I look down, worried something is showing after all, but if it wasn't for the incongruous absence of sensation on my left side, I wouldn't know. I look back up at her, taking a step closer because I kind of want to take a step back, and you can’t let that show. What?She tenses, even though I’m not even remotely close enough to, say, hit her. I... I thought you were white.I snort, too relieved to take offense. I'm adopted. Not my biggest problem at the moment.She smiles at me, looking a little relieved herself. It just... it seemed a bit too... British, I guess. And it's then that I notice the slight twinge of her accent.“I am British. I was born here.” Her own skin is a light chocolate brown, light enough that it’s perfectly visible when she blushes. She looks so adorable that I almost resist, but not quite. “You have anything against Britishness?” I ask, coming to lean against the doorway on my good side, relieving the weight I have to put on the leg.“No!” she assures me. “No, it’s…” Her hands flutter nervously in front of her, like she hopes to pluck the words out of the air. “I just worry. Some people are weird about it. About me. Especially with the tutoring.
~ Aska J. Naiman
