Re: log: joey & ella, gatsby
She was straightening, the twitch-seams of the beaded skirt swaying back into place, the scuffed-smooth shoes clicking on the tile at the door, her hands working at the blond mass of her hair, unthreading hair-pins like a house undoing Christmas decorations. Yeah, and she wasn't supposed to feel a thing at all but it was warm as a cupped flame, held in two hands and Ella dimpled like you could smile yourself stupid.
"I don't know," she said, trying to think of the sheet behind the door, all the girls' names looped in penciled cursive, "But I'll let you know?" It was like the other girls, with their admirers, damp-combed hair and hands full of nothing that they needed to tuck them away, sheepish. Except it wasn't, but he was wholesome then, like the dirt and grime of a decade behind bars would rub off and leave the little boy behind. She held a hand out, to help him up, the rattle of beads around her knees.
"When I know I've got a turn." A promise, blue as the sound, the slam of a far-off door made her jump.