Isla and the Happily Ever After: Josh's POV

1

It's midnight, it's sweltering, and I'm mesmerized with my drawing of my server at the cafe I'm currently at. Oddly, he reminds me a lot of the 16th President, Abe Lincoln, which is why I feel the need to sketch his scruffy brown beard.

My nose is an inch away from my pen as I softly stroke his cheekbones which are deep in his face. I'm absorbed. I've been here for a while now, dreading the idea of going home and having to deal with my parents. With my father's senator election coming up, they haven't stopped talking about it. So here I am, trying my best to get away from--

"Josh!"

My head jolts up. Huh? The familiar long wavy red hair, and hazel green eyes are sitting two tables from mine. I stare at her for a long time, half unsure if she's really there, and half surprised to why it took me so long to run into her. I blink. "Isla?"

"You know my name. You can pronounce my name." She erupts into a smile, and I look around the room. I'm confused. Isla Martin. The shy, quiet girl from the School of America in Paris is, loud. Weird.

I cautiously set down my pen, suddenly feeling a ping of nervousness in the pit of my stomach. "Uh, yeah. We've sat beside each other in a ton of classes."

"Five classes beside each other, twelve classes together total."

She's acting a little too weird.

"Right," I say slowly. I pause. "Are you okay?"

Before she can respond, the server that looks like Abe sets a single-page laminated menu onto her table.

She doesn't look at it. "Something soft, please."

Abe scratches his head, weary.

"But no tomato soup, chocolate pudding, or raspberry applesauce. That's all I've had to eat today," she adds.

"Ah." Abe's mood lightens. "You're sick." I lightly sketch two piercings above his eyebrow.

Isla tucks her hair behind her ear, and I suddenly have an urge to touch it. "No."

Abe's mood darkens again. "Whatever." He snatches up the menu. "Allergic to anything? You kosher? Vegetarian?"

Her voice is soft, reminding me of the sound of crashing ocean waves. "Huh?"

"I'll have a look in the kitchen." Abe stalks away.

Isla's gaze finally returns to me. I look down at my sketchbook, and then back up, and then back down. I want to keep talking to her. What do I say? I've never been good at talking to attractive girls, and talking to Isla is even harder. She takes beauty to a whole another level. I've always liked her.

I look up again, to find her already staring. Her white cheeks turn into a cherry red.

I clear my throat. "It's strange, you know? That we've never run into each other before."

She leaps in. "Do you come here often?"

"Oh." I fidget with my pen. "I meant in the city? I knew you lived on the Upper West, but I've never seen you around."

Did I just say something stupid? Her cheeks grow a little red, and my chest tightens.

"I don't get out often," she blurts. "But I'm starving, and there's nothing to eat at home." I watch her get up and move to the empty seat in front of me. She's wearing a white sundress, and I quickly glance at a sliver of her cleavage. Her compass necklace knocks against the tabletop. "My wisdom teeth were removed this morning, and I'm taking all of these medications, but my mouth is still sore so that's why I can only eat soft foods."