Shattered by Carlson Melody

Author:Carlson, Melody [Carlson, Melody]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Christian Young Reader
Publisher: NavPress
Published: 2011-04-11T05:00:00+00:00

. . . [CHAPTER 12] . . . . . . . . . . . .

Daniel points to The Coffee Station, a small coffeehouse just down the street. “Is that okay for coffee?”

“Sure.” And just like that, we’re walking down the sidewalk together. Is this really happening, or am I daydreaming or delusional? I cannot believe I’m with Daniel right now. It is seriously surreal, and I’m tempted to do something really lame like pinch myself.

As he opens the door, a bell jingles and the smell of fresh-roasted coffee and the loud roar of the espresso machine confirm that this is indeed real.

I listen as Daniel places his order and, partly out of nerves and partly because it sounds good, tell the girl I’ll have the same. Before long we’re seated at a marble-topped table where we make nervous small talk until the girl calls out Daniel’s name, and he returns with two black mugs of steaming mocha.

“You’re a very good dancer.” Daniel smiles as he sets a frothy-topped mug in front of me.

I blink. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” He nods eagerly. “I mean, I’m no expert and I’m guessing your heart wasn’t totally into it, but I could tell you’re good.” “Thanks.” I explain to him what Madame Reginald told me about finding my inner ballerina.

“That makes sense. Sports can be like that, too. You go to the hard place, and you come back stronger.”

“Maybe...”

“I really admire you, Cleo.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been through so much, but you do it with... with...”—he pauses as if searching for the right word—”maybe it’s grace. Yeah, you do it with grace. That’s really admirable. And cool.” He smiles.

I look down at my mocha. If he had any idea... if he knew what role I played in my own mother’s death, what a horrible daughter, what a spoiled brat I really am... well, he probably wouldn’t even want to talk to me. And who could blame him?

“So I was determined not to bring you down,” he tells me. “And it looks like I’ve already done that.”

I look up at him, longing not to blow this moment, wishing I were someone else or that this were a few weeks earlier. “No, you’re not bringing me down. I’m just already there. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very good company.”

“No, you’re fine, Cleo.” He begins talking about other things, telling me about his plan to work at his dad’s radio station this summer.

“Will you be a DJ?”

He chuckles. “I wish. No, I’ll be more like a gopher. I work there every summer, and I’ve only been on the air a few times. But that would be cool.”

“You’d probably be good at it. You have a nice voice.”

“Thanks.” He actually does some little DJ narrative, which is really pretty good.

“Sounds like you’ve been practicing.”

“I keep trying to talk Dad into giving me a chance. You never know.”

We continue to talk about nothing and everything, and finally he tells me it’s after six o’clock. “Do you need to get home?”

I shrug.

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