Page 81 of Sincerely, Butterfly

I stare down at my cutlery rolled up in its napkin, my fingers fidgeting with the fabric.

“Here you go,” she says, placing the waters down. “Food will be out soon.”

“Could you have someone else bring it to us?” Callie asks. “Thanks.”

“Oh.” The girl sounds surprised. “Uh, sure.”

“Callie, you embarrassed the girl,” Sylas tuts.

“She embarrassed herself,” Callie says. “Is this what I have to look forward to now that I’m back?” she huffs, looking at me. “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?” My brows furrow in confusion.

“The girls hitting on them nonstop when they're around you.”

“Oh.” The back of my neck heats up. “Uh, we’re not really friends.”

“What?” Callie’s brows furrow, looking between the three guys. “Since when?”

“Since years ago,” Wesley answers.

“Why?” Callie demands, sounding offended, for me.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “We just don’t have the same interests, that's all. People get older, they grow apart.” Or you get told by your best friend that it’s time to grow up, and they don’t want shit-all to do with you anymore.

Relax, Nola. Now you know why.

Still doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Well, things are going to change,” Callie says.

“They are now, are they?” Sylas asks, sounding amused with his sister.

“Yup. Nola and I are besties now, aren't we?” She grins at me excitedly.

I let out a little laugh. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“See? So, that means she and I are going to be joined at the hip. And seeing as how you three sniff around me like guard dogs, you’re going to be seeing her more by default. The least you could do is be nice to the girl. No, scratch that. You better be nice or else.”

Part of me wants to argue, because as much as I’m excited to have a friend, I need my space. I don’t need anyone or anything intervening with my plans or keeping a close eye on me.

But I’ll make it work because I don’t want to be rude. Callie is a sweet girl. I’ve never met another girl like her. It would be rude of me to protest when she seems so excited to have me as a friend as well.

“Relax, Callie,” Wesley drawls. “You sound like a psychopath.”

“Takes one to know one,” Callie shoots back.

“Got me there.” He takes out a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up.

“You can’t smoke in here,” Callie hisses, grabbing it from him and tossing it into his glass of water.

“Sylas, control your sister,” Wesley complains.

Callie snorts. “As if he could.”

“Sorry, man. She’s her own woman.”

“Damn right.” Callie lifts her chin. “No one can control me.”