As Told By Paramours

chapter eight

josie

"WHEN I GET MARRIED AND HAVE KIDS, I'M NAMING ALL MY CHILDREN after the months of the year," I tell Khushi, who is laying on my bed and hanging her head off the edge, dark curls reaching the ground.

"Do you want them to be bullied?" she replies, scrolling through her phone.

I (maturely) make a face at her. "Like you are?"

I see a flash of a finger I'd rather not name, and casually asks: "Have you listened to the CD yet?"

She's referring to the CD she gave me as a gift, which she'd burned songs I loved onto, and the answer was yes. I listened to it over thirty times in the past two days, and even though she asks nonchalantly, I know it means something to her. "Yes, I love it so much."

"What's your favorite song?"

I hum and tuck my knees up to let my chin rest on it. "Either Japanese Denim or I Hear a Symphony. Also Liebestraum was just beautiful."

She smiles. "I loved those, too."

We sit in a comfortable silence, until Khushi speaks up.

"Hear anything from Fiddler?" she asks with a knowing smirk, and my heart drops.

It's not her fault, I think, that she doesn't know what happened. That she doesn't know why I told him to leave me alone. It's not her fault that the whole school thinks I broke his heart for no reason when he was really sick to me. It's mine. I'm the one who stayed silent.

"Miles?" I say, and my voice is smaller than I want it to sound as I attempt a subject change. "How is he? Do you want to talk to me about anything?"

Her smile drops. "Not really." Then she narrows her eyes at me, catching on to what I was trying to do. "You?"

I should tell her. She would want to know. But instead I hear myself say softly: "Not really."

She's silent for a moment, simply staring at me.

"Actually..." I start randomly, and Khushi raises a brow lazily (her version of an excited what!!!???) "I've been passing notes with this guy."

"In class?"

"No. At Jameson."

Her suggestive expression drops. "You've been passing notes with an old man?"

For some reason, I feel like Elijah is my secret, like a penpal I've never told anyone about. I like people really easily; Elijah isn't an exception, and although it's only been a couple weeks since we started writing notes, I consider him a friend. "Not an old man," I say, then meet her eyes, purposely leaving out information so she'll have to ask.

"Who, then?"

"A guy our age. A grandson of one of the residents."

She sits up so she's lying on her belly on the bed, hair a mess. "18?"

"Yeah. At least I think so."

"Oh?" she wiggles her brows. "Is he a hottie?"

I shake my head. Then I nod. "Well, he's..." I shake my head again. "I don't like him like... that." I'm not looking for a relationship now I think, and Elijah seems like the type of guy who's already in one. It's only been a few weeks. Besides, I like this note passing thing. I like that I feel I've made a friendship. And I'd like it to stay that way.

"So?" she asks. "What do you two talk about?"

"Umm... ourselves, lately. Him and I plan to meet each other in a couple months."