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Weekly Contest #311
Henna, age 17 And then, as we rounded the corner, there he was. Leaning against the cafe wall. I smelled his cigarette before I saw it. When he glimpsed us out of the corner of his eye, he tugged it from his lips and stubbed the glowing tip into the bricks behind him. “Oh,” he said. “Hey.” “Hey,” I said. Daily grabbed the loose elbow of my sleeve, tugging, her signal for “we should probably leave right now.” I pulled away, my signal for “it’s fine, you’re fourteen so act like it.” “You look nice,” Julien said. “Oh.” I looked down at my flow...
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