Like Dragonflies - Page 19

Me: Not everything to be seen is pretty.

Sage: When you’re surrounded by flowers, they lose their prettiness. Even flowers wish they could be dragonflies.

And dragonflies wish they could be with flowers.

Sage

My room smells like a salon. I only notice it once I unplug the flat iron. I hate the smell of hair products, because it reminds me of tagging along with Mom to get her hair done. Before she joined the Ladies of Ashton Hills, she spent her free time in the salon gossiping under the guise of concern.

That’s when I first realized how phony people could be.

I stare at my bone straight raven hair in the mirror. I wonder if I’m becoming one of them. I hate being groomed until I’m shiny and perfect, but here I am with perfect hair, shiny lips, and an expensive outfit.

My stomach flops and I blink rapidly at my reflection.

I’m turning into my mother.

Without a second thought, I brush my hair into a high ponytail and take off the overpriced clothes. I feel much better in a pair of jeans and a vintage Pearl Jam concert tee. I glance at myself in the mirror once more and decide to keep the lip gloss. I like the way it makes my lips sparkle.

A knock on my bedroom door sends my hand flying to my chest. It has to be Dad. Mom always knocks demurely. Besides, she’s out with the Ladies of Ashton Hills planning another pointless charity event.

Thank God I embarrassed her so much at the dinner, because she didn’t ask me to come along this time.

I open the door for Dad and he strides in, then sits on my bed. “You look beautiful,” he says. A genuine smile makes his eyes light up.

“You sure?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow at him. “I was going to wear something fancy, but then I decided I should just be comfortable.” I look to him for a response and he chuckles at me.

“Sage, you could wear a brown paper sack and look beautiful. Now, you wanna tell me where you’re going?” he asks. He regards me with curiosity but I remain tight-lipped.

When Mars asked me to go out with him, I was stunned. He wanted to go out with me. In public. Like a date.

Most boys thought I was boring and wouldn’t even talk to me unless it was about helping them with schoolwork. Mom tries to set me up on dates all the time, but I manage to wiggle out of them.

This will be my first real date. The first time a guy asked me out because he saw something in me he liked. My knees go soft at the thought.

“I’m going to grab something to eat,” I tell him with a nonchalant shrug. I don’t tell Dad I’m going on my first real date with a boy I actually like. He’ll make a big deal over it, and I’ll be more nervous than I already am.

I’m wishing I hadn’t put my hair in a ponytail now because I know my ears are bright pink. Stupid ears. They’re like a freaking neon sign, letting everyone know I’m hiding something.

“With who, exactly?” he probes. Now his arms are folded and I know I have to give him something to chew on or we’ll be here all night. I tap my knuckle against my lip and clear my throat.

“Just a friend I met at The Grind House.” Right on cue, my phone chimes with a text message and I race to pick it up.

Mars: I’ll be there in five minutes.

My cheeks burn from smiling so hard. I slide the phone in my back pocket and look at Dad with wide innocent eyes. He’s not buying it though.

“It’s a boy. Isn’t it?” he grumbles. “The barista.”

“It’s a friend,” I tell him as I make my way to my bedroom door. I can see unspoken words mounting behind his eyes, but I make a break for it and rush down the steps to the foyer.

“Sage Emerson,” he bellows. He’s leaning over the rail, giving me his best fatherly glare. I respond by batting my lashes and offering him a sweet smile.

“Love you, Dad. Gotta go!” I’m out of the door before he can come downstairs and interrogate me more. I love him but I don’t need to be nervous before this date.

Mars is the only person I’ve ever been around who doesn’t send the stone wall rolling in. I want to keep it that way.

Cool wind wraps around me, making me wish I’d grabbed a jacket, but going back in the house means getting hit with questions I’m not ready to answer. I glance over my shoulder and see the curtain in the living room move.

Come on, Mars…

In the distance, I hear rumbling and knocking. I turn my concentration toward the sound with pure curiosity. It moves closer and I stretch my neck to see where it’s coming from. Headlights bend the corner and start moving down the private road that leads to my house.

Tags: K. Webster Romance
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