Last Train to Babylon by Charlee Fam Page A

party seemed to notice our dramatic spillage.
    â€œDon’t worry about it, Glass,” he said. “You know, you have crazy green eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    I shrugged. “Haven’t heard that, no,” I lied. He was still holding eye contact, his own gray eyes wide.
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    â€œSo, don’t you want to find your friends?” he asked, after several uncomfortable seconds of nothing.
    I didn’t, I said, and so we walked toward the waterfront. His lanky arms swung in sync with his legs. We stopped at a metal swing set nestled on the asphalt behind a row of covered-up boats.
    He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a single Camel Light, and held it out toward me.
    I shook my head. “No. Thanks. I don’t smoke.”
    He cocked his head at me. “Well, neither do I,” he said. “I saw you smoking with your friend, so I just assumed.” He seemed relieved.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “That was Rachel’s. I was only taking a drag.”
    â€œWell, it’s too bad, because I paid Jason three dollars for this thing.” He held it up and flicked it into the water. The water rippled, and the cigarette lay, a limp, wet thing.
    My lips went numb, and I started to feel the Jungle Juice flowing through me.
    â€œSo, Miss Glass,” Adam said. “What’s your favorite movie?”
    â€œWhat’s my favorite movie?” I looked at him, not really sure how to answer, not even sure if I had a favorite movie. “Is that what you ask all the girls?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “Well, what is it?”
    â€œWhat’s your favorite movie?” I asked.
    â€œDo you always answer a question with a question?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Do you?”
    He flashed his teeth. “My favorite movie is Homeward Bound .”
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    â€œLike the dogs?” I asked, trying to hold back my laugh.
    â€œAnd the cat. Don’t forget about the cat.” He looked so serious, and it was making me anxious. I needed him to smile, to laugh, something. “Sassy,” he said. “Remember?”
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I can respect that.” He squinted one eye at me, like he was taking aim. “The Breakfast Club,” I said. “That’s my favorite movie.”
    He nodded. “I can respect that.”
    â€œWhat do you hate?” he asked. We were standing a few feet apart, neither of us knowing what to do with our hands.
    â€œWhat do you mean what do I hate? What kind of question is that?” I said.
    â€œThere you go again with the questions,” he said. “What do you hate? Who do you hate? There’s got to be one thing or one person who you just can’t stand.” He gritted his teeth and scrunched up his face.
    I took my hair out of the ponytail and ran my fingers through.
    â€œAnne Hathaway,” I said. “I hate Anne Hathaway. I don’t know what it is. But there’s something about her I can’t get behind.”
    â€œWho’s Anne Hathaway?” he asked. “Does she go to our school?” I shook my head and let out a dry, raspy laugh.
    â€œNo. She was in that movie The Princess Diaries. Rachel made me see it. It was pretty awful.”
    Adam nodded, stifling a smile. “Can’t say that I’ve seen that one. But, God, you’re pretentious.”
    â€œAnd you?” I asked.
    â€œAnd me, what?” he said.
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    â€œWhat do you hate?”
    â€œI don’t hate anything,” he said. “I’m not a psychopath.” He spun around and walked over toward the swing. I stood with my hands across my chest. “What do you love?”
    I sucked in a breath and realized I had no idea how to answer that. I loved my family, even if I made it a point not to tell them. I loved my friends. I loved the beach. But none of those things seemed like the right answer, so I said the first thing that came to mind: “Mason