s also so pretty.
She takes two steps closer to me, and I finally notice what she’s wearing. Skinny jeans and a Louis T-shirt that hangs loose on her figure. Her makeup is impeccable, her eyebrows perfect. You’re being weird.
“How old are you?” she asks simply.
“I’m seventeen.”
“When did you turn seventeen?” She examines me closely. When she looks me up and down, it isn’t in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. In fact, I prefer it, because now I get to openly gawk at her without feeling like a weirdo.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Jesus,” she whispers. “You’re so young.”
“How old are you?” I find myself asking, because I wouldn’t think she’s much older than I am.
“I’m twenty.”
Huh. She doesn’t look it.
“You seem younger, though.”
My stomach flips. I have to fight the urge to reach forward and touch her hair.
“Anyway.” She brushes off our conversation. “You stay seated while I cook.”
“Cook?” My shoulders straighten, my attention successfully piqued. “Can I help?”
Tillie turns and smiles for the first time since we’ve spoken. “Sure. Okay.”
I push off my chair and she points to a laptop where an internet browser is open on Pinterest. “I want to make Korean. It’s Bishop’s favorite food, and I think he could do with something good right now.”
I find myself smiling as I tie my long hair up onto the top of my head. “It’s my favorite, too.”
Tillie chews on her bottom lip, and just as she’s about to open her mouth, I interrupt. “I know a few recipes. I can make Japchae and Bulgogi. We can bake some Hoeddeok for dessert, too.”
Tillie doesn’t answer, and when I finally look up at her, her mouth is slightly open, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what all of that is, but okay! You tell me what to do.”
We move through the kitchen in silence, and when we do talk, it’s about simple stuff. I ask her about her best friend, and she tells me that she’s away right now and is dating Bishop, one of the guys Brantley is friends with. I’m thinking it was the guy I noticed yesterday. I don’t know why I feel drawn to him, but I do. I want to talk to him. I don’t know what I’d say, but I’m fascinated by him. She tells me that she and Nate have had a crazy relationship, her words not mine. They’ve broken each other’s hearts and came back together again, so she said the same will happen with Bishop and Madison.
“I don’t think I like cooking Korean food.” Tillie swipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hands.
I chuckle. “It’s not easy to perfect.”
“So how did you come about cooking?” she asks, and I know it’s a double-edged sword. She probably wants to know about Brantley and me more than she cares about how I came about cooking.
“When I was young, I didn’t speak English or understand the language. I think I understood Latin, but then I was later diagnosed with a mild speech impediment. So, I guess I always found myself in the kitchen, wanting to do something with my hands since I wasn’t very good with vocalizing. I felt like I was helping if I cooked food for Lucan and Brantley. I’d leave meals in the fridge. At first it never got eaten, and I’d end up throwing it out. But then as I got older, Brantley would finally eat it. The times he was home, at least.”