Michael was infatuated with the most infuriating girl at his school. He was pretty confident that Daya still hadn't made more than acquaintances before the summer began. She had just moved to Elmsboro in February and he thought she seemed shy at first. He learned quickly that she was a little different from the other kids at his school. It wasn't just the warm tone of her skin that made people look twice, or the smell of the spicy food she enjoyed at lunch. It wasn't even that she did not know who David Bowie was or that girl power was encompassed in its entirety by the Spice Girls.
It became clearer, after a month of lunches spent indoors and reading, Daya was not one to seek companionship. Michael found her mysterious and intriguing. After all, she read real mystery books like Nancy Drew and someone named Lois Duncan. What kind of kid their age did that anyway?
Michael had also been trying to talk to her since he first noticed her. They were in the same homeroom together, so they also had every class together. It was not through a lack of trying that he had yet to hold a proper conversation with her. An ideal conversation, for Michael, would begin with the darker mystery books Daya so loved, and would end up about whether she would like to play Resident Evil 2 on his N64 with him or if she had read any Detective Comics featuring Batman. They were, sort of, real books too and she would probably enjoy all the action.
Maybe then Michael would work up the courage to ask her out for a slushie at the local 7-Eleven. However, every time Michael approached Daya at her desk, during lunch time or before class, he would receive a grumble or an absent nod in response. Sometimes, if he was lucky, she would coldly say "I'm busy".
That was why Michael jumped on the opportunity to finally corner Daya when she was alone and without her nose in a book. It was his fault before that she hadn't noticed his poor attempt to be friends with her. She was clearly dedicated to the things she loved.
Michael had been out playing soccer with a group of friends at the park. It was the typical team set-up: girls against boys. It had been a tie because everyone was cheating anyway and the girls were much rougher than the boys had expected. Michael had to admit he was a little impressed.
It was while he was thinking about the game on his way out of the park, that Michael noticed Daya swinging back and forth slowly in her bright purple t-shirt and khaki-green capris. She had a thoughtful frown masking her normally indifferent face. Michael stopped walking, stunned by the sight of her at his park, of all places. For a flicker of a second he wondered if she was with someone, but quickly realized he knew her better than that. She was probably here to ponder on life or something mysterious.
Michael re-directed himself toward Daya, working on a playful smirk. He had seen many movies, and the guy the girl ends up with is never grinning like an idiot. Playful smirk. Playful smirk. Michael was practically chanting it out loud. He was so focused on his smirk that he lost any semblance of a greeting and simply stared at Daya, like a deer caught in the headlights.
Daya planted her feet in the gravel to stop swinging and gave Michael a full-blown scowl. Shocked by her actually making eye contact with him, he backed away from her until her gaze slipped as he neared the jungle gym. Michael witnessed Daya's glower directed at two other kids, both of whom were trying to get a turn at the swing. Michael realized he hadn't even said a word to her. He had blown his chance once again.
When he decided to give it another go, Daya was no longer on the swing, which was swaying slightly like she had recently vacated it. He caught a flash of purple from the corner of his eye. Daya had already made it to the road and was heading into a sparsely wooded path fenced in between two rows of houses.
Against his better judgement, Michael went after her. By the time he was on the bike path, however, Daya had clearly gotten involved in a game inside her head. Michael did not want to interrupt her again, but noticed she was skipping over the shadows. He looked down at his own stretch of the dirt path and began carefully walking around the shadows as well. It only took Michael five seconds to get distracted from the game he was imitating. He found a branch that looked like it could be a wizard's staff. After confirming it to be the appropriate height for him, Michael dug around a bush, off the path, for a rock. He figured he might as well carve some magical symbols and words into his newly acquired staff. After all, magic could be the key to winning Daya over.
Daya! Michael had almost forgotten. He flew back to the path where he could see her. The only problem was that he could not in fact see her. Instead, in her place, stood a rather large man that Michael did not recognize. He could see, even from this distance, that the man's skin was glistening with sweat from the heat and was holding something heavy.
The man began shuffling to the end of the path where Michael could see the back end of a truck. A cold swept over him and fear prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. This didn't feel right.
Part of his uneasiness in making a move right away was thinking about what his father would say: "Leave it be Michael. Keep your nose clean and out of other people's dirt or you'll regret it." Michael's mother's advice would likely be along the lines of "don't cause a fuss or a scene" because she had always been taught politeness was the very backbone of society—to be seen but not heard was in everyone's interest. Michael's friends would crudely tell him to grow a pair, but at the same time act cool.
For once Michael wished he didn't care about what his classmates would think of him if they knew about his comic book superhero-envy; he wished his parents were braver examples to follow; he wished boldness were in his genes—maybe then he'd have already become friends with Daya and she wouldn't be out here walking home alone; he wished he still carried his favourite superhero cape around.
Michael would have to settle for someone else's cape for the time being. He just needed to borrow the littlest bit of courage.
YOU ARE READING
Another Day
Short StoryPreviously titled Courage For Another Day, this short story won second place in the 2020 Room Magazine Short Fiction writing contest. As Daya's tenth birthday approaches, she reflects on what becoming a woman with increasing responsibilities and ex...