Read Gravity for Free Online Page B

my hand hesitating. Just one curl, and then I’ll stop. Don’t, Ellie, don’t.
    I reach out and finger the wet blond end. She doesn’t notice.
    “Want me to brush your hair?” I ask.
    “It’ll frizz,” she says, her voice sleepy.
    “You can jump in the water again.”
    Lindsay yawns, then nods. “Just don’t pull too hard.” She sits up and slips on sunglasses. I comb the tangles out from the ends of her spun taffy hair. She leans back against my upright knees, her skin warm on mine. When I get the knots out, I draw the brush over her head, rippled hair spilling over my legs. Lindsay drops her head all the way back, mouth relaxed, hands loose by her sides. She breathes long and slow, eyes closed.
    I rub a long curl against my cheek. Heat runs from my toes up my legs. Then slowly, I comb my fingers over her scalp, down over her shoulders.
    Lindsay shivers and lets out a small “Ahhh.”
    I pause a moment, hesitating. I trail my hand lightly down her arm.
    Lindsay jerks away. “ What are you doing?”
    I’m still holding her hair. “I just thought...” The heat in my legs lodges in my stomach.
    We stare at each other for a long moment. I clench my hands, my heart thumping.
    “I think I’ll go up for lunch.” She stands up.
    “Oh,” I whisper.
    She grabs her beach towel and T-shirt and backs away from me.
    I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding, my arms limp in my lap. Leaning back on the dock, I close my eyes. Her scalp was warm in my hands.
    She liked it, I know she did.
    Lindsay calls from the porch, “Do you want some lunch?”
    I look up and shade my eyes. I can’t imagine what I’ll eat there, but I don’t want to go home either. I slowly make my way up to the cottage, sun-dazed and humming with the feel of Lindsay’s hair.
    The kitchen in Lindsay’s cottage is entirely white— the appliances, the counters and the cabinets.
    We are quiet, not really looking at each other. “Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?” Lindsay asks. She rummages in the refrigerator.
    “Nah, I don’t think so.” Lindsay has ham and cheese out.
    “Lemonade?”
    “Sure.” I sit on a stool on the opposite side of the counter from Lindsay. I can’t help watching the curve of her bum in her black bathing suit as she pours juice into a plastic glass. Her hair hangs loose down her back.
    The phone rings, making both of us jump. Lindsay picks up.
    “Hello? Oh, hi.” She slumps over her plate. “Okay, I guess. Fine...yeah...nothing...” She studies her hair for split ends, leaning against the counter. “No, Craig’s not here... No, no one. It’s totally boring...Yeah, yeah...talk to you later...No, she doesn’t want to...bye.”
    “Was that a friend?”
    “Richard.” Lindsay peels an onion.
    “Who?”
    “My father.” She doesn’t look up.
    “Oh, does he ever come up here?”
    “No, he’s a dick.” Lindsay slices the onion, her lips pressed together.
    “Why’s he a dick?”
    “He just is.” Lindsay pulls a jar of mustard out of the refrigerator.
    “Do you ever see him?”
    “Do you ever stop asking questions?” Lindsay puts down the mustard.
    “Just curious.” My hands twist behind my back. “So, do you?”
    Lindsay glares at me, then she sighs. “You really want to know? He shows up for my birthday, takes Maureen— that’s my mom—and me somewhere expensive for dinner and we all pretend to like each other. He gives me cool presents”—she holds out her leg to show off a gold ankle bracelet below her muscled calf—”and Maureen and Richard try not to bag on each other’s current lovers. Any more questions?”
    “Lovers?” The word pops out of my mouth.
    “Yeah.” Lindsay leers. “Looo-vers.” She leans toward me over the counter, her breasts pressing against her bathing suit. She snickers and taps her fingers on the counter. “Why is that so embarrassing to you?” She slowly licks the mustard off the tip of the knife. I blush even more.
    Lindsay’s mom pops