The hot air stuck between the skyscrapers of New York City hits me like a wall. It clogs my lungs and when I try to take a deep breath, the oxygen feels sticky in my mouth.

During today's eight hour shift, Stacy kept complaing about the airconditioning in the salon and I silently agreed with her. But now I think that it actually wasn't so bad, compared to this.

I ride the train back to the apartment I share with my brother, flexing my hands. They always hurt after a full day at Anne's, callouses on my fingers from the scissors and razors.

„I'm home,“ I shout, toeing off my shoes as soon as I close the door behind me.

It's a little cooler inside, but still too hot.

„I've cooked dinner,“ Caden says, leaning against the kitchen counter as I enter.

He always seems to fill up the whole tiny room, tall as he is. The shirt he's wearing is hanging off his shoulders like it would off a rag. My baby brother is towering over me by a good couple of inches now, but his frame is still so skinny that it sometimes worries me.

„Mac'n Cheese?“ I ask hopefully.

„Yeah. But we didn't have real Maccaroni, so I took Penne instead.“

I don't mind the Penne. The glory of the meal is in the sauce, which is incredible as always.

„How was your day?“ I ask.

Like a parent and not the twenty-one-year-old I am. But I seldomly feel like twenty-one.

„Good,“ Caden says, which is code for boring.

Sometimes I wonder if he'd ever leave the house if he didn't have to attend the lectures from time to time. Then I wonder if it bothers me that he doesn't. I know it should.

„And yours? Any funny customers anecdotes?“ my brother asks.

I shake my head.

„Not really. Only another lady assuming you're adopted.“

Caden snickers and runs a hand through his frizzy curls. He tried for an afro when he was thirteen, even though I told him his hair was too soft for that. He didn't listen until I finally set my foot down and cut it off before he'd have to start combing it to keep from looking like a stray dog.

„What did you say?“ he asks, stealing a bite from my plate.

„That I fell into a bottle of bleach as a child.“

He almost chokes on his food.

„Oh my God, I wish I could have seen her face.“

I grin.

„It was pretty hilarious.“

Not in that moment though. Despite being as used to it as one could ever be, I still don't like it when people don't believe that Caden is my brother.

„Leah?“

„Yeah?“

I finish my plate and put it into the sink.

I don't like Caden's tone.

„Mom called,“ he says.

I put my hair up in a messy bun, not looking at Caden.

„What did she want?“

„To have dinner,“ Caden tells me.

„Okay. What did you say?“

„That I'd talk to you.“

„Hm.“

„So?“

„So what?“

Caden taps on my shoulder.

„So, are we going to have dinner with mom?“

I look up at him. It's crazy, how tall he is. I'm not a short girl, but now he can easily rest his chin on my head.

It used to be the other way around.

„Do you want to?“

He tilts his head and shrugs. I already know the answer.

„I wouldn't mind.“

I could tell him to go alone.

Maybe I will.

„Tell her I'm not sure yet if I can make it,“ I say.

My hair still wet from the shower when I open the door to Caden's room.

„You're going to be late,“ I tell him.

He's still in bed and only groans in response.

I roll my eyes, already annoyed at eight in the morning, and pull his covers away.

„Get up.“

I've already chugged a cup of coffee and finished two slices of toast when Caden finally makes an entrance, still in his pants and a shirt.

„Is there any coffee left?“ he asks and I frown at him.

He knows I don't like it when he drinks coffee. The look he throws me borders on a glare.

Wordlessly, I hand him a cup and he pours himself some lukewarm coffee.

„Eighteen is old enough to set your own alarm,“ I tell him.

He wraps his hands around his cup. They're big enough to make it disappear completely.

„I did. I just... fell asleep again.“

„Yeah, well – don't. I don't want to have to wake you like a six-year-old.“

„Noted,“ he says and gives me a smile that always gets me.

„I'll be home before six,“ I say.

„Okay. What am I going to tell mom about dinner?“

I sigh.

„I don't know yet.“

„Please come, Leah. She hasn't seen you in forever.“

That's because I don't want her to see me. Which he knows very well.

