do it, Ed. So you can stop asking.â
âPlease, Gaia? Iâm going to Pennsylvania tonight, so I wonât get to see you for a whole four days. Besides, I promise I wonât laugh this time. I promise.â
âThatâs what you said the last time. And the time before that.â God, why had she ever attempted that stupid imitation? She was just fooling around in the cafeteria at school, and Ed acted like it was the most hilarious thing heâd ever seen in his life. He wouldnât shut up about it.
âThat was the old me. Iâve changed since then. I swear.â
âThe only thing youâve changed is your underwear â and thatâs debatable.â
âGuy-uhhhhhhhhh . . .â
âOh, sure, whine my name. Thatâll convince me.â
âIâll pay you.â
âYou donât have enough money.â
âOh, you might be surprised.â
âI doubt it. Seeing as you canât even afford socks that match.â She gestured at his feet.
Ed shot her a confused look. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYour socks. Are you celebrating Christmas a month early? Or did you get dressed in the dark this morning?â
Gaia had walked a good ten paces before she realized Ed was no longer at her side. She spun around.
Heâd stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and was bent over in his seat, staring down at his feet with a strange, aggravated expression on his face. âAw, man. Youâre kidding me, right?â
Gaia put her hands on her hips. âKidding you? You put them on, elf boy, not me.â
Ed squinted up at her. âGreat. Thanks. Make fun of the color-blind guy. Go ahead.â
Gaia cocked her head. âYouâre not color-blind,â she pronounced.
Ed frowned, crossing his arms. âI think I would be the one to know.â
Gaia stared at him. Her hands slipped from her waist, flopping at her sides. âSeriously? Youâre color-blind?â
âHey â donât worry. You canât catch it.â Ed slapped his wheels, gliding toward her once more.
âItâs just that you never told me.â
âHmmm, thatâs funny. Itâs usually one of the first things I say to people: âHi, Iâm Ed. Iâm color-blind.â I think itâs good to get oneâs physical shortcomings out of the way, yâknow, up front.â He rolled to a stop in front of her feet, then peered furtively around the park. âNow, uh, Gaia, donât let this next bit of info freak you out, but . . .â He leaned in toward her, shielding his mouth with one hand conspiratorially. â . . . Iâm also in a wheelchair.â
Gaia was too busy looking at Edâs feet to think of a good comeback. One green sock, one red. Could he really not tell them apart? Not at all? She raised her gaze to his eyes, studying them, not sure what she was looking for. They were a dark brown with gold lights. Eyes the color of a double espresso, she found herself thinking. Inwardly she groaned. Guess you donât need those refrigerator magnets to write crappy poetry. The point was, Edâs eyes didnât look color-blind. They looked . . . well . . . like regular, everyday eyes.
Regular, everyday, annoyed eyes. âPlease, by all means, Gaia. Keep staring at me like that. It does wonders for my self-esteem.â
âSorry ââ Gaia barely had time to scoot out of the way as Ed blew past her. âItâs just that youâre the first . . . I mean, I never knew a person who was color-blind. Whatâs it like for you?â
God, I must sound ridiculous, Gaia thought, stepping after him. Why donât I just say, Hey, Ed, you canât see colors, and I canât feel fear. Letâs start a club!
Once she was beside him again, Ed looked up at her, amused. âAre you feeling okay, Gai?â
âYeah. Why?â
âBecause you asked me a
J.S. Scott and Cali MacKay