The Rendezvous // Thomas Sangster

A Couple of Nerds Exchange Art and Problems

I hadn't spoken to Thomas since the day of the picnic. It had been two days. I don't know why, but I extended my stay at the campground. I just liked it there. It was quiet.

I especially liked the forest that the campground provided. I liked waking up early in the morning, putting on a sweater and heading out to the forest. I stayed away from the so-called "private property" that Thomas had been so adamant I avoid. Not because he told me to, but because every time I thought of the encounter I witnessed that night I felt a great unease creep into me. The entire expanse of the remaining forest was open for me to wander. 

Sitting on a fallen log, I clutch my sketchbook in my hand, staring out at the forest. I draw the section that I can see with an ink pen. Cold dew rises off the ground, turning into mist as it evaporates, greeting a dead morning. The drawing is not very good, but I think the forest looks interesting, sketched in black and white. The trees look more one dimensional, and it's beautifully unnatural. 

Red lays at my feet sleepily. We've been sitting there for a quarter of an hour, in near complete silence, with the exception of the music that earth makes. I hadn't been able to get Thomas's words out of my head since the picnic. The song of nature had been stuck in my head since then. The tune of the birds, and the way their voices echoed off the trees. The way the trees seems to