„For me?“

Caden isn't actually sweet. He just knows how to manipulate me.

„A puppy-look won't convince me, Cades.“

„Are you sure?“

I roll my eyes so hard that they must almost get stuck in my skull.

„Alright. Fine. I'll go with you.“

He grins widely.

„I'll tell mom we're going to dinner on Friday.“

„Sorry I'm late,“ I say as I rush into Anne's.

„It's fine, sweetie. No one's here yet.“

Anne smiles at me. She's a red-haired woman in her forties, wearing prominent glasses and lipstick that sometimes gets stuck on her teeth. I always have to tell her when it does.

I set up my little desk and wipe the mirror, chatting with Anne about her kid. She has a little girl, first year of primary school. I've met her daughter once when Anne brought her to work.

Even I, confessedly not a fan of children at all, had to admit that she's a sweetheart.

I get the day started with two regulars before I take a small break, chugging a glass of cool water and wiping the sweat off my forehead.

„You have a customer,“ Brian says, sticking his head into our small staff room.

„I'll be right there.“

Reluctantly, I put my black apron back on. It's another layer of clothing that makes me sweat even more, my shirt clinging to my back.

„This is Leah. She's going to make you beautiful today,“ Anne says to the girl that is apparently my next customer.

The first thought coming to mind is that I've never seen someone that was in less need to be made beautiful by me.

She's one of those girls that makes you hate her just by existing.

„Hi. I'm Delilah,“ she says and smiles at me, exposing a set of perfectly straight teeth.

I shake her hand and try to smile back. I'm very aware of the sweat under my arms and I'm sure my face is shiny.

I sit her down in my chair and look at her long strands of dark hair. She looks amazing with them. I'm not sure what she would want to change.

„What did you have in mind?“ I ask her.

„I want it all off. Maybe a cute bob with some bangs,“ she says, looking at herself in the mirror, smiling lightly.

I take a lock of hair between my fingers. It's thick and strong and she has a lot of hair.

„Alright. How short do you want it?“

I'm always very specific on that question since I once had a girl break down in tears because I cut off one inch too many.

„Oh, just cut it how you think it'll look best,“ she says and smiles at me.

Her eyliner is impeccable, even in the heat. I could never draw a wing that perfect.

When she smiles, that wing almost disappears.

„Okay. I'd probably cut it about this length.“

I show her in the mirror, and she nods.

„Yeah. Okay.“

She hums when I wash her hair and closes her eyes. Most people like it.

„You're really good at that,“ she tells me.

I swallow.

„It's my job.“

„Well, you're very good at your job.“

„Thank you.“

I begin rinsing the shampoo, her hair almost black now.

„What do you do?“ I ask.

„I'm a student,“ she says. „I actually just moved to New York.“

„How do you like it?“ I ask her and she has to wait until I've wrapped her hair up in a towel before she can answer.

„I'm totally in love with the city. It's all so loud and crowded and I get lost all the time.“

I raise an eyebrow.

„And you like that?“

She grins at me through the mirror. Somehow, even with a towel on her head, she manages to look good.

„I do. I like all the colors and the different languages and people.“

„New York is pretty diverse, that's true.“

„How long have you been living here?“ she asks as I comb her hair.

„All my life.“

„Really? That's cool.“

I'm not sure it is. I'd love to travel, but – well. You need money for that.

„What is your favorite place in New York?“ she asks me.

I pause to think about it.

„Probably the public library, to be honest. Plus there is a really good Japanese restaurant I could eat at every night.“

Delilah laughs. It's a rough, but very feminine sound. The laugh of a girl who drinks pure vodka and paints her nails dark red.

„What's yours?“ I ask her, knowing how lame my answer was.

„I don't really have one yet.“

She blinks at me. I've already cut of half her hair.

Her eyes are big and dark brown, framed by blackened lashes.

„Maybe you could show me around?“ she asks me and I almost cut myself.

How did we get from talking about Brooklyn's library to her asking me to hang out?

