“Goblet of—”
“Fire,” she cuts in. “Me too. I mean, I had issues with the entire premise of that book. Hogwarts has, like, a bazillion rules so students don’t get hurt, so we’re supposed to believe they’re going to send one of them into this competition that’s so dangerous he could die? For…what? School pride? I don’t think so.”
Talking books seems to be digging her out of whatever hole she was sinking into. At least that’s something I seem to be able to do for her. I turn the conversation up a lighter path. “Didn’t really have an issue with that. I just remember thinking the Yule Ball and all the fuss about learning to dance and who to ask was too girly.”
She gives me a skeptical squint.
“What?” I say with a shrug. “I was eleven.”
She sets the book down and studies my face. “So you read the entire series?”
I nod, suddenly captivated by those deep gray eyes, so close to black as her gaze settles into mine.
“You didn’t just wait for the movies?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “Not a big fan of the movies.”
“Why?”
She’s staring at me intently, waiting for an answer, but there’s a sudden, uncomfortable gnaw in my stomach. When I check in with myself I realize it’s a deep aching need to reach out and touch her. But I can’t. Cheering her up with book talk is one thing, but anything more would be crossing a line.
I shift on the bleacher so there’s more space between us. “I guess I should qualify that by saying I’m not a big fan of any book-to-movie adaptation. Once I’ve gotten neck deep into a character’s head in a book, the movie versions always come off feeling two-dimensional.”
“You think Daniel Radcliffe was two-dimensional?” she says, incredulous.
I shrug. “He did as good of a job as the script would allow.”
There’s a moment she continues to look at me as if I’ve turned purple before tapping the cover of her book. “What else from the list have you read?”
“The ones I remember you saying…” I start ticking off on my fingers. “Lolita, Grapes of Wrath, Catcher in the Rye, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Tropic of Cancer, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Harry Potter, of course.”
“How many of those did you read in high school?”
“I read the Harry Potter books before high school.” I can feel this conversation layer by layer becoming more personal. Something about that feels wrong, but maybe I’ll find the key to how to help her somewhere in this conversation. I just have to keep her talking.
“But the others?” she presses.
I take a deep breath. “Tropic of Cancer was maybe sophomore year in college, and Lolita after I graduated.”
Her look has turned curious, as if she’s trying to see past my skin. Which, for some reason, I find exhilarating and disconcerting all at the same time.
She leans back against the fence behind the bleachers and tugs on a corkscrew on the side of her head that’s not partially shaved. “Huh.”
“Huh, what?”
“No offense, but how big of a geek were you?”
I crack a smile, but then it fades, remembering everything I had to do to keep from getting stamped with that label. “Why would you think I was a geek?”
“Because you were valedictorian of your class, and you actually read,” she says, tossing a hand at her book. “Even in my senior honors English class, only a handful of them are actually reading the assigned book.”
I lean back next to her. “The honest truth? I wasn’t a geek, but I wish I had been.”
Her eyes widen. “Why?”
“I watched my sister do her own thing while I was jumping through all the right hoops to stay in with the cool kids, and I was jealous.”
“The sister in the bright blue wedding dress?” she says with raised eyebrows.
I nod. “Blaire.” I watch my finger trace the seam of my swim trunks. “She was never afraid of what people would think or say about her, and in the end, I think because of that, they were all okay with her. High school’s hard enough without pretending to be someone you’re not.”
She gives a little nod. “Which is why I don’t bother.”
“And I have to say, I admire that about you. You’ve got strength I didn’t have.”
A cloud passes over her face, and I sink deeper into those eyes, trying to read her thoughts.
“A little help here!”
I jump at Corinne’s voice from the pool. Christ. I was so lost in our conversation…in Addie…that I forgot the rest of the team. I leap off the bleachers and move to the pool.
Corinne folds her arms on the pool edge and splits a narrow-eyed glance between Addie and me. “If you’re done with your Oprah Book Club meeting, we could use a little direction here.”
When I glance at Addie on my way to the pool, she’s smirking, and I smile despite myself.