I turn and, of course, she freaks out.
“Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God,” she gasps and her hands fly to her mouth.
“Ssh…it’s okay. I just slipped on the ice. It looks worse than it is.”
Her eyes go glassy and the color drains from her golden complexion. I hope she’s not going into shock or something.
“Dee,” I say and slowly move toward her. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just a cut and some blood. No big deal.”
She looks me over and I sigh with relief when her hands drop and some of the tawny hue returns to her face. “Sorry,” she says, “you asked me not to freak out and I did.”
“Hey, I’d freak out too if the roles were reversed.” I conjure up a smile to show I’m all right. “Will you grab me an ice pack while I clean myself up?”
She nods, not quite back to herself yet.
I head to the bathroom and turn to the task, but my ribs are throbbing, and all I’ve accomplished in the short time Dee’s gone is to run a cloth under water.
“Here, let me do it,” she insists, back in control again.
“You don’t have to.”
“You’re in no position to argue with me.”
“I never am. You’re gonna make a great lawyer someday,” I say, knowing of her plans to go to Amherst in the fall and eventually law school.
She rewards me with a crooked half smile that lifts my heart. I’m used to girls smiling at me without me putting out any effort at all. With Dee, it’s a rare treasure.
“Sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, liking the idea of Dee taking care of me a whole lot more than I should. It has the makings for my next chapter. Dark Shadow wounded in battle and Princess Dionna nursing him.She gets a bowl of warm water and a sponge to clean his wounds. Her clothes are in tatters from fighting the enemy invaders. Princess Dionna changes into a thin white dress she doesn’t realize is translucent when she steps before Dark Shadow in the firelight. But he does. He takes in the shape of her—
“Mick?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not sitting.”
“Oh.” I ease down onto the toilet seat lid and bite back a groan. I don’t want to have to explain any more damage than the gash on my cheek.
“Daydreaming about a story?”
“Yeah,” I answer. She knows me well. But not well enough to notice I’ve had a major crush on her for years now.
“What’s it about?”
I look up into those amber eyes, and it takes a lot for me not to tell her she’s the inspiration behind my story, or to whisper in her ear every vivid fantasy I had of her while writing it. “It’s about a princess who wears thigh-high leather boots and kicks ass.”
That startles a laugh out of her. It’s not all high and giggly like other girls’ laughs. Dee’s laugh reminds me of late summer nights—sultry with a soft breeze.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Don’t princesses usually wear glass slippers and get saved by the prince?”
“Sure, in boring fairy tales. But in my story there is no prince. Her ally is from the dark side and they save each other.”
“I like that.”
