You're the type of girl who sits on a new friend's floor, picking through her books while in a perfect criss-cross applesauce. Smiling, leafing through pages and writing small notes without asking permission.
Your friend fidgets. She's scared, shy. When she first saw you and you waved she hid behind her red coat to save herself some embarrassment. She sits on the bed, playing with her hands just like she did when she first struck up the nerve to say "Hello."
You sift through her piles of books, smiling up at her as she nervously picks out an album she thinks you would like and carefully places the record on the player, her hand shaking. You've noticed her hand shaking before. You're the kind of girl who notices small things like that.
You crawl onto her bed, laying down across the sides with a book open in front of you. You say you haven't read in a while, but you remember this book. She nods, rambling off small thoughts about it. You get the feeling she never finished it. She often says she knows things that you know in a desperate attempt to connect to you, to feel like she is impressing you. You notice that.
She gets closer, laughing and reading over your shoulder. She gets more comfortable, talking about how she was never very impressed by the story but that the graphic novel version that you're reading is pretty cool. You remember that she loves graphic novels, you noticed stacks of them in her room. She's tried desperately to get you to read Ghost World. You glance at her shelves again. V For Vendetta. Watchmen. Various Batman comics. From Hell.
You notice her smiling, giggling as she leans back to pull the covers over herself. She says that she's cold. You lay on top of her, your body horizontal against hers. She laughs and blushes, and says something about it being a nice kind of heavy.
You don't listen. You notice her falling in love with you, right before your eyes.
