Following Me by Linde, K.A. (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📗

distorted like thecity line was in some places or would she appear whole and perfect?

A part of her hoped to seeherself rounded and distorted like she felt, but as she approached, she saw herreflection was like any other mirror—a lie.

“Want me to take your picture?”Garrett offered.

Breaking her out of her silentreverie, she shook her head.  “No, thanks.”

She didn’t want any pictures ofher by The Bean.  It reflected the skyline, and that itself was themasterpiece.  Her image would only obscure the view.

“Are you sure?” he asked,extending his hand for her iPhone.

Devon pulled it out of hisreach.  “No, really, I don’t want to be in any pictures.”

“Come on, everyone wants theirpicture taken with The Bean.  I even have Bean pictures.  Don’tyou want to show your friends or post it on Facebook?” Garrett asked with asmile though it was clear he wasn’t really joking.

“I appreciate it, but no picturesfor me.  I’m not on Facebook anymore, so I don’t have anywhere to upload them,”she told him, tucking her phone into her pocket.

“How do you survive?  Hadleylives on there.  Half the time, I can’t even reach her through her Facebookdaze.”

Devon shrugged.  She’d had toshut it down, at least temporarily.  If she were to check in, it could show herlocation, and she didn’t want to accidentally make a mistake.  It wasn’t likeshe could rig Facebook into saying she was in both Paris and St. Louis at thesame time.  She was no genius with computers, and even if she were, she waspretty sure it was illegal.

“I’m living in the present,” shetold Garrett, which was true.  She didn’t even want to think about the past.

“It’s the best place to live.” Garrett just stared at her with the same curious expression on his face.

The whole conversation hadtriggered something within her.  She felt like if she didn’t get her feelingsout right then and there, she would lose it.  Digging into her purse, Devonpulled out her notebook.  She grabbed her favorite pen, stalked over to a parkbench, and immediately started writing down bits and pieces of whatever came toher mind.

Garrett followed and sat downnext to her, peering over her shoulder.  “What are you writing?”

Moving the notebook out of hisview, she murmured, “Nothing.”

“Looks like something.  I don’tknow many people who carry notebooks around with them.”

“Me neither.”  She continued tojot down ideas as they flowed through her.

“Is it like a journal?” he asked,trying to read what she was writing.

She scooted down the bench. “Just give me a second.”

She wrote one last line and thenshut the notebook.  Garrett was staring at her intently, and she made a pointof not looking at him.

“So, not to pry or anything,” hesaid, obviously prying, “but who just whips out a book in public and startswriting?”

He laughed at her, and shecouldn’t hold it in as she laughed softly with him.  He had a point.

“I can’t help it sometimes.  Thewords are just there.”  She stuffed the notebook back into her bag and stood.

“Are you going to tell me whatyou wrote?”

“Nope,” Devon said, turning awayfrom The Bean.

“Is it like a journal or adiary?  Is that why I can’t read it?”

“No.  I don’t talk about mywriting.  Sorry,” she said.  “Is that a garden?  Can we walk through?”

“Sure,” Garrett said, “but don’tthink you can change the subject so easily.”

“It’s not a big deal.  Justforget about it.”  She walked briskly in the direction of the garden.

She hated when people askedquestions about her writing.  It was deeply personal.  She kind of hatedherself for the compulsive habit, but she had been doing it since she was akid.  She was good at it, but she didn’t share well with others.

“It’s kind of a big deal to you,isn’t it?” Garrett asked as they walked into the garden.

“Not really,” she said, bitingher lip.

“Then, you can tell me about it,”he said smoothly.

Devon stopped and shook herhead.  She knew he was just being nice, but he was meddling into things shedidn’t want him near.  She needed to change the course of the conversation. Any question he asked about her was going to be one question too many.

Bending down, she took a seriesof photos of a purple flower in bloom.  It was better than answering Garrett’squestions.  He might be trying to get to know her, but she wasn’t ready to openup to anyone anytime soon.

“Hey, sorry,” he muttered.

She glanced up at him as his handbrushed through his dark brown hair.  He actually looked sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to get in yourbusiness.  I didn’t know it would be so private.”

Devon slowly stood.  “It’salright.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Afraid your writing sucks?  Iknow that’s why I don’t show anyone anything I’ve ever written,” he told her.

“No, it’s not that,” she said. Writing came very natural to her.  “I just don’t like to show people.”

“I hope you’re not an Englishmajor or anything.  It would be pretty bad if you never showed your professorsyour work,” Garrett said with a smile.

“Oh god, no!  I’m a social workmajor.”  Devon walked next to him as they left the gardens and headed towardthe lakefront.

“Social work?” he asked,wrinkling his nose.  “What do you want to do work with inner-city kids in gangsor handle abuse cases?  Either sounds awful.”

Devon swallowed hard and bit downon her lip until it hurt.  “No,” she answered sharply.

Everyone always looked down onsocial work as if it wasn’t a legitimate degree, but Wash U had the number oneprogram in the country.  Social work majors dealt with all sorts of issues, andwere very prominent in the lobbying world.  A friend of hers was currentlyworking on protection of women’s rights in D.C., and she didn’t have anycomplaints about her social work background.

“Social work benefits a normalproductive life span.  Just because you were raised with a well-to-do familydoes not mean that the rest of society is so fortunate.  People should receivethe same care and help,” Devon answered vehemently.  “Besides, social work canbe used everywhere—government, counseling, nursing homes, community planning. I could go on and on.”

“I do believe you could,” Garrettsaid with a smile.  “Didn’t mean to come off as condescending.”

“We can’t all be businessmajors,” Devon said curtly.

“Sounds like you really want tobe, too.”

“Is that sarcasm?” she asked.

“I would