Movies have deleted scenes. Books have edits. But when an entire chapter is just way too adorbs to leave on the cutting room floor, why not give it to the readers?
So, this chapter was originally “Chapter twenty-one” in Wicked Together, my soon-to-be-published novel (the sixth in the Persephone Smith series). In this book, Persephone is a junior in high school and more boycrazy than ever. Heaven help her parents.
Enjoy! (And be on the lookout for the chapters that actually made it into the final version of Wicked Together, coming very soon to your favorite bookseller!)
“What color are your eyes?” Harley randomly asked me amid homework, on a nondescript October day.
“You don’t know what color my eyes are?” I criticized, turning away from him so he couldn’t get a glimpse. “How do you not know what color my eyes are? You’ve looked into them enough times!”
“Duh! I just don’t know how you describe them. Right around the pupils, they almost look like sapphire blue, or something. I’ve never seen that color in order to put a word on it, but… then as you move from the center outward, they become shades of emerald, peridot, and seraphinite. But then the outside of the iris comes alive with topaz so deep and rich that it reminds me of root beer. So, like when you’re filling out a form that asks you your eye color, what the hell do you put? Your eyes are blue, green, and brown.”
His description left me speechless. Yes, that was exactly the color of my eyes. He hadn’t not noticed… he just wanted a simplified answer. “Hazel,” I replied. “I call them hazel. Mom’s got the same problem, so she calls hers hazel, and I call mine hazel because I don’t know what they’re called either.” I turned towards him, but he closed his eyes before I could make eye contact with him.
“What color are mine?” he questioned.
“A blue so pure that waters cry foul for not being able to compete with their intensity,” I noted.
He opened his eyes and stared deeply into my sapphire, emerald, peridot, seraphinite, and topaz eyes. “Well, you could have guessed that because blondes usually have blue eyes.”
“Harley!” I chastised, but his hug alerted me that he was simply teasing me.
“For the record, your description was almost poetic. Mrs. Wright-Moore would be proud.”
“I doubt Mrs. Wright-Moore has ever seen eyes like yours.”
“Or yours. Unless she was here when your mom went to school.”
“Mom went to Rutland,” I informed him.
“Lucky.” He finally let go of me. Okay, so that was a too-friendly-to-just-be-friends hug, but we really were just friends! Well, friends with an exceptional knack for describing the most mundane details about one another. “Hazel.” “Blue.” There. Simple. But no. Cuz Harley’s eyes were no more blue than my eyes were hazel, and we both knew it.