Gives Me Hope. (I guess that’ll be the title.)
He handed me a white daisy. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
I stared at him, confused, but I took the flower. “What are these people saying?”
“They’re saying you look hott, but they wouldn’t be caught d—…dead being with you because you’re too much of a loser slash poser.”
I ignored the “pun” that he tried to (sort of) cover up. “Then why did you give me this?” I held up the flower.
“Because you’re beautiful, sweet, and smart. And everyone deserves a second chance at life — well, high school.” He smiled. “And definitely happiness.” He held out his hand.
I took it and we moved to the dancefloor. “How would you know I’m sweet?”
“Because I’m your little stalker.” He giggled a giggle so subtle and light, it was peculiarly adorable.
“Glad to know I have one.” I smiled up at him.
He raised my arm and ran his finger over my slightly scarred, pale skin. “Glad to know your arm is healing and not newly scratched.”
I jerked my arm back, clutching the daisy still.
“I’m sorry.” He took the white flower and stuck it in my hair. “You know, looking at the positives in life is less painful — mentally and physically,” he said, casually.
I looked into his deep green eyes, ignoring the comments people were making off to the side.
“Personally, I don’t think self-harm is a great way to cope. There are other things to do, like being with your friends, picking up a hobby. Something — anything to keep you happy and distracted.”
I laid my head on his shoulder. I had nothing to say.
“And, you know, going to a This Providence concert would be nice.”
I smiled. “Are you inviting me to a This Providence concert with you?”
“With me, my friends.”
“How did you know?”
“You have like, five different shirts, I noticed. And you have them on your binder.”
“I’ll go.”
“Great.
“Oh, I’m Eric, by the way.”
“I know.” I kissed his cheek.
