Skin by Donna Jo Napoli

me.
    “I’m Joshua. Who are you?”
    “Sarah. This is my house.”
    “Then I’ll do what you say.”
    “Watch
Jeopardy
with Sep.”
    “All right, Boss.”
    “I’m Sarah.”
    “All right, Sarah.”
    Sarah points and we sit on the couch obediently.
    I watch TV but I don’t see anything. Maybe I’m going blind instead of deaf. This is a very bad idea. I should have never given him the address. “Why…?” I can’t finish.
    “Why what?”
    I have to blink back tears. “Just why.”
    “I take it this isn’t a huge philosophical question.”
    I shake my head.
    “So… you’re asking about… right now?”
    “You’re here. Why?”
    Joshua nods his head slowly. “I wanted to see you.”
    “Why?”
    I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. “I don’t know.” He looks sideways at me. Then he turns to look at me head-on, shifting so one leg rests, knee cocked, between us. “I wanted to… I don’t know… I wanted to get to know you. Like we used to.”
    “Why?” I manage to say it without my voice cracking.
    He blinks. “You haven’t changed that much, I guess. You never made anything easy.”
    “Nothing is easy.”
    He scratches his temple with just one finger. He looks so puzzled, I actually feel sorry for him. But I need to know. I don’t want to be miserable, and I’m pretty sure that Joshua Winer could make me miserable if I let myself fall for him. He wouldn’t mean to—I can bet that—but it would happen anyway.
    He drops his hand. It falls in his lap on top of his other hand with a little smack. I flinch at this proof of the weight of him, the physicality. A sharp smell hangs on him. Aftershave? It kind of zings me. I sit taller. His nose is straight and long. His eyebrows are dark brown, like his hair. It’s not as dark as mine, but it’s close.
    I realize he’s looking at me looking at him. But he’s not challenging me. His eyes are just nice. Easy. I like their light, flickering color. I swallow again and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to cry now. That’s passed, at least.
    “Blue lipstick,” he says at last. “Are you going to experiment with every color?”
    “I’m trying to hide white.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with white.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Sep, I have no idea what we’re talking about.”
    All over again I’m on the verge of tears. This is so stupid. He’s here. I might as well try to have a nice time. “What would you like to talk about?” I ask.
    “Something I know.”
    “Something you know?”
    “Yeah. That way I can be sure to have something to say.”
    “How’s football?”
    “Good. That I can talk about. Sure.”
    “Want to take your jacket off first? You know, stay a while?”
    He throws his jacket over the back of the couch. And he talks. About practice every day. About the game tomorrow night. About the lineup and where he fits and what he wants to achieve this fall. He’s totally into it and his hands move as he talks. Big, wide hands. There’s a scar on his right palm. I don’t remember that scar.
    Now he’s smiling at me.
    “What?” I say.
    “You haven’t said a word. That’s not like the Sep I knew.”
    “I’ve been listening. I didn’t know you were so… loquacious. You didn’t use to be. Or am I remembering wrong?”
    “Tell me about you.”
    I open my mouth and dance comes out. I hadn’t planned that, but somehow it just fits with all Joshua’s talk about football. I tell about Ms. Martin and Jazz Dance Club and how sometimes when she talks about wings I feel like I have them. And then I stop. I don’t want to be talking anymore. “That’s all. That’s all I have to say.”
    “Nice.” Joshua bobs his head in agreement. “Hey, where’s the kid? Sarah?”
    Oh my God, I forgot about Sarah. “Sarah?”
    “Quiet,” calls Sarah from the kitchen.
    I go in with Joshua at my side.
    Sarah’s sitting on the floor. There’s an open egg carton on the stool. And a broken egg on the floor beside her.