HABIT by Scott Ginger

Author:Scott, Ginger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Miss Write, LLC
Published: 2022-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Morgan

I feel pretty today.

I have not felt pretty for a long time. And by my old standards, I would never have considered taking a photo to mark this occasion, which is basically no occasion at all, whatsoever. Yet, I very much want to mark this occasion.

The sky is blue behind me, speckled with cotton-like clouds, and there’s a crispness to the air that reminds me of those times when I was young and my mother warned it was about to snow. The chill delights me, kisses my cheeks red, and tickles my ears. I pull my knit hat lower to cover them and wrap my knit scarf around my neck one more time before holding my phone out in front of me and snapping a selfie. I mark it as a favorite and save it to a folder on my phone that I simply title ME.

Alone with my laptop and my earbuds and a playlist I haven’t cracked open in months, I hike down by the river, where Cameron and his friends usually smoke weed at night. I like to come here in the afternoons, or at least I used to. This is where I get my reading done for class, and today, it’s where I intend to knock out a five-page paper on colonialism that’s due by midnight.

Thing is, I’m not even panicked about it. I feel capable of pulling off miracles, and I know it’s because meeting James has changed me. I’ve never felt more okay sharing my insecurities with someone. Not even last year when I sought out Coach Wallace to help me dig my way out of depression. I told him about my lows, but not the lowest of them. But with James? I don’t feel this need to hold back. I want to tell him about my struggles, about what happened with Coach Wallace and the ugly rumors that swirled around his departure.

I want to share the good things with him too. Especially after he took me to a place that was so important to him two nights ago. I could have sat in that truck with him forever, and yes, there are many pleasurable reasons driving this feeling. But even if all we did was talk. I could watch those cranes work and listen and share with him for hours. I want to give him a piece of me like that. Maybe a trip to my grandparents’ old cottage on the cape that goes terribly unused and is basically this abandoned bargaining chip between my parents. It belonged to my mother’s parents, but the deed is now part of the company. Everything is part of the company. That’s how my dad controls the pieces—aka us. Taking James there would change all of that, like bringing an old black and white memory into color.

That’s what he is. He’s the color.

Setting my backpack down on one end of the old wooden riverside bench, I straddle the other to create a makeshift desk for myself so I can get to work.

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