I wasn’t smart, by the way.
“North American?” he suddenly asked.
I paused before I answered. I’d never been asked that before. It was usually, “American?” or, “What part of America are you from?”
“American,” I told him with a smile.
“What part?”
“Detroit.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have picked that up. You don’t have the Michigan accent.”
I pretended not to be impressed by his worldly knowledge of the Michigan accent, something not many people knew about unless they’d been there. Had he?
Instead, I went along with my lie. “Not everyone from Michigan has the Michigan accent, you know.”
“You’re right, that was a blatant generalisation.” His eyes meandered from mine to Emily who was pretending to be distracted by her phone. His gaze lingered on her longer than I’d have liked. All hopes of that kiss suddenly halted during the few seconds of watching his curiosity peak.
Damn, he’s interested in her.
A wave of anger shot through me. It was usually the way. Some men liked blondes. Some men liked brunettes. And while that was disappointing, I wouldn’t let it derail me. I was up for a challenge.
Plus, I didn’t want to kiss anyone else on this pitiful train.
“Are you a tourist?” he asked, all his attention drawn back to me.
“Yeah.”
“How long are you in the wonderful land of Oz for?”
“A few more days.”
“Hmm.” He looked down at my clothes and then my purse and smirked, like he suddenly realized something. I wondered what.
“How about you?” I asked. “You’ve got your own accent brimming out of you. Not the Australian one, either.”
“You mean, am I a Pommie?”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Some people found that term for British settlers in Australia offensive.
He chuckled at my reaction. “I’m not a tourist, no. Among other places, I live here. Have lived here for many, many years.”
“How come?” I was surprised at how genuinely curious I was.
“Family relocation,” he answered with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “They decided this isolated desert city was the perfect oasis for a…brand new life.” You’d have been deaf not to notice the bitterness dripping out of his tone.
“Do you like it here?”
“I do. It took a while at first, but that happens when you’ve settled into a new place. You compare your old life with the new until the old becomes a distant memory.”
I nodded in complete understanding. Who said shit like that?
“How about you?” he asked absorbedly. No longer caring about Emily, he roamed my face with those grey eyes as if he was uncovering some kind of mystery. I wished I knew what he was thinking.
“I love it here,” I answered honestly. “It’s the perfect place.”
“What makes it perfect?”
Forgetting. “Everything. The laid back culture, for one.”
He watched me for a moment with a wistful smile. I don’t know how I knew, but I was sure he was aware of my lie. His stare only intensified as he looked into my eyes. For the first time in a very long time I squirmed under such blatant scrutiny. My confidence, which was usually soaring high in company of the stars, was weaning to a shyness I wasn’t used to – one that sat low and hidden in the shadows.
Never had someone stared at me with such fascination. After all, I was an object, not a person. I was the short fleeting moment of ecstasy before I was forgotten. Yet this man seemed to look at me not as an object, but as a person worthy of getting to know and understand. And for the first time since I could remember, I cared about what he saw in me.
Could he see my secrets? Could he see the liar that I was? Could he see my sins looking for holes to break out of me? Or was I so fucked up, I was yearning from within for attention, and this was all a desperate mind trying to conjure up something that didn’t exist? Most likely.
“How old are you?” he asked in a low, demanding tone.
I licked my lips as I stared down at his. “Twenty.” Just barely.
“Very young,” he remarked. For a moment, his eyes dimmed and he looked away, shaking a thought that stiffened his body for a second. Then he turned back to me and broke the serious spell he was responsible for creating. “So what made you want to travel to Oz?”
I didn’t care that the strange moment was over. I just liked hearing his voice directed at me. So desperate for attention, aren’t you, Claire? Pathetic.
“Crocodiles, beaches, palm trees and kangaroos,” I answered with a smile.
He laughed lightly, his humour returning. “How touristy!”
“But nobody ever told me about the spiders!”
He looked at my mouth and then skimmed over inch of my face – it was like being fucked by those eyes. “Yes. Nobody mentioned those to me, either. Big as my palm.” He stretched his long hand out, and I absentmindedly noticed scars around his knuckles.
“And the snakes!” I added with more excitement than I should have.
He nodded. “No, we mustn’t forget those. King browns and–”
“Anacondas!”
Pause. “No, little lady, I’m afraid Anacondas aren’t native here.”
Little lady.
Little lady.
I’d never been called little lady before.
I blushed and looked away. “Of course they’re not. I was just testing you!”
Amused, he said, “Of course you were.”
I ran my hand through my hair. Then I ran it again and again. What the hell was wrong with me? I never raked my hand through my hair, but I couldn’t help it. I was sweltering under his gaze. I hadn’t felt like this since I was ten and had the biggest crush on my creepy fifth grade teacher, Mr Crates. That freak collected snails by the bucket loads. Creepy Crates has nothing on this man!
“So tell me,” he said, breaking the awkward moment of silence, “what will you be doing at the Showgrounds today?”
“I don’t know exactly. What would you recommend?” Liar. I knew exactly what I was going to do: eat a shit load of cinnamon donuts, go on a shit load of rides, and chat every hot man up until my pocket was exploding with more numbers than Emily. Competing with each other was a pastime that dulled the boredom. It was also a way to feel more important than we were.