Julia stepped into another set, turning light on her toes, keeping close as she listened to Jamie’s continued music and considered what he’d told her.   “Anyone who wouldn’t is missing out.”  He had to say that because he was her friend, she decided.  Because what he said . . . that would mean that everybody in the whole world was missing out, which seemed silly even in her head.   It was the sort of praise that parents gave little children to build up their self-esteem even when they didn’t really do anything to deserve it.  It was the same as saying nobody would want to.  

When Julia stopped dancing again, she leaned on the side of the piano to watch Jamie play out the end of the song.  He was so good at this, and she smiled watching him, in spite of the morose tendency of her mood today.  Julia would never be a great pianist.  Jamie, though, he was plenty good enough for the both of them.  All at once Jamie was done, and Julia slipped back onto the bench beside him.  She leaned into him, slipping her arm around his back and resting her cheek on his shoulder, a quiet sort of applause all its own.  

“What did you say? Right, who would kiss you?  Nat Warwick. Why shouldn't he? Or anyone else yous like. Anyone.”

A slow sigh escaped Julia, and her mouth tightened up into a sort of a pout.  He made it sound like it was her own fault boys weren’t interested in her, as though she needed to be more nervy or forward or something.  She wasn’t worth a boy’s time unless she chased them first, like one of those trampy girls who didn’t cover their legs correctly with their skirts on purpose whenever they sat down.  Julia didn’t know if she could be that kind of girl, and the idea that it was the only way to be attractive enough to stop being invisible . . . . well, that idea felt heavy, like a weight pressing on her stomach.  At once she straightened up and stood again, sliding away to pick up Jamie’s guitar.  She took the chair where it had been resting, positioning the instrument across her front.  Julia crossed one leg over the other, mindful of her skirt, and began to play at positioning her fingers on the strings the way Jamie did.  

“Maybe I should ask for tramp lessons from somebody like Emma Briar,” she suggested after a moment.  “All the boys like her.”  She strummed lightly with her thumb.  A curtain of hair covered half of her face as she looked down at her hands.  



Life unfolds in proportion to your courage.  

Last Edited By: Pasmosa Dec 9 12 11:45 AM. Edited 1 times.