„Oh. Sure,“ I hear myself saying, even though I don't actually want to.

But before I can backpedal, Delilah smiles brightly.

„Perfect. I'll give you my number.“

I don't call Delilah.

And I don't think about calling her, either. Obviously.

„Are you ready?“ Caden asks me, peering into my room.

I'm busy fixing my eyeshadow.

Honestly, I don't know why I even bother. I don't know why I'm getting all dressed up for my mother, of all people.

Maybe just to show her how much better I am at adulting than she is.

„Let's go,“ I say and he gives me a look.

„I've been ready for half an hour.“

„That's because you don't get ready.“

„Whatever,“ he says and we leave the apartment.

The restaurant my mom picked is a diner with sticky tables and huge portion sizes.

Of course it is.

She's wearing jeans and a blouse and just seeing her dressed like a Karen makes my blood boil. She's not some mom from the suburbs. She doesn't have two white kids and a dog and a husband that comes home from work to kiss her cheek.

She's not that at all.

„You look good, sweetheart,“ she says and hugs my brother.

When she hugs me, I go stiff like I always do.

She smells like perfume and a tiny bit like smoke.

„How are you?“ she asks as we're all seated.

Her make up can't cover the new wrinkles in her face. Her lipstick is red and her eyes are quite clear, even though her face still seems a little red.

„Good. College is good,“ Caden says and I hate how he smiles at her.

„And you, honey?“

She's looking at me now. A little warily, as always.

„Everything's brilliant,“ I say, aware how icy my voice sounds.

Caden kicks my shin under the table.

„How is the salon?“

„Good,“ I say. I feel like Caden and I don't know how to say anything else.

„And how are you doing, mom?“ Caden asks.

„Oh, I'm fine. I've finally unpacked the last cartons. The kitchen turned out quite lovely. You should come visit me sometimes,“ she says and smiles at Caden because she doesn't know how to properly smile at me anymore.

She has moved into a new apartment a month ago. A smaller one than the old one. She says she likes it better there.

I don't think a new apartment makes any difference.

We order food and awkward silence settles over the table.

„I've been thinking,“ she says when our burgers arrive.

Her voice is too bright.

I look at her hands. They're not shaking today, but that doesn't have to mean anything.

I pick up a fry. It's greasy and salty and I know it'll taste delicious.

I also know I don't want to eat a single one of them.

„Now that I sold the old apartment, I still have a considerable amount of money left. I wanted you guys to have it. Maybe you could use it to renovate your own apartment? Caden told me your tab keeps leaking. And I bet your walls could use some fresh paint too.“

I throw Caden a death glare. He stares at his plate.

„No, thanks,“ I say. „We don't need your money.“

My mother deflates like a ballon that has just been popped with a needle.

„Are you sure? Because I don't need it. I'd like you to have it.“

I give her a smile that is so fake that it hurts my face.

„No, honestly. We're fine. Thank you.“

„Okay,“ she says, voice small, and picks at her fries.

I go back to my own plate.

I shouldn't have come. It's always like this when we see each other. Painful for everyone.

We end dinner with the vague promise to visit her new place (which I fully intend not to keep) and then ride the train home.

„Why can't you just be nice to her? Just for an hour or two,“ Caden asks me when we're back home.

I throw my shoes into the corner.

„I just can't, okay?“

My mouth is dry and my palms a little sweaty.

„She's trying really hard, you know?“

I don't respond.

„Just give her a chance, Leah.“

I turn around to him.

„No, I'm not giving her a chance. She's had enough chances, okay? No more.“

Caden gives me a hard look, then coughs.

I perk up.

„Do you have a cold?“

I step closer, try to touch him, but he pushes me away.

„Leave it,“ he says.

„For how long have you been coughing?“ I ask.

He laughs – a bitter sound.

„Oh my God, I'm not in the mood for your crazy right now.“

I flinch back as if he'd hit me.

„My crazy? What the hell, Caden?“

„I'll go to my room,“ he says and I can hear the door slam shut.

