The Girl

The movie was...it was pretty okay. Mostly, Girl had spent it being very aware of her own boundaries, very aware of Carson's. She's never been in this situation before. Any connections she'd managed to make out in the Zones had been fleeting, a few hours at most, warm bodies in scavenged sheets. This is different. This is a boy who had wanted to spend time with her, who'd danced with her. At one point, she'd wanted to hold his hand so much her fingers had itched.

She'd held onto a fistful of her skirt instead.

After the movie, the Mall feels incredibly, intensely bright. Girl had spent what felt like hours getting ready while Poison had helped. He'd picked out the polka dot skirt flaring slightly just above Girl's knees. Her hair is up, held back with red cotton that matches her lipstick.

Why does she still want to hold his hand?

"So," she says. "What are we doing next?"

Things are better but they still don't feel right. Girl's stomach still feels like a clenched fist when she looks at him, like she's eating herself with guilt. She can't believe he's forgiven her for some of the things that she said to him, that first morning. She doesn't feel like she deserves to be forgiven. She'd always thought that she got her temper from him, but maybe she gets other things from him too. She'd thought all of her rage and her love had come from her mother, the one she'd never met, but maybe Poison had had a lot to do with that, too.

She walks into the kitchen and finds him cleaning. Again.

"P?"