Pieces of Olivia Read Free Page A

leaned back and draped his arm around the back of the booth behind Kara. “I see. So you’ve got me pegged, huh, Small Town?”
    “No. I shouldn’t have—”
    “It’s fine. Really. Look, you two enjoy your lunch. I’m sure there are some girls around campus I need to go corrupt.” He squeezed Kara’s shoulder, before heading for the door.
    As soon as he was out of sight, I covered my eyes with my hands and released a long breath. “God. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so sorry.” I glanced up at Kara to see her picking at a biscuit.
    “It’s all right,” she said. “But it’s not what you think. He’s a good guy. He just refuses to date anyone. He’s . . . There’s . . .” She drifted off and I could tell there was a story there. A story she wasn’t comfortable discussing.
    I decided to change the subject, not wanting to push her away by being too critical of someone close to her. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
    Her face dropped. “Yes. His name is Ethan. We’ve been going out for about six months. He went to the University of Georgia, and I came here. We’re trying to do the long-distance thing, but it’s hard. It’s only been a few days and I’m already . . .” Her eyes flickered to mine and then away; fresh tears were threatening to rain down from them. She wiped her cheek and smiled. “Enough guy talk. Let’s hit Urban Outfitters, then if we have time, the Market. I’ve been dying to go to the Market.”
    I smiled over at her. “The Market sounds perfect.”

Chapter Three
    Kara and I spent the next three hours popping into more shops along King’s Street and then perusing the handmade goods in the Market. Baskets. Jewelry. Jams. Soaps. It was amazing to see these people, their work, the pureness of it. I found myself studying them, wondering what their lives were like outside of the Market. Wondering if today’s sales determined whether they could pay their bills or eat. Some had an easiness to them that was just part of Charleston’s character, but others were more desperate, almost begging for us to buy their products.
    My mother would hate it there. She would accuse the people of lacking civility, of being one step above street beggars. In truth, she hated the poor. She was just too much of a
lady
to admit it.
    So maybe it was to get back at her. Or maybe it was just because I felt more at home there than on King’s Street. But I ended up buying three times as much in the Market as I did in any of the other shops, and by the time we made it back to Liberty, I had a new purse, two woven baskets, and numerous earrings and necklaces, all handmade. I felt a sense of pride putting my money into those things instead of the shops on King’s that held no culture.
    I hung up my new clothes in my wardrobe cabinet, which was still bare compared to Kara’s, and wiped down my face with a towel, eager for a shower.
    “So, we’re going, right?” Kara asked as she put away the last of her new things.
    I hesitated. Some guy downstairs had given us a flyer about a party in West Ashley tonight. Supposedly, it was an annual thing at an apartment building there. “Everyone will be there,” he had said. I had no idea who “everyone” included, but by the look on Kara’s face, I could tell she wanted us to go.
    I fiddled with the flowy top I was trying to hang up, but it kept slipping off the hanger. “I don’t know . . .” I hadn’t been to a party since the one that created my scars, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. What if I broke down? What if I had flashbacks or something? I mean, that happened. People who suffered what I had suffered were irrevocably fucked up. That much I knew. But I had just now started growing close to Kara, and I hated to push away the only friend I had made so far.
    “Come on. It’ll be a blast. I’ll see if Preston can drive us.”
    My head snapped up. “Preston’s going?”
    She grinned. “I’ll ask him if you’re in.”
    I