He smiles at me for a long time. Something hangs in the air between us and time seems to stop, just for a few moments. A millions thoughts whiz through my head, so fast I can't catch them. I stare at him, and the music in my ears disappears. We seem to have entered another world, and there's only his eyes, only his smile. And nothing else.
Then he frowns.
Oh god. I've been staring at him for too long without speaking. He was obviously expecting me to speak. Oh god, you're such an idiot.
I pull myself to my feet and rip the headphones out of my ears.
"Hi. I'm Andie." Should I shake his hand? No, that's weird and way too formal. But what should I do? He's just looking at me. Oh god, what the hell am I supposed to do? How do normal people act when they meet new people? Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh-
"I'm Peter," he says, and smiles again. I try to calm down, and have the sense to smile back. Then I notice a cast on his right hand, and relief rushes over me. I now have a conversation starter.
"How did you do that?" I say, pointing at his arm. He looks down at it.
"Oh. Well, I have a brother, and he gets bored." He laughs and explains how his brother wrestled him and he fractured a bone and he went to the hospital where the all the other patients were sarcastic and boring. I just stand there and let him go on. He is so fast at thinking, keeps having something new and interesting to say, and it's all laced with wit, on the serious side of funny, the funny side of sarcastic, the sarcastic side of polite. I don't have to worry about talking: he does all that for me, I can just listen and admire him.
He produces a pen and I sign his cast, which has a few other signatures and doodles. He explains who each signature belongs to, and although I don't know them, he tells me funny stories about each one. He seems to have many friends. I'm not surprised.
After a while, we're sitting on the floor, our backs against the walls, facing each other. We're talking - it's natural. There's no halts in the conversation where we don't know what to say. There's no awkwardness. We don't run out of words. He tells me how he has a job in the town and secretly hates all the friends he's made at the House. I tell him about my failed attempts at finding both a job and friends. He tells me how he feels overshadowed by his brother and I tell him how I feel overshadowed by Sam. He tells me how his father left when he was five and how his brother blamed his mum and I tell him how my mum died giving birth to me and how I always blamed myself. Things did get awkward then, but I broke the tension by pointing out how much we have in common. I'm used to the silence that follows when I tell people about my mum, and worked out a long time ago how to break it.
A few hours later, we are sitting in silence, but comfortable silence. I feel completely safe and not at all self conscious. I'm staring at him, focusing on his eyes. His beauty surprises me every time I look at him. I offer him an earbud and I show him my favourite music and he shows me his. We have to sit quite close in order to share the earphones. Our shoulders are touching and a slight electricity passes between us. My heart races. I smile uncontrollably, and I look down the corridor to hide it.
* * *
After hours of sitting in the corridor talking to Peter, I walk back into the flat. Sam has fallen asleep on the sofa, with the TV on. Typical. I give up the bed for Sam and she ends up sleeping on the sofa anyway. I waltz into her bedroom, collapse on the bed and fall asleep much easier than usual.
I wake up with Sam's face scarily close to mine. After I adjust to being awake I creep out the room and get myself some cereal. I get dressed quickly and run down to the gardens. I want to catch Peter before he leaves for work.
A group of boys are playing football. Even though I know he hates all sports, I look for Peter among the group of walking testosterone. He isn't there, of course.
It's a sunny morning and, apart from the footballers, the gardens are quite quiet. I look across the feild, and at the top of a small hill, I see him sitting crossed legged. I walk a bit closer and I see he's drawing in a sketchbook. I notice that he's left-handed. When he sees me, he quickly closes the book and stands up.
"Andie! Hi!" To my absolute joy, he sounds excited to see me. I can't stop myself from smiling and I hurry the rest of the way to him.
He hugs me.
He hugs me.
He throws his arms around me and smiles happily. I'm filled with such joy. We've known each other for one day and he's acting like we're best friends.
We sit on the grass. "So what were you doing?" I ask.
"Oh, just sketching. You know, the landscape. Gardens. Pretty day, right?" he replies quickly.
We talk for about half an hour then he has to leave for work. While he's walking away, I notice that he's left his sketchbook. I pick it up curiously and admire the tree that he's drawn on the cardboard cover. I like his art style - he draws with lots of small, sketchy, curving lines. I look up and am about to run after him to give back his book, but he's already across the feild, and my hand is itching with curiosity. I watch him walk away until I can't see him anymore, then I slowly open the book.
His drawings are incredible. He draws in a realistic yet rough, sketchy way, and some drawings have been done with pastels, but mostly he'd drawn with just a pencil. He'd drawn the gardens, the town, the House, a dog lying on its side. Each drawing had been bordered with quick doodles of flowers or vines or leaves or stars. He'd drawn a few portraits too, a few of the football boys, someone who looked like an older version of himself who I assume is his brother, a woman who I think is his mother, and then, near the back, the latest sketch he's drawn.
It's a girl with short hair in a messy but cute pixie cut. The irises in her eyes are outlined heavily so they draw you're attention. Her nose and cheeks are sprinkled with freckles, and her lips are dark and full.
The girl is me. He's drawn me. A greatly exaggerated version of me - he's slightly altered my features to make me look prettier - but still me. I feel really flattered.
I wait on the top of the hill for a few minutes, watching the footballers, then I start walking back to the House.
