The Azuli by Cassidy Shay (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📕

I can.” He looked down at the bed, and then at my face.
“Your hair is pretty short, but I’m sure you know that. It’s dark brown and very shiny.” He reached out and touched it, thought for a second, then nodded. “It looks just the way it feels.” He grabbed my hand and guided it along my head, my fingers combing through my hair. “Silky and smooth, almost like melted chocolate.” He stopped going through my hair, but kept hold of my hand. He guided it along my face as he described it to me.
“Your forehead is average size. Not too big, not too little, but just right. There’s a scar here that looks like you had chicken pox once. Did you?” I nodded and thought about when I’d had chicken pox. I remembered the red spots all over my body. Although they had a vaccine for chicken pox, it was only given to children who weren’t Azuli.
I remembered how itchy I’d been, how I had wanted to just jump through a gian cheese grater in the hopes that it would satisfy the itch.
I did not, of course, jump through a cheese grater. Instead, I was given daily baths with a special soap. The smell was terrible, and it was pink, with the consistency of glue.
Because I scratched at the small red pox, there were many open scabs. When this soap got under the skin, it stung. It was similar to hydrogen peroxide. It also popped and fizzed on the open scabs.
There were many nights when I woke up with tiny spots of blood on my sheets from scabs that I’d scratched open in my sleep. I immediately changed my sheets and woke my mom. With a sigh, she would cover my small wounds with a special salve, and then place bandages over them. I had never been so happy to say goodbye to something as I was when I tossed the salves and soaps away.
But I couldn’t tell him how miserable it had been, because he’d already moved on. “Your eyebrows are bigger at the insides, and then they taper out to points as they get closer to your temples.”
He still had my hand, was still guiding it along to give me a visual of my face. He changed his grip so that he was holding only my index finger, and he guided it over my eyelashes. “They’re dark,” he said simply. “They remind me of midnight. The space in between the lashes, where you can see your eyelids, are like the stars. The blue in your eyes is the full moon, and the white around it it the light that the moon shines to show the way through a dark night.” He paused for a minute. “That’s what you do, Penny. You shine a light that guides people through the darkest nights they’ve ever encountered.”
He moved on to my nose, showing me how the bridge had a slight bump in it. “The cartilage part is a little pointed, but not much. It curves up at the end, and it looks like another scar from chicken pox right here,” he continued.
Then he moved to my lips. He still only had my index finger as he guided my hand along the outline of my mouth. “Your lips are soft and pink. The color blends well with your skin tone, but your lips are very defined in the curves and places where they pop out. I have noticed that you chew on your bottom lip, and it’s left a scar here. It’s white, like a blank piece of paper.” He moved to my upper lip, between my nose and mouth. “There’s hair here. You can feel it, but you have to get very close to see it.”
He described my chin, the shape of my face, my hairline. He guided my hands down my neck, making me feel the curvature of my shoulders as they met my neck. He helped me to visualize my ears, my neck, and my back.
Finally, he stopped. He let his hand drop, bringing mine down with it. I expected him to release my hand, but instead, he intertwined our fingers. “Open your mouth, so I can see your teeth, please,” he said. I parted my lips enough for him to see both rows of teeth. “They are straight. No gaps, no overlapping. You don’t have an overbite or an under-bite, but there is some discoloration. For the most part, they are white, like rectangular pearls. But there are stains here and there. They are hardly noticeable from a distance.” He looked down at our hands, which seemed to fit together perfectly.
“Altogether, you’re a very beautiful girl, Penny. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about how I look. You are imperfect in many ways, but that makes you perfect in every way possible.” He was still looking at our hands, and he didn’t look up at me again. “I better get going before everyone gets back. I’m running late.” He got up and pushed his cart away without looking back.
When I was alone, I considered going to the cafeteria for lunch, but decided against it. I figured that it would be over soon anyway, so I stayed in my room and thought about Collin.
His reactions had surprised me a little. In the weeks that we’d been friends, I’d noticed some feelings that I had for him that I wasn’t familiar with. I had never had a crush on someone, so I wasn’t sure what it felt like, but I was pretty sure that’s what I was feeling.
But he had held my hand, even after there was no reason for it. I remembered how perfectly our hands fit together. With Carl, our hands pushed and pulled against each other in strange places, making it awkward. Was this a mental thing, because I was being forced to marry Carl, but felt no real feelings for him? Or was it because Carl’s hand was made to fit someone else’s, while mine was made to fit into Collin’s?
Also, he’d called me beautiful. He’d said I had nothing to worry about, that I was perfect. I wasn’t sure what to think of all this. Does he feel the same way about me that I feel about him?

