Chapter 20

Theresa was talking to Opal the next morning when Herry came over to his locker, she was stifling a yawn and blinking sleepy eyes as the redhead talked. Ignoring Theresa's unusual presence he sent the small girl a knowing smile.

"Three hours," she told him with a scowl, "Three hours of sitting in a smelly room with children screaming nonstop for them to determine no concussion. I love my dad, but sometimes he needs to calm down."

"You spent the night in emerge?" Theresa hissed and sent an apologetic smile.

"Yeah," she shrugged as she turned to Theresa, the playful sarcasm in her voice evaporating as she addressed her, "I'm going to head to class."

"I'll walk with you," Theresa exclaimed, straightening as she took a step down the hall. Opal shielded away from the redhead, shuffling closer to the lockers.

"Theresa," Herry said in a voice drizzled in honey, "Can I talk to you?"

"What do you want?" she shot over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he leaned down to whisper in her ear as Opal quickly grabbed onto the escape he had created and scurried off down the hall.

"Making friends, what do you think I'm doing?" she told him.

"Making friends with the girl I like conveniently right after you learned I liked her," he said as he began to rummage around the bottom of his locker for his books, like a raccoon searching through a garbage bin, "I know you, stop trying to make shit happen. I really don't think it's the best thing for me to start dating, especially with a girl that's descended from a Greek hero."

"Ugh, since when did you turn into Jay?" she crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her hip.

"Theresa, just stop meddling," he said, standing straight to toss his locker closed. Theresa huffed and blew at her bangs. Asking her to stop meddling was like asking a lion to stop hunting.

"Where are you going all dressed up like that?" Atlanta asked Archie as he came up the stairs from his room. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot as she waited for his answer.

"I'm not dressed up," he held out his arms and looked down to his jeans and black shirt.

"More than your usual," she said and raised an eyebrow.

"I have a date," he told her.

"A date?" she asked, narrowing her eyes to a sliver of a squint, her brows knitting together as she scowled, "With who?"

"Emma," he said, slipping by her to put his shoes on.

"Emma," she said with a hiss as she sneered, committing the fowl name to memory.

"Yeah," he said as he opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete steps.

"Whatever, have a good time," she yelled. She ripped the door from his hand and slammed in his face. A pang of guilt shot through him as he stared at the wood of the brownstone's front door. Atlanta rushed to the living room to watch him leave with his date. She growled and clenched her hands into fists. That frumpy blonde was touching her man. Atlanta stormed back to the landing and laced up her runners.

As she followed Archie and this Emma she stayed at a safe distance, lingering behind corners of building when she could to catch a section of their conversation. They made their way downtown where they mostly window shopped. Atlanta huffed to herself, this wasn't Archie. He wouldn't be caught dead on a date like this with her. Then why did he look so darn happy with shopping? This chick wasn't worth drooling over like he was. Sure she had princess worthy hair styled in perfect curls waving all the way down her back, but it wasn't that shiny. She did have a stunning body, but it was much too delicate for Archie, not like her own fit and cut body. And what was up with her clothes, it was like dressing up Theresa in Atlanta's wardrobe. It was obvious she was trying to be a tomboy, but true tomboys like herself didn't paint their faces like this woman did.

Gnawing on her lip with her arms crossed over her chest Atlanta leaned against the side of a dumpster, peaking around it to watch Archie and his date sitting on the curb beside a fire hydrant. They were licking ice cream cones, playfully smudging it on one another's noses and cheeks. Her laugh sounded like sugary taffy promising the cavity drill at the dentist. Atlanta rubbed at her nose crinkled so much with scowl it looked like it belonged on a pug.

She growled when Archie reached out a hand to place on Emma's knee. His date startled and jarred both legs away. Her knee wacked the fire hydrant beside her and the sharp ring of metal on metal reverberated. The anger etched into Atlanta's face was replaced with confusion.

"Are you okay?" Archie asked, skepticism coming through on his voice as he leaded away.

"Oh yeah," she waved off his concern and rubbed her knee, but it didn't even look like she felt the blow.

"That was, it sounded…" Archie said, drawing his brows together.

"Ah," she reached up a hand to toss her long hair over her shoulder, "I didn't want to tell you right away, but I have a prosthetic. It scares some people off."

