<< | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | >> Be Crumbled.    3

Max wished the context allowed a smile.

“Sorry,” he said. He looked at the glass in his hand. He proffered it to her and, after a moment, her posture slackened, and she accepted it. She set it at her side on the cool concrete.

“Is that why you don't believe in anything?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I thought Andrew didn't believe in anything,” said Max.

“I tease him for being an atheist and a scout, but I don't even know what you are. It seems like you don't care about that kind of thing.” She rubbed her eye as she spoke. “Who's your favorite artist? Your favorite poet?” she asked. Her gaze moved back to the window. “What about your favorite time of day? Or even religion!” she said, her eyes jumping back to his. “Where are you gonna go when you die?”

“And do I believe in fairies?”

“Yeah why not?” She picked up the glass he'd given her and took a sip, justifying the silence which had set about them. He waited, not knowing what to say. Cyan sighed. “When I was a kid, I always assumed everyone had a favorite author they could talk about for ages. It was always the first thing I'd ask about. I'm betting you'd have disillusioned me.” She handed him her drink. He felt its weight and unburdened it into his own glass. “Don't you have beliefs at all? Or are you too cool for that?” she asked. “Isn't that kinda cliché?”

“How am I supposed to answer that?”

“With answers! With Caravaggio! With Rumi! And early dawn! And I don't know but somewhere!” She paused, and then she smiled. “And Emily Brontë. Come on, Max! It's silly that my favorite author is Emily Brontë. Sophistication is interesting!” She flung out her hands. “I mean, seriously, I want to know these things about you! Don't you have opinions on things? What do you believe in?” She planted both hands firmly to the concrete and rose to her full sitting height.

Max slid his back down the counter until he was seated on the floor across from her.

“I don't know. I believe in myself, I guess. I've never needed any of that other stuff.” He rubbed his eyes. “I think maybe I'd like to, though.” He had never felt so far from himself.

He was relieved to see her yield at this, her demeanor losing its tension.

“You don't have to be a stone, Max,” said Cyan.

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