He knows how much I hate that. The asshole fucking knows.

„Don't slam the door!“ I shout and he pretends he didn't hear me.

„Everything okay?“ Anne asks me when I come in to work on Saturday.

Usually, I'm in a good mood on Saturdays – my shift only lasts four hours and I start at ten, meaning I can almost sleep in.

Today, I'm not in a good mood.

„It's my mother,“ I say and Anne pushes up her glasses, face softening.

„What did she do this time?“ she asks and Brian comes over, setting the broom aside.

„Offered us money,“ I say.

Brian's brows draw together, just a fraction.

He's not that tall, but broad and muscular, his blue eyes and strong jaw dreamy.

He used to have a crush on me when I first started to work at Anne's.

After I rejected his offer for a date three times, he then went and got himself a nice girlfriend that sometimes visits him at the salon, her make up matching her skintone precisely and not a hair out of place.

She must be straightening it though – no black woman naturally has hair like that. So it means it's probably rough to the touch.

I stupidly cried into my pillow the night after Brian introduced her to me.

„Did you take it?“ Brian asks me.

I snort.

„Of course I didn't.“

Anne sighs a little.

„You know, there is no shame in allowing her to help you. She's your mother, honey. It's her job.“

„I don't want anything from her,“ I say through grit teeth.

Anne and Brian know quite a bit about my fucked family. Not everything though. But enough to know how much it agitates me whenever I have to see her.

„How is she?“ Brian asks, eyes calm.

I shrug.

„She seems fine,“ I have to admit. „But you can't always tell.“

„If you need anything, let me know,“ Anne tells me and my throat is tight.

„Yeah. Thank you.“

I have already had a business man, a mom not older than myself and a teenaged girl with tattoos on my chair when the doorbell tingles and Delilah walks in.

I almost drop the scissor I was cleaning.

She grins at me, fanning herself with a manicured hand.

„So hot out there,“ she says and I can actually see her face glow with a thin layer of sweat.

„Already sick of your new haircut?“ I ask her.

I wouldn't know why. It suits her.

It suits her so well, I don't even want to think about it.

„No, I love it,“ she says and I know Anne is watching us.

„I just wanted to pop by to make sure you haven't lost my number.“

She winks at me.

How can anyone be so sure of themselves?

She seems like someone who just assumes everyone likes her. And, honestly, I bet she's right.

„Oh. Yeah, well – I was pretty busy,“ I say and hope, hope to God that I'm not blushing.

„It's fine. Are you busy tonight?“

The whole shop seems to be listening.

I stare at her wedges. Her toenails are painted in lilac.

„She's free,“ Anne says from behind the counter.

Delilah beams.

„Perfect. When are you off?“

„Around four,“ Anne supplies and I'll have to have a serious conversation with my boss.

„Brilliant. I'll pick you up at four then,“ she says and before I can protest, she waves at me and leaves the shop.

I turn to see both Brian and Anne smirking at me. Brian's customer blinks at me from under the foils on his head.

„Really, Anne?“

Before she can answer, Brian says:

„What's wrong with you? She's gorgeous. Why don't you want to go out with her?“

I cross my arms.

„Jesus fucking Christ, she doesn't want to go out with me. She's just looking for a friend to show her all the best clubs. And that's not me.“

„Maybe,“ Anne says. „Or maybe she wants to go on a date with you.“

„She's at least been very persistent,“ Brian says and I really hate them.

„I don't have time,“ I say.

Anne flaps her hand.

„Of course you have time. All you do is work and watch movies at home.“

„Don't call me out like that,“ I say and Brian laughs.

„It'll be fun either way,“ he then says to me.

„You don't know that.“

„But I'm pretty sure.“

I sigh and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

„You two are the worst,“ I tell them.

Delilah is waiting for me outside the salon, smiling and attracting stares.

In the midst of the faint smell of trash and sweat that has implemented itself over New York, she looks like she just fell out of a vampire love story. Her long legs are a little too pale for the unrelenting sun torturing us and her hair and eyes are so dark that it makes me think of Snow White.

