CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I pick up the blazer from Harry’s bed and set it on the ironing board, picking up the iron and thoroughly taking out all the creases. Harry sits on the ground in front of his dresser and looks for his black dress pants.
“Violet, they’re not in here, I swear.” I look up to see he’s turned around to talk to me, “Did you take them?”
I sit the iron down on his blazer and then sit my hands on my hips, “Why would I take your dress pants?” I ask and he shrugs, looking out the big window.
“You took my books.” He retorts back.
“And you took mine.” If he wants to play this game, I can play right back.
“I found yours.” He corrects and I roll my eyes, “You took mine from the shelf and personally read them.”
“Kind of like how you took mine from the table and personally read it.”
He shakes his head and looks like he’s about to say something about it back. Before he does, he wrinkles his eyebrows and sniffs the air. “Violet, are you cooking something?” I shake my head and ask why, “Don’t you smell something burning?”
I shake my head, before looking over at the ironing board.
“Shit!”
I run over and quickly take the iron from his blazer. Now instead of a pocket, there’s a huge hole and black fabric on the bottom of the iron.
Harry rushes up behind me and covers his mouth, his eyes looking sad. I search for anything to say, but it’s all drowned out by Harry’s pained face.
“What am I going to do, Vi?” He asks sadly, picking up the wrecked blazer and sticking his hand through the newly made hole, “The only other blazers I have are from when I was younger.” He shakes his head. “They’ll be like, three sizes too small.”
I feel so horrible because he’s not even blaming me. He’s asking for my opinion again like he always does and acting like I know everything like he always does when, in reality, I didn’t know enough to know that you shouldn’t put an iron face down when you’re not using it.
“I’m so sorry, Harry.” I ignore his question, but he ignores my apology by waving it off and throwing the blazer aside.
“No time for that, we have to figure out something else for me to wear.” He goes back to his dresser and I follow him, kneeling down on the floor next to him. He picks up a black shirt with little white hearts all over it and holds it up to me, “Do you think this would work?”
“And you wonder why I thought you were gay.” I mumble, looking back to the dresser and grabbing a plain black button up.
Harry throws the heart-covered shirt at me and I laugh picking it off from my back and folding it back into the dresser. “You know, you should probably hang these up. They’ll get wrinkled if you don’t.”
“Or you’ll just burn a hole in them with an iron.”
I sigh and hand him the black shirt, silently asking if it’s okay to wear, but he shakes his head and throws it back into the drawer. “No, that’s too plain.” He chides as I pick the shirt back up and fold it neatly, “It has to make a statement about who I am.”
“Then I think the heart one is the perfect one for you.” I hold it up in front of my chest.
He makes an annoyed face and snatches it out of my grip, causing me to laugh lightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”
