He stared at the ceiling and listened for sounds coming from Hannah's bedroom. The minutes went by. Thoughts and plans ran through his head and disappeared through some trap door in his brain before he could catch hold of them.His head rolled to one side. He looked at the floor. The edge of his lip tipped up and he found himself thinking about Hermosa Beach. He was weird when Hannah met him and he was a kid. A stupid kid who thought a cloudy day was about the worst thing that could happen. Childhood still clung to him like sand on wet feet and like that sand it had become bothersome and itchy and hard to get rid of. This day wasn't just cloudy, it was storming and it was time for him to grow up for good.Billy swung his head the other way. He looked at the stairs, and the faded wallpaper. Hannah said whoever built this house was an artist. All Billy saw was old stuff and that's why he needed Hannah. He needed her to see the world with her artist eyes and she needed him to see. . .To see.
