Damselfly Read Online Free Page B

“I guess I’m not.”
    “Me neither. Unless it’s a tribe thing. Even then…”
    “I don’t really know anything about those.”
    “We don’t have them very often anymore. Usually there’s some traditional dancing, and that part’s all right. But then people start drinking and that’s when I leave.”
    “Oh.”
    “I seem to have a knack for bringing up depressing topics today. Sorry about that.”
    “No, it’s fine.” I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. I had made it myself out of a taffeta that folds and wrinkles like raffia paper, but it looked smoother in its digital incarnation. I looked up to find him watching me with a sort of perplexed curiosity.
    “So…what do you do for fun?” he asked.
    Escape from falcons? Tend my garden? Read?
    “I design and sew my own clothes. I make my own dyes, too.”
    His eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Wow, that’s awesome. I’m not very creative. I can’t draw anything except stick figures. But I do play a mean harmonica.”
    I giggled but then tried to grab it back in case he was seriously proud of his harmonica skills. “What songs can you play?”
    “Hmm, well, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.’ I tried to learn ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb,’ but it was a bit too complex for me.”
    I laughed again, and his face lit up.
    “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t play anything at all,” I said.
    “Awesome! I win this round.”
    “Oh, are we having a competition?”
    “It’s a contest for who can play the most ridiculous, useless instrument. Clearly I am the champion.” He leaned into his chair, his shoulders easily as broad and strong as the wooden back. I had to wrench my eyes away from them.
    “Well then, I’ll just have to accept defeat.”
    “Don’t give up so easily now.”
    His eyes traced over my facial features. I blushed and scratched a non-existent itch on my forehead. He seemed to recede into himself, and the open, happy guy was replaced with the cool and confident Jack I saw talking to those girls.
    “That seriously is amazing though,” he said.
    “What is?”
    “That you make your own clothes. You do a good job. I’m not good with style, but yours are cool. That shawl thing is really colorful.”
    It was a scarf, but whatever. “Thank you. That’s a…a really nice compliment.” No one had said anything about my clothes before.
    “Maybe you could come over and stitch up this hole in my sock…”
    “Oh, no, you didn’t. You did not go there.”
    “I think you’re learning how to be the perfect little housewife.”
    “Sure. Too bad you’re not training to be Prince Charming.”
    “Ha.” It came out like a bark. His face scrunched up under the sting of my words, and I instantly felt bad. When would I ever stop putting my foot in my mouth?
    “I’m sorry,” we both said at the same time. Then we laughed in unison.
    “Don’t bother,” he said. “I probably deserved it. And I think I should make it up to you.”
    My heart stopped for a moment. I tried to think of something clever to say but all that came out was, “No, really, you don’t have to.” Mentally, I kicked myself. Hard.
    “I know I don’t have to, but I’d like to. Unless you don’t want me to.”
    “No, I would.” It came out way too quickly.
    “Do you play Pixelsgarden?”
    Pixelsgarden was a game or, really, a digital world where players constructed their own environments. You projected yourself into the world with an avatar. Most people used their regular scanned selves, but you could alter almost anything about your appearance.
    “I have an avatar for it, yes.”
    “Why don’t you meet me there on your birthday?”
    “What time? And what construct?”
    “If you give me your email address, I’ll send you an invitation.”
    “Oh, that’s very smooth of you.”
    “Getting your email? That’s nothing. I just got you to agree to go on a date with me on your birthday.”
    My cheeks started