[text to: gazelle boy] coming
“Damn, I was really hoping for the motorcycle,” Summer called, emerging from the woods leading to the group camp meeting hall. “But I suppose it’s a bit cold for that.” Nevertheless, her imagination insisted on presenting her with lovely images of clinging to Isaac’s narrow waist as they sped around curves.
”Yeah, well, maybe next time.”
”You know, you don’t look like you need any rescuing,” he began, eyebrows raised. “If you wanted to see me all you had to do was ask,” he teased.
“I don’t look like it because you can’t hear my teeth grinding from there,” she informed him. And, she thought, because you don’t know me well enough to see the difference between what I should look like, hanging out with these people, my people, and what I look like now. She could feel the tightness of her mouth and shoulders, and the rage curdling in her guts.