I thought about all the abnormal fluttery feelings inside my stomach. Does he feel them too?

Before I could think about it anymore, I heard voices in the hallway, Azuli announcing their return from the cafeteria. A couple seconds after I heard the first voices, my three friends walked through the door.
“Well, it looks like she’s awake,” said Macy with a smile. “Are you ready for tomorrow? I’m so excited to meet your parents. I can’t wait to tell them what wonderful kids they have!” She was gushing like a teenager, which was very unusual for her.
“I guess I’m ready,” I said, and tried to put on a smile. “I just hope they recognize me.”
“Well, whether they recognize you or not, you are a very beautiful girl, Penny. I wouldn’t worry about your appearance for another minute,” she said.
“I know, I know,” I mumbled, and Macy had a confused look on her face. Before she could ask how I knew this particular bit of information, though, Carl grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet.
“They are having individual couple meetings today. We are supposed to go right now,” he said. He held his hand out, but I hesitated before taking it. Will he be able to tell that Collin’s hand had been in mine? Would he be upset if he found out?

I pushed those thoughts out of my head and grabbed his hand. After the perfection of Collin’s hand in mine, Carl’s hand felt even more awkward than usual.
We walked out of the room and down the hall until we got to B5, and then went to Section B. He opened the door, and as soon as we were inside, I dropped his hand and wiped the sweat off on my jumpsuit.
Dr. Pender was standing in the room between two racks of clothing. One had both elaborate and simple white dresses, and the other was filled with black tuxedos.
“Hey, there,” she said, and stopped flipping through the dresses. “I sure wish the Academy would have paid for my wedding dress. These are beautiful.” She smiled at us, and then clapped her hands once. “Let’s get started. Penny, look through the dresses and choose the one you want. Carl, you do the same. You probably won’t care as much which tux you get, but you have to do it anyway.”
I look at the rack and try not to show my disappointment. One small, pitiful rack is all that I get to choose from. I think about the Memories, where people had entire stores to look through, with dozens of racks and hundreds of dresses. They even had television shows about the dresses! One specific Memory comes to mind.
A group of women enter the shop, a little bell rings overhead. “Hi. I have an appointment with Lisa,” she says. “My name is Lesly.” The woman behind the front deskchecks some things in her computer, and then smiles at the bride.
“She’s waiting for you. Go straight, then turn left once you get to the big room.” Lesly and the three bridesmaids behind her go to the end of the hall. It opens up into a big room filled with rows and rows of beautiful wedding gowns. They look to their left, and there’s a bench. Standing next to the bench is a woman with long, dark hair.
“Hi,” says Lesly. “Lisa?”
The woman nods. “Why don’t you guys sit down and you can tell me what kind of dress you’re looking for.”
Lesly begins to describe her ideal dress. “I want it to be like Cinderalla’s dress. Big and poofy, like a princess. No straps, and I want the top to be straight across. No belts or flowers or anything, but if it has sparkles or pearls or anything like that, it’s okay.” She uses her hands as she talks and her face radiates both excitement and beauty.
Lisa smiles. “Let’s get started then.” The five women split up and look for the right dress. There aren’t any dresses that fit Lesly’s description perfectly, so they try to find ones that are similar.
Lesly tried on more than two dozen dresses, but none of them stand out and “the one.” Finally, after biting her nails for over an hour, one of the bridesmaids speaks up.
“Lesly, I found a dress earlier that I think will be prefect for you. I didn’t bring it up because it’s pretty much the opposite of what you want, but I think you’ll look gorgeous in it.” Before Lesly can protest, the bridesmaid rushes off to find the dress again.
She returns shortly with a dress that, at first, Lesly doesn’t like. It has a sweat heart top and a fitted bodice. The skirt is mermaid style, flaring out just below the knee. It has a dark grey belt above the waist, tired in a large bow.
“I know what you’re thinking. I know that you really don’t like this style, but just try it on. For me.” Lesly still looks doubtful. “Please?” The bride finally agrees to try it on, but she warns her friend that she probably won’t like it.
When she steps out of the dressing room, it’s clear that she was wrong. She steps in front of a mirror and smiles. “I love it,” she says after several seconds. The white makes her dark skin look even darker, and