Michael Malone - Weebly

costly sunglasses. "Oh, I live here," she confessed.
"Me, too. Poor us. What's your name?"
"Joy."
Lance never doubted it for a minute. And Joy still
stood where he had almost run her over, and he still
pushed at the brake. And the birch plume poised
trembling in air, then chose, was chosen, and, floating
downward, fell to earth. "Joy Strummer."
"Lance Abernathy."
"Oh. Well, your car's nice, even if it almost killed
me. I've seen it around before."
"You're okay, right? You weren't hit?"
"Oh, no, yeah, I'm okay."
"Look, maybe you shouldn't walk, maybe I should
give you a ride, two locals, right? That'd be okay?"
"Well, I don't know. Oh, sure, I guess so. I was just
going home, that's all."
"Hop in, Joy." He leaned to the right, in his costly
white sweater; his handsome tan hand flung open a
door for her. And Polly Hedgerow, foot at her
kickstand, watched, astonished, as Joy (too shy to raise
her hand in class or joke with the librarian, Mr.