Opal
I wake up late.
When I get up Elizabeth is already up and out of the tent. I sit up and stretch my arms above my head, yawning. The sun is lighting the outside of the tent with shadows of leaves and branches from the canopy above out campsite. There is a note on Elizabeth's pillow:
Opal,
Connor and I are going out.
We'll be back sometime after lunch.
Elizabeth
P.S. Oliver definitely likes you.
Huh. I get out of the tent, and walk to the picnic table, where we store our food and other supplies. I grab an apple and my sketchbook make my way down to the river. I draw and draw and draw, time passes and I can't feel it. My sketch fills in before my eyes, the moss covered rock in front of me, in the middle of the river, all in strokes of charcoal pencil. The sound of the water passing me by calms me, and it is the only thing I hear for a long time.
I hear the tent unzip up at the campsite, breaking my reverie. I hear Oliver's footsteps behind me, coming closer, but I don't turn around and look at him. I want to finish this last part of the sketch, and I am almost done. As I am finish the final touches, Oliver's voice, barely there, a whisper, breaks through the noise coming from creek.
"Wow.That's...It's...wow."
I look up behind me, a small smile growing on my face, and see Oliver there, a camera dangling from his neck. The sunlight highlights his face, making it seem even more bright and beautiful. He sits down next to me, still looking at the sketch. He moves my hand from where it is covering the side of the picture and off to the side. He keeps his hand on top of mine and studies the drawing.
"I didn't know you could draw like this."
"Like what?" I say jokingly.
"So...so...hauntingly."
I stay silent.
"Can I see your other sketches?"
I nod mutely. He moves the sketchbook to tilt it towards him. Not off my lap, just so he can see it better. He flips through my sketches, pausing to look at each of them, going through memories of mine, something I'd never let anyone else do. Not even Elizabeth.
He stops of the sketch of my grandfather, done in only in charcoal, a portrait where he is looking straight ahead, towards the viewer, where the strokes are sharp, jagged, and the shadows on his face are much to dark to be real. He is not smiling, not happy, not sad. I did it after he died, drawing on only my memories of him and a picture of him when he was younger, and because of this, the drawing is vague and undefined, despite the crisp, clear lines. I almost forgot about it.
"Has anyone else ever seen your drawings?" Oliver asks. His voice is quiet, but steady. I look at him, and he looks back at me, his eyes finding mine and holding my gaze. He looks at me, and the look in his eyes is so intense, I have to look away.
"No. But I think that is enough for now." I stand up, and he follows suit.
"Hey, Opal? Would you mind showing me that tree swing?"
I smile. "Not at all. Come on, it's this way." I lead him down the rocky shore of the creek, to the clearing I found it in. It takes a little while, but we get there, and the swing is still in the place it was last time. I see it through the trees, and, laughing, start running towards it. I hop onto the swing, and start pumping my legs. Oliver emerges from the trees, and walks toward me. There is a cut on his cheek.
"Aw, where did that come from?"
"I'm not sure, actually. I think it must have been a branch or something."
"Oh, you poor baby. Want me to kiss your boo boo to make you feel better?" Then realizing what I said, I blush. He grins, but blushes, too. His face grows serious. When I swing towards him again, he catches the ropes from the swing and holds me there.
"Yes."
Then, some weird, flirty part of me I never knew I had makes me tilt forward from my perch on the swing, and kiss his cheek. I pull back, and look at him. The intense look in his eye is back.
He blinks.
I blink.
He lets go of the swing.
I rush back, laughing, and all the tension is gone. He laughs too, and goes around the swing to push me. We stay there for hours, talking about nothing and everything, and by the time we get back, Connor and Elizabeth are back, sitting by the firepit.
Making out.
