"Or the wet."
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," he mused.
"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.
He looked fascinated by what I said, for some reason I couldn't imagine. His face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy or my desire to look at it absolutely demanded.
"Why did you come here, then?"
No one had asked me that—not straight out like he did, demanding to know an answer to a question.
"It's... complicated."
"I think I can keep up," he pressed on, against the table.
I paused for a long moment, trying to imagine whether I thought he really could keep up, and then I made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His mercurial dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
"My mother got remarried to a man named Phil," I said.
"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." My voice sounded sad, even to me, who knew it was sad.
"And you don't like him," Fredward surmised, his tone still kind.
"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."
"Why didn't you stay with them?"
I couldn't fathom his interest, but he continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow worth penetrating.
"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living. And besides, his name is 'Phil.'" I half smiled.
"Have I heard of him?" he asked, half smiling in response.

49

Chapter 2

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