Free Little Battles by N.K. Smith Page A

Maryland experienced.
    I wasn’t excited about the ice or the cold.
    I stumbled out of my room and down the stairs, fully intending to go straight for the coffee pot, but was stopped short by the sight of Elliott sitting across from Tom at the kitchen table.
    We’d made plans, but not until the afternoon.
    I looked at the clock.
    Oh.
    Oh shit. It was already twelve-thirty. Elliott had probably been here for a half-hour at least.
    “Uh, hey.”
    Both of them looked up at me. Elliott smiled. I probably looked utterly horrible and yet he still smiled at me like I was fresh water to a parched throat.
    “Tried waking you up, but guess you didn’t hear me knock.” My father sounded worried.
    Well, shit.
    There I was in my sweatpants and t-shirt, both of which were clearly too big for me. I could either be incredibly embarrassed that I’d slept too late and looked so bad, or I could own it.
    Screw it.
    I went over to the coffee pot. “Sorry for making you wait, Elliott.”
    “I-i-it’s o-o-o-o,” he paused, took a deep breath and then continued, “…o-okay.” He must have been nervous because of Tom. “I-I-I b-b-b-b-b,” he tried, but finally gave up. I went over to the table and he thrust a bottle toward me. “Hhhhere.”
    He’d brought me pomegranate juice and I couldn’t help but smile.
    I sat down and took it from him, my fingers brushing his just barely, and I shivered, but not from the cold air. “Thanks.”
    He pointed at my chest and I looked down, wondering if my boob was hanging out or something.
    “What?”
    “Fffffavorite ssssssshirt?”
    I smiled again, but then remembered Tom was in the room. My brow creased. “Yeah,” I said as I turned to see Tom’s eyes narrow as he studied the shirt.
    I thought he was going to say something about it, but all he did was stand up, grab his coffee and newspaper, and mumble something that sounded like “Take your blood sugar and have fun,” as he left the kitchen.
    I felt bad that I had made Elliott wait with Tom.
    “I’m really sorry.”
    He shook his head. “N-no, it’s o-okay.”
    He sounded pained and slightly out of breath. I really looked at him. My scrutiny must have been too much, because he turned away.
    “What’s wrong?”
    He shook his head again, his eyes fixed on the table. “I-it ssssssnowed.”
    I smiled, even though I knew some shit was wrong with him. “It did. October seems early, but whatever.”
    Elliott’s body tensed up as he tried to speak, but all that came out were a few stuttered syllables. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do when he got like that. It always seemed to help when I touched him, especially when I ran my hands through his hair, but before I could, he sat back in the chair, his hands disappearing into his pockets.
    In a flash he was gripping some brown fabric and shoving it toward me, and again I really looked at the musician’s hands that had Megan Simons all riled up. They were nice, but as I had before, I noticed the small white raised skin and the curved indentations next to them that marred his otherwise perfect skin. I wondered what happened to create those scars.
    “Hhhhere,” he said once more, quickly moving his hands away once the item was close to me.
    A matching hat and gloves sat on the table and I looked back at him, quirking an eyebrow.
    In answer to my silent question, he said, “I-i-it’s c-c-cold outssssside and I d-d-didn’t know if you hhhad a hhhat. I d-don’t w-w-want you to get sssssick.”
    I didn’t know how to feel about Elliott buying me winter outerwear. On the one hand, it was considerate, and on the other, he was getting way too vested in me. I would probably end up ruining him, despite his claim that he was already ruined, and then after he was gone from my life I’d still have these stupid gloves and hat to remind me that he knew what my favorite color was.
    But none of that was his fault.
    “Thanks, Elliott.”
    He finally looked up at me and smiled. After quickly