She's wearing boots to her short skirt and I wonder if she knows that it outs her as a Not-New-Yorker. She's trying too hard.

„There you are,“ she says and I step forward.

Sweat is glueing my shirt to my shoulder blades and I know my hair is limp.

„Where do you want to go?“ I ask.

She smiles at me. I bet she knows how pretty it looks. I bet she has a whole assortment of smiles filed away, picking out one that fits the occasion.

Or maybe she just really smiles like that.

„You're the guide, Leah.“

I look at my Converse. They used to be white. Now they're an ugly grayish color.

„Are you hungry?“ I ask her.

„Starving.“

„Okay. Do you like Japanese?“

„You want to show me your favorite restaurant? That's sweet,“ she says and I stare at her for a moment too long.

Sweet. I hate it when girls call me that. It usually means they are very, very straight.

Not that I care if Delilah is straight or not.

She seems to sense my disapproval, because she tugs at the hem of her skirt and sort of twists her torso in a swaying motion, like a little kid waiting to get some candy.

„I love Japanese food,“ she says and I lead her to the place.

Only when I enter with Delilah, I notice the faded paint on the walls, the scratched floor from too many pairs of shoes. The sticky menus.

„It's nice. I like it,“ she says, looking around when we sit down.

I can't tell if she's being sincere.

„So, where are you from?“ I ask her after we ordered our food.

Delilah rests her weight on her forearms.

„I'm from Boston. But I've moved around a bit.“

The waiter brings our drinks.

I don't miss the sideways glance he gives Delilah, that small flicker of his eyes.

„Why did you move to New York?“

Delilah gives me a little grin.

„Because I dream big, of course.“

„Of what do you dream, then?“

She does that little shoulder-shrug again, twisting her body a little.

„I want to become an actress,“ she says, sparkle in her eyes.

I say nothing.

She gives me a look.

„You think I'm just one more crazy person, don't you? One more wanna-be starlet that'll end up moving back to their cozy home towns after roaming the citiy's streets one night too many?“

I blink.

„That was very dramatic.“

She laughs.

It's not a particularly pretty laugh. It's rough and sweet and as high-pitched as it is low-pitched.

„I'm a dramatic person.“

„At least you're honest as well,“ I say and she grins.

„What are your dreams, Leah?“ she asks, then lifts her glass to her lips, eyes on me as she takes a sip.

„I don't dream.“

Delilah rolls her eyes. I can't tell if her lashes truly are brilliant or if she's just good with make up.

„Everyone dreams.“

„Okay, well – I dream of having a dog some day.“

„What kind of dog? Like, a small one to carry that gives you hearing damage or a big one to cuddle that salivates on your couch?“

I smile.

„I think something in the middle.“

„Like what?“

„Well, I was thinking about a cute mix. Maybe some Maltese, but bigger.“

„Maltese are the worst. They're the biggest cowards and when you go for a walk with them, they'll take an hour to sniff at every brick of stone they pass.“

„Did you have one at some point?“

„My mom did. The worst.“

She takes another sip of her drink. The glass sports a lip-shaped lipstick stain at the rim.

„I like dogs,“ I say and shrug.

„Dogs like me, but I don't like dogs,“ she says.

I bet everyone likes her. She's just that kind of person.

Our food arrives and Delilah is well better with chopsticks than I am. One time though, she almost dunks her necklace in the bowl and I laugh at her.

She narrows her eyes, devious grin on her lips and takes a big gulp from my coke, smudging my glass with lipstick.

I tell myself I can taste her lipstick on my tongue.

„So, where are we going now?“ she asks me, biting her lip and grinning.

I think without her boots, we'd be the same height. I might even be an inch or so taller.

„I could show you around Williamsburg a little. I bet you'll like that.“

„Oh, yes. Sounds great.“

It's not unbearably hot anymore and I can almost breathe again as I show her to Brooklyn's most popular district.

„So many stairs,“ Delilah muses, gazing at the house facades.

