Miss Tara

Chapter two

June

The sky is clustered with deep starry looms of gold. The moon shines palely down from the starry sky and an owl hoots softly from the thicket of trees. It is a warm night, filled with promises and greatness - always greatness.

Four youngsters run across the dark grounds, laughing loudly in swirling clouds of smoke, jacket's strung over there shoulder's twisting in the air behind them. They breathe youth and promise to the world as they run along the cobblestone floor. It is one of those nights that will be etched into their minds all their lives, a moment they, when older, will recall again and again, claiming that this - this, head tipping back, retreating with dried-up ink and wrinkled paper; this is what life is all about. Life does not get more honest than this.

"We really must be going, Helen," breathes a tall girl with spectacles, breathlessly as she topples over by the great fountain. She sinks down onto one of the white marble steps and rests her head dizzily against the stone pillar. The world is caving in.

Helen does not answer, but merely giggles, her face colouring the night golden, "We've graduated, Tara - really, we're accomplished, and - and -"

The rest is lost in another case of the giggles as a tall, lanky boy hands her a champagne bottle. She takes a long drag of it before handing it back.

"I'm just so happy, Travis -" she exclaims and throws her arms around the boy's neck, who lets the bottle fall from his hands carelessly.

"Careful, there -" a burly boy with brown wavy hair, catches the bottle inches from the floor. He does not waste a second in taking a swig of it. The couple does not notice anything and continues kissing passionately.

Tara opens an eye, peeking at him, "Always the hero, Fabian,"

Fabian lifts the bottle in a salute, "Someone's gotta think of the booze,"

She sniffs, "that would of course be you."

She is content for once. Seven very hard and long years have been overcome, though she has at times felt like the years have rather overcome her instead.

The student shrugs, and takes a step closer to her, his cap is slightly askew and she wonders briefly if this is the newest trend.

"You know me well - should I be concerned, miss...?"

"Tara," She extends a sweaty palm that Fabian immediately grabs.

"Pleasure, Tara - haven't seen you around before, mayb-"

"Actually we've been in the same classes for the past seven years - you looked after my notes in History... Broke my favourite pen twice - "

"Sorry -" he laughs, ruffling his hair. "I'm bad with names."

"Nah, I think it's just mine," Tara notes, not really feeling up to the task of being pleasant. Another awkward pause passes between the two.

"Well," Fabian looks away and dusts off some invisible dust, "I must be going, it is late and all -"

"Yes -" Tara gets up from her place at the marble stair, "look at the time,"

She mentally smacks herself. Stupid cow, Fabian is the Football star captain and the heartbreaker of their year - how is he even going to remember her?

The brown-haired boy makes to walk away, but turns around to face her again.

"You could accompany me?" His eyes meet hers briefly before flickering away. He appears to be just as surprised as she is at this development. Tara pauses with the bottle still at her lips. This is it - this is now - they will spur on from this moment.

Slowly, she puts the bottle down and straightens.

"A-accompany you?" She whispers faintly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Fabian seems to make a double take. He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, "Yeah, um, in honour of school ending and all - I just - ahem - "

A silence settles between the two in which both try to ignore the slurping noises coming from their friends by the well. Crickets are singing in the night air with the moonlight spilling over them; the world can play romance even when they fail. He is Fabian Greenwood, extraordinary football star and she is Tara Smith, extraordinary boring.

"O-kay..." he mutters and turns away, walking down the flowerbeds in fast strides. The round shape of the moon enlightening his silhouette sends a twang of romantic hope through her rigid bones.

Tara sits there for while, dazed, deciding against it, then deciding that really it all doesn't matter at all because in five more hours the bus will be taking her home and it will be the last time she will ever hear his heavy Scottish accent. Life has been numbingly predictable the last seventeen years; so before she has a chance to rethink it all, she is on her feet, hand in the air,

"Wait!"