"Oh," Archie's face dropped in embarrassment, "no, no, it's fine. You walk really well with it, I couldn't even tell."

"Thanks," she smiled.

"How long have you had it?"

"I'd rather not talk about it right now," she said, "Is that okay?"

"For sure," he got to his feet and offered down his hand, "now where to?"

"I don't know," she sent him a bright smile and placed her hand in his. Atlanta pursed her lips and scrunched her nose as she watched them walk away again, this time hand in hand. Emma walked with no hint of a limp, Atlanta wasn't very accustom with amputees, but she was fairly certain Emma had a little more control over her supposed prosthetic than most. She turned on her heel to jog back to the brownstone. There was some research she needed to begin.

Theresa had placed a nasty little bug in Opal's ear that morning at her locker. She had pleaded with her to ask Herry out as just friends at the least. Friends, the more she thought about it the better an idea it became. At the end of that school day when she thought she had summoned enough courage to ask her stomach threatened to empty everything she had put into it for the past week onto the floor. It was infuriating. How was she ever going to get over her nerves?

"Fish on," John called with excitement, pointing to the tip of her rod jerking down to the water. Opal snapped out of her daze and picked herself up from where she leaned on the pier's railing. She started to reel in the fishing line, but her father threw up a protest, "Set the hook, set the hook."

She huffed and snapped the rod up to ensure whatever fish was down there was snagged. This was the part her father always raved about, the thrill from the fight of the fish. She never understood what he was talking about. Reeling in the fish was tedious, aggravating, not in the least bit fun.

"Look at that," John said, whooping out a hardy laugh as he reached down for the sole the length of his forearm, "That's dinner."

"Mmm," she nodded as she humored him. Grinning he freed the fish from the hook and tossed it in the cooler he had converted into a livewell. He rigged up her rod with new bait and instructed her to cast out again. She followed his orders and dropped her elbows back on the metal railing, slouching her shoulders and leaning her cheek into her fist.

When her father had overcame his excited reencounter of her catch and the silence of the afternoon beside the ocean was restored she hesitantly asked, "How did you ask mom out?"

He laughed lightly and shook his head, looking down to the water with crinkled eyes, "We met in a garden, one of the many parks in New York. She looked like belonged there in the big city, whimsical and worldly, and me? I was a fisherman from a town in Nova Scota that barley had a population over one thousand people. I hadn't even wanted to come to New York, some of my collage friends dragged me along. So, I was trying to escape the city, go be with the trees."

He paused to look up to the soft wisps of clouds in memory, he swept his hand in front of him and continued, "She was beautiful sitting there playing her clarinet, worlds away from who I was, but I walked over to her and I said, 'Excuse me, I know a beautiful woman like you shouldn't have anything to do with a guy like me, but I'm John.'

"She looked up at me and I probably looked like a hick to her in my plaid flannel and ripped jeans. She smiled her sweet, little smile, held out her hand and said, 'Ophelia.'

"'Ophelia,' I had said, 'I'm not from around here, do you think you could show me a good place to eat?'

"She bit her lip and thought about it for an excruciating minute, but then she said, 'I get off class at four, meet me at the Marson square diner.' Well, I gave her the most ridiculous smile that has ever crossed my face and the rest is history."

"But how did you do it?" she asked again and specified, "What about the nerves."

"Just tell them to huck it," he kicked out his foot against the railing, "Chickadee, sucking up the nerves for one moment was more than worth everything that came after." She hummed and looked back to the ocean. John chuckled and reached out his hand to shove her shoulder, "I like that boy."

"Uh," her cheeks burned red, she refused to glance to her father as she spoke, wrapping the short hair at the base of her neck around her finger, "What boy?"

"The one you want to ask out," he said with a laugh, "What's his name again, Henry?"

"Herry," she was quick to correct. John just laughed and the colour on Opal's face deepened.

John cleared his throat, a warm smile still on his face, "I know what it's like, your tongue suddenly forgets how to make words and your heart's going so hard you can hardly think of the ones you want to say, but you'll regret it more if you never ask."

"Thanks Dad," she said, watching her fishing line where it disappeared under the blue.

"Any time Chickadee," he said with a smile, cupping a hand around her head to pull her in and smack a kiss on her curls. She may not like fishing, but she definitely appreciated the time she got to spend with her dad.