I look at her and think she fits right in with those other rich kids playing tough. Thinking that if they throw on some black nailpolish and oversized denim, they'll no longer be rich kids.

People are looking at her and I wonder how it must feel to be drawing attention wherever you go.

„Look there,“ she says and takes my wrist and I swallow. Her palms are a little sweaty.

My skin is hot.

We halt in front of some street musicians that are more than delighted to have Delilah's attention.

„It's so warm still,“ she says when we leave the musicians again.

„Do you want something to cool off?“ I ask her and she nods emphathetically.

We buy overpriced milkshakes and Delilah obviously buys overpriced beverages almost every day and I usually hate people who do that, but somehow – I can't quite get annoyed at it when people means Delilah.

„Do you really like strawberry better than chocolate? I mean, can anyone actually prefer any other flavor over chocolate?“ she asks me.

We're sitting on a low wall, the stone rough under our naked legs. I've put one foot up, arm slung around my knee, while the other leg is dangling down.

Delilah has crossed her's – you're not really allowed to sit any other way when wearing a skirt as short as her's.

Because no one knows she's wearing panties and a woman showing her underwear isn't at all okay and very disturbing, unlike when men are wearing jeans that keep sliding down until half their ass is exposed.

I prove that to be true by thinking about what kind of panties Delilah might be wearing.

„Chocolate is overrated,“ I tell her instead of asking her if she's a girl for black lace.

„You're overrated,“ she says and takes a sip and I laugh.

Before I can think of a good comeback, we're approached by a guy.

Or, Delilah is. He's clearly only looking at her.

„Hey,“ he says.

She smiles at him, eyebrows slightly raised. I look at my milkshake.

„I saw you sitting there and I just had to tell you that you're really pretty.“

I keep looking at my milkshake.

„That's sweet,“ Delilah says.

„Yeah, so – I was wondering if you want to go for drinks? I'd really love to get to know you.“

He'd really love to get to know what kind of panties she's wearing, he means.

„Well, I doubt my girlfriend would approve,“ Delilah says and takes my hand.

Both of our skin is a little damp. Her hand is smaller and softer than mine.

The guy's face is priceless.

„Oh. Yeah, then – I mean, we could all go for drinks.“

It might have been funny to watch how his brain is slowly registering all the new possibilities Delilah's statement provides if it wasn't so sad.

„I don't think we can, sorry,“ Delilah says.

„You sure? It'd be so much fun,“ he says.

I wonder if he thinks that smirk is sexy.

„No, thanks,“ I say and he gives me a dark look.

„Whatever. Fine.“

He keeps lingering.

I stare at him until he's uncomfortable – if not as uncomfortable as most girls he approaches.

„Have a good night,“ he says, meaning the opposite and finally leaves.

„Gross,“ Delilah comments.

She's still holding my hand.

„Yeah.“

I can feel the blood under her skin. I can feel her bones and some callouses.

„I often wonder if men simply can't take a hint or if they just don't want to.“

„Both,“ I say.

Delilah sighs.

„Probably.“

She pulls her hand away and sips on her milkshake.

„Where are those callouses from?“ I ask her and she looks at her own hand as if she'd have never seen it.

„Oh, they're from my violin.“

„You play the violin?“

„I used to, when I was in highschool.“

„But not anymore?“

She smiles at me and shakes her head.

„Not anymore.“

I nod and tie my shoes new.

„Leah?“

I look up.

It's starting to get dark.

„Yes?“

„Why aren't you going to college?“

I blink at her.

„Isn't it rude to ask someone that?“

Delilah shrugs.

„You tell me.“

I look to the side.

„I feel like it might be rude.“

„Are you offended?“

I look back at her.

„Not really.“

„Good.“

She keeps looking at me and I tug at the heel of my converse.

„I don't have the money. That's why I work.“

„Okay. That makes sense, I guess. But what about student loans?“ she asks.

I give her a look.

„Student loans don't usually pay your rent.“

„But -“

„My brother already has depts because of college. That's enough.“

„How old is your brother?“

„Eighteen.“

„Do you love him?“

I blink at her. What an odd question.

