We sat in a small dinner outside of Los Angeles. The fifties style neon clock proclaimed the time rather brightly. 8:26. Spencer sat, legs crossed and hands fettling, across from me in the booth. My tongue kept running over my cracking lips nervously, while I anxiously glanced around a few times.

“Are you ok?” She asked sincerely. It was the first time we’d spoken since I picked her up from her house. My head turned quickly in her direction.

“What? Oh, yeah… I’m fine.” Her blue eyes bored into mine like she was trying to read me, analyze me.

“Is this about what Mr. Marson said because”

“No.” I started to shut down my feelings. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to acknowledge that it hurt, really hurt. I didn’t want her pity.

“You confuse me?”

“What? Why?” She sighed like she’s about to tell a long story.

“I don’t even know you. You don’t know me and… and I don’t know. We’ve… there’s been moments where you, I don’t know, seem to get me… and others,” she added with some aggravation “, where you act like I’m just some stupid kid. I’m not Ashley. And I don’t think you give me enough credit. Honestly, you’re like, what two years older than me, but you’re not an adult. You, you’re still finding yourself, so am I… I don’t get you… but I want to.” A light pink tinted her cheeks as she bit her lip nervously, but maintained eye contact. I tried to think of something to say. The only thing that came to mind was “sorry”. For what, who the hell knows? For some reason, I felt like I should be.

“I’m sorry Spencer. I’m sorry I’m not what you want me to be, but honestly, we don’t even know each other. Why do you even give a shit?”

“Because I care… about you…”

“You don’t know me.” I said defiantly.

“Then tell me.” I sighed and unfolded my arms, laying them on the counter.

“You sure you really want to know that?” She nodded her head and sat at attention. I let out a breathe of air. “Ok.” Flexing my fingers, I began the ‘Black List’ or something like that. “You’re right, I’m 2 years older than you. I’ll be 18 in a few months. I’ve been to juvie twice, kicked out of four clubs, nine schools, a mall, restaurant, and Chucky Cheeses.” She raised an eyebrow. “I was trying to win Kyla a stuffed hippo. I was only 12 FYI. I didn’t have enough tickets and the prick wouldn’t let me have it. 389, 400. Whatever. I went around the desk, kicked him in the balls and stole it.” Both eyebrows rose that time. “She still has it. Anyways, let’s continue, shall we? I’ve been joy riding, drinking, and spray painting since I was 15. My dad left me when I was 8 and I’ve seen him probably 100 times since then. My mom’s a bitch. Kyla just showed up. My daddy gets around, lucky me. I’m now sentenced to community clean-up shit at the hell-mouth because I got into a fight at a club- wait, no, ooh yeah. I almost blew it up. So, Spencer, now that you know me, we can be BFFs right?” I said sarcastically.