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She giggled, licked at the side of her cone before a drip could reach the napkin wrapped around her hand. "Thank you, Elzo." Her tone was perfectly sincere, nothing in her green eyes reflected anything but happiness at securing his longed-for agreement. Then she returned to her ice cream, watched the people walk past as she kicked her heels at the back of the bench.

The answer to her other question also seemed to gratify her; her laughter was sweeter than the ice cream. "I do have my own ice cream," she said, as if this fact were a surprise and she was marveling at it.

"Because you're my friend, I can ask you questions." If Elzo was not worried now, he would be soon. Her look turned serious. Elke shifted in her seat a little to face him.

Her question: "Elzo, what is the definition of 'hooker'?"

With a tilt of her head, she blinked at him. "I heard it at school, I think it's slang," she confided. Elke looked a little... hurt when he said he wouldn't answer the question. But she wasn't crying, which was a good thing, because if she'd started bawling then he probably would have never talked to her again.

Instead, she perked up when he said she'd learn what a hooker was when she was older. "How old do I have to be?" This answer could be very, very important. It depended on the answer how important it was. Pop and Dad had said 'five years after you get married', which was also the time when she was allowed to date. Now, Elke wasn't very sure, but she felt that it would probably be hard to get married if she didn't date, unless she was like Jada and got her mom to set her up with someone.

...Wait, that didn't work...

"What do hookers have to do with goats," she asked, putting a finger to her chin. (She had demolished her ice cream during this explanation, except for a little bit of the cone.) "That's what a kid is, isn't it? A baby goat?"

It was a bad word? And she'd been throwing it around all casual oh gosh--"I'm sorry I didn't know," she said all in one breath, empty hands coming up over her mouth. The rest of her ice cream cone had been consumed while he was thinking, the napkin placed in her lap where she could not forget to properly dispose of it. "I didn't know it was bad, don't be mad, please don't, I didn't mean it, Elzo!"

She did make a note of the information she had gleaned; hookers had nothing to do with goats. Only they might, but Elzo didn't want to think about it. That was okay, she wouldn't pry. Not unless it started looking like it might behoove her to pry, in which case there would be prying. There would be prying everywhere. Especially when she was older than he was. How old was Elzo, anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen? Older than she was. By a lot. "Do you have a headache?" Elke tilted her head a little forward, brushed locks of teal hair out of her eyes.

As for further plans... she swung her feet through the air, the heels making little scraping sounds as they brushed the concrete. "Can I steal one of your shirts," she asked, seriously. Her gaze had lifted to the Carolina-blue sky, studiously avoiding looking at her friend.

She smiled at Elzo, a little uncertainly. If he said it was okay, it was okay, wasn't it? If he had told her it wasn't okay she would drop it--was going to drop it anyway, she was so embarrassed now. "Well, Grayson says that taking someone's shirt and not giving it back is stealing and Grayson knows everything, he's my brother, so I have got to believe him."

With another, more uncertain smile, she shifted to sit on her hands. "Wearing it," she mumbled into the collar of her shirt, her heels still kicking. "It makes me feel safe."