Lead & Follow

Glissade

Part 1: Lead

Fourth Movement, Glissade

Glissade

glis·sade (glĭ-säd′, -sād′)

n.

A gliding step in ballet. A controlled slide, in either a standing or sitting position, used in descending a steep snow slope.

intr.v. glis·sad·ed, glis·sad·ing, glis·sades

To perform a glissade.

🤍🖤

Your fingers glide across the cool metal of the waterfront's fence line, and you push back against the rail. The sky explodes in a vibrant burst of amethyst, and you tilt your head to better catch the majesty of fireworks which bloom above the dark horizon.

The friends which accompany you are equally transfixed by the colorful sight, and you feel lucky that your day has concluded in such a magnificent fashion.

"Did I deliver or what?" Terri boasts, and the sky shifts between thunderous blossoms of various jewel tones. You turn to her and formulate a reply in your head, but it's hard to catch her gaze from far away.

A couple of your friends are wedged between you, and the setting is bathed in a golden light when you feel eyes on your back.

"Hi," you murmur warmly as you direct your attention to intense brown eyes. Their chocolate hue is cast in a honeyed tone by the ambient light of the big city.

Your heart clenched at the sight of this boy, and the way he leans so suavely against the rail. His back is turned to the fireworks, and you think it makes perfect sense. After all, he is the most dazzling thing about this night.

"Hi," he repeats, and he raises a brow at your gentle salutation. "You caught me."

"S-So it seems," you agree, a bit flustered under the weight of his gaze.

He looks thoughtful, "What color do you think the next one will be?"

"Green," Cove interjects, oddly confident. It's orange, and he rolls his eyes at his luck.

"Is that your favorite color?" Baxter asks, though he already assumes as much.

"It's...one of them," he admits awkwardly. "Is your's black?"

"One of them," Baxter answers vaguely as if the other color is some well-kept secret. "I think green very much suits you, though."

Cove doesn't spare Baxter a glance, and you wonder where this aloof behavior is coming from. Thinking back, he hadn't been quite so reserved with your first meeting–or Terri's, or Miranda's, actually.

"Thanks," he supplies, and when a green firework finally rockets into the sky, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards.

"I really am thankful to have met all of you this summer," Baxter reflects as if the season is already far behind him. "I won't forget it."

"I'm thankful to have met you again," you say honestly, and you hope he understands how much you mean it.

In much the same way that his added presence in your group has been for the better, you don't know how your first formal event would have played out without his apt arrival.

He considers a plethora of replies to your kind reveal; should he mention that he never thought to encounter you again? Acknowledge that your second meeting is a pleasant surprise? Apologize for his brisk departure years ago?

Instead he grins boyishly, and runs a hand through his two-toned locks, "I wonder if you'd still peg me for a male lead."

You jolt. His impeccable memory feels unfair, and you only hope you can blame your color change on the crimson illumination overhead.

"I-I," you sputter, and then you huff indignantly. "I can't be held accountable for the things I said when I was, like, fourteen, okay?"

He laughs, and despite your chagrin, you think it's a sound you could let yourself get used to.

-x-

1 new text from Mr. Male Lead

Mr. Male Lead:

______________

Hello and good afternoon.

I am intending to go sightseeing and would love it if you could join me. You are quite welcome to invite anyone else along as well.

Sincerely, your friend Baxter.

________________

Your next encounter with a charming monochrome enthusiast comes in the form of a string of text messages a few days later. After initially sending him a, "Hey, it's [Name]," message the night of the fireworks, you honestly hadn't anticipated anymore action in your text thread.

Nevertheless, your phone chimes thrice in the middle of an uneventful day, and you nearly fall off the living room couch in your scramble to check your phone.

You feel giddy at the thought that he has taken the initiative to text you, but the archaic script reads more like it was penned with a quill and ink, rather than a modern day keyboard.

You snort, and your mothers exchange a knowing glance from across the room.

"Did your friends text you?" Ma asks with a raised brow, though the way your face seems glued to the phone screen insinuates something more than that.

"Um," you begin with a nod. You peel your gaze away from the phone, and your reddened cheeks are all the more apparent to your family. "I think Baxter wants to go sightseeing."

"Wow, perfect timing," Mom smiles coyly.

Ma readily agrees, "Yes, that's nice. Baxter Ward seems like a lovely young man."

"He's a step up or two from the Donnells, that's for sure," your mom jokes as she compares him to the previous tenants of the home across the way.

"I wonder where he's from..." Ma murmurs thoughtfully. Her musings eventually lead into a short conversation about the boy in question, and the intrigue which surrounds him.

All things considered, you realize you know very little about Baxter Ward; this is something you endeavor to change.

Me:

_________________

Good tidings, Sir Baxter. Of course I would be delighted to join you on this fine day.

I have finished my luncheon so will venture forth to your dwellings.

__________________

You conclude that signing off with, " Your neighbor, [Name] ," is a little too much, but you hope he gets the joke without it.

Normally, your text style is far less medieval, but it was hard to resist playing along with his pretty words.

Mr. Male Lead:

_______________

Brave knight [Name], that is heartening. I shall see you posthaste. My highest regards.

_______________

He gets it , you think with relief, and he's clearly showboating. His stilted syntax has cranked up a notch, and when you turn to ask your moms for permission to visit–well, you feel more like you're embarking on a perilous quest than flirting with the new neighbor.

"Hey, moms? I have to get going to Baxter's. That's okay, right?" you request with an imploring smile.

Their permission is effortlessly granted, but the trip does end up being expeditious in a way. Your intention is to bond, but your mom-given task is to snoop. You only hope you can get away with both.