„Of course I love him.“

Maybe the question isn't that odd when I think about it. I'm the last person to say that blood is thicker than water.

„What does he major in?“ she asks.

„English Literature. He wants to become an author. I mean, he doesn't say that. But I know.“

„That's awesome,“ she says and smiles at me.

„Yeah. Caden is pretty awesome.“

„I wish I had siblings,“ she says whistfully.

„You're an only child?“

„That's why I'm such a brat,“ she says, smirking at me.

I feel myself smile.

„I've already wondered.“

We're silent for a moment. Our milkshakes have melted and the stone under my butt must be wet from my sweat. It's the most disgusting thing about summer.

„If you could do whatever you wanted, what would it be?“ Delilah asks.

I look at my nails.

„I don't know.“

„Come on. I'm sure you have some idea,“ she prompts, blinking at me.

„Something with a lot of science,“ I say after a while.

„Oh God, you're a nerd.“

She grins at me.

„That's hot,“ she says and I snort loudly.

„Yeah. Super hot. You want me to talk physics to you? Or is chemics more your thing?“

Delilah leans forward, propping her chin up on her hand, elbow digging into her thigh.

„Tell me more,“ she says and I have to fight the laughter.

„Well,“ I lean in closer and she pretends to be captivated. „Did you know that a planet's period of circulation is independent from its mass?“

„Fascinating,“ she breathes and I widen my eyes a little bit and lower my voice to almost a whisper.

„And did you know that the entropy of the universe keeps increasing, which means that eventually, the whole universe will die?“

„Why is that?“

„Because the universe is drawn to chaos and entropy is defined by heat and there is only so much that can happen until everything collapses.“

„Scary. Tell me something beautiful instead.“

I think for a moment.

„There is a certain point at which water is liquid, solid and gaseous at the same time. One tap against the glass and water turns to ice.“

Delilah smiles.

„You're so sexy. An ice witch.“

Blood is rushing into my face and I start laughing. She joins me and draws back and I draw back and now we're not talking physics anymore.

„You really do love science, don't you?“ she asks, smiling at me.

„I guess. I've always been good at it.“

I do love it. I just don't like to think about loving it.

„I haven't. I'm the girl that felt stupid in every single class.“

I glance at her.

„You're not stupid.“

„I'm bad at science.“

„That's not the same as being stupid.“

She smiles at me. Dirt is sticking to the back of her thighs.

„So, are you planning to stay in New York or will you move to Hollywood as soon as you're discovered?“ I ask her, redoing my ponytail.

She leans back onto her hands, stomach rising and falling with every breath.

„I mean, if they want me to move to Hollywood, I guess I could be convinced.“

She turns her head to me, skin a strange tone in the artificial lights of the night.

„Do you want to drink with me?“

I put my leg down.

„I don't usually drink,“ I say.

„Is today usually?“

I hesitate.

„Yes.“

She sighs.

„Okay.“

We sit in silence and I think about the tanline on her shoulders.

„I think I have to go home,“ I say.

„Really?“

„I should have been home three hours ago.“

Delilah smiles.

„I don't think you should have.“

„Maybe.“

I avoid her gaze.

„Where do you live?“ I ask her.

„In the dorms.“

„So how do you get there?“

„I'll catch a cab, I think. You?“

„Oh, I'll just – walk.“

„Okay.“

We look at each other for a moment.

Then she starts smiling, lifting one eyebrow a little.

„So, will you pretend to have lost my number again?“

I shrug. I know I'm smiling. Just a little.

„Not sure yet.“

She laughs. I wonder if she smokes or if her voice just is like that.

„I can't wait to find out,“ she says and my chest is pumping too hard.

I think of Caden.

„I really should get home.“

„Yeah, I know.“

We smile at each other.

I never know how to say goodbye to strangers. Even though it doesn't really feel like she is one.

„I hope you'll find my number,“ she says and I just nod.

We get up from the wall and my legs are prickling, half-asleep.

„Have a good night,“ I say.

„You too, Leah.“