Still Waters by Ash Parsons

him.”
    “Mr. Movie Star? Bullshit.”
    Cyndra laughed and bumped against me like I’d just said something bad. Her breast brushed against my arm. “No, not like his smile
looks
—just like his in that it’s not sincere usually. His smiles aren’t real smiles, and neither are yours.”
    “Okay.”
    “It’s true. His smiles are fake—they look great, but you watch his eyes. Usually there’s something else going on.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” She frowned up at me. “Your smiles aren’t that mysterious.”
    “Oh yeah?”
    “Yeah. They’re really not smiles at all.”
    “What are they, then?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Anger.”
    I snorted. “Angry smiles? Listen to yourself.”
    Cyndra shook her head. “And there one is.”
    The line of my mouth went flat. I went back to watching the fish.
    After a moment, Cyndra murmured, “Sorry I said anything.”
    I shrugged, thinking she was going to walk away. She pulled out a chair instead. I sat down next to her and propped my elbows on the table. We stared at the tank.
    “You like the fish, huh?” she asked.
    “I’ve never—” I stopped myself from saying that I’d never seen anything like it. Thought of how that might sound to someone like her.
    “I’ve never really looked at them,” I said instead.
    “They’re pretty cool,” she said, and somehow I didn’t feel so stupid for staring at them.
    I imagined Janie sitting before the tank, the small frown-crease on her forehead disappearing as she watched neon colors dart around. Her gnawed fingertips resting on the table, still.
    “What are you thinking?” Cyndra asked.
    I shrugged. “My sister, Janie. She would love this.”
    Cyndra leaned forward and brushed her hand down my arm. “We’ll bring her next time, then.”
    My cheeks burned. Why was she trying to make me feel like we could be something?
    I pulled my arm away. “Forget about it. She wouldn’t want to come here.”
    Cyndra’s eyes tightened and she glanced away. She crossed her arms. It was like she was saying,
Fine. If that’s the way you want it.
    “I’m sorry, Cyndra. I didn’t mean—” I stopped myself. The orange-and-white fish darted into a swaying plant. “It’s just . . . why act like we’re going to be friends? This isn’t about that.”
    She crossed her legs away from me and stared at a tube overhead. “Right. It’s about the cash.” Her voice was flint.
    My chair scraped as I shoved it away from the table. I leaned back, stretching my legs out and crossing my arms and ankles.
    I watched the fish.
    We sat silently. Finally, Michael walked over, depositing Chinese noodle plates in front of us.
    “Dinner, as promised.” He stroked Cyndra’s hair. “If you’re going to get any shopping done, you’d better get a move on, babe. Don’t forget Iceman’s curfew.”
    Cyndra sat up, straight as a razor. Her silver chopsticks clinked against the china plate as she ate.
    The food smelled wonderful. My stomach rumbled as I glanced at the chopsticks laid across my plate. The corners of my mouth twitched up, and I returned to watching the fish.
    After a while, I didn’t even smell the food. Mostly. There was a large white-and-black fish with trailing fins that was real tough. Anytime another fish happened by, no matter how big or how small, man, that white-and-black fish just charged at it. That fish had a whole corner to itself. It just sat there, charging at any other fish that maybe got a little too close.
    Cyndra got up and carried her plate away.
    I was not looking forward to the shopping.
    Cyndra sat back down with a scrap of paper and a pen.
    “What size shirt do you wear?” she asked.
    I shrugged and fingered the T-shirt I was wearing. “This is a large.”
    She wrote down
M
or
L.
    “What size jeans do you wear?”
    I pulled on the leg of my thrift-store jeans. “How should I know?”
    She shook her head. “Would you mind standing and holding up your shirt so I