A Note A Day

6 | in her binder's pocket

| 6 |

❝ Are you my appendix, because the feeling in my stomach makes me feel obliged to take you out. ❞

SHE NIBBLED ON her ham sandwich, surrounded by Malcolm and Shane on either side of her on the bench. They had 'taken her in', as she called it.

Or maybe this was friendship, by some miracle. Maybe she just hadn't realized what being 'friends' was like, and they had become her friend without her knowledge.

They had noticed she usually sat alone at lunch, and told her to sit with them, because she looked like she needed some company. She was grateful, but sometimes she liked to be alone.

She liked to hear her own thoughts echo around in her brain until she forgot them, and sometimes she liked to keep her mouth closed and watch the world around her instead of immersing herself into other people's conversations, trying to listen to be polite but her mind drifting far from their, unable to bring herself back home.

But she did like being with Shane and Malcolm.

The pair was lively, one of them always laughing at something. Sometimes both of them were laughing, and most of the times Charlie was completely lost.

But she was okay with that. She found it nice to hear their laughter. That was enough to make her smile and join along for no reason, because sometimes, that's all it took.

Her stomach was still agitated from encounter with Theodore Higgins, and her nerves were out of control.

She glanced again at Teddy, all alone, a couple tables down from them.

Shane was currently ranting about the homework high school gave them, stopping when Charlie blurted out, "I'll be back."

She dashed to Theodore's table with her lunch bag in her hand, never once glancing back at Malcolm and Shane, coming to an abrupt stop just behind Teddy. She was afraid of what to do next. Should she speak up? Tap his shoulder?

She kept her eyes away from him, especially away from his eyes, the things that made her tremble head to foot last time, and instead stared at the artwork in from of him. He held a pencil and was sketching something in a notebook that was absolutely gorgeous. A woman. Long, wavy hair, the silky-looking hair covering some of her face, her nose small, rounded and dainty-looking, the woman fragile in a strange way. The lady was faintly smiling. Her lips were frozen, unwavering in the slight grin and her eyes were wide and innocent. It was beautiful.

Theodore was incredibly talented, Charlotte concluded. She, on the other hand, could barely draw stick figures.

She decided to go with her idea of speaking out loud, although she wasn't very good at it. She had no clue what she would talk about, but she'd just have to improvise.

Glancing at the back of his head, anywhere but his eyes again, as last time was such a disaster, she noticed his hair color reminded her of deep, dark, black chocolate. His hair was fluffed wildly, curling and whisping around his ears and over his forehead.

Cough.

Charlie glanced at him, annoyed he didn't turn to look at her.

Cough.

He still didn't turn around.

"Excuse me," she squeaked, squeezing the handle of her lunch bag.

He still ignored her.

"Hello?" She began wildly clearing her throat in an attempt for him to turn around and make an effort to seem like he was listening to her. She must have sounded like she was on death's corner with some rare disease that made her hack every second. Charlie noticed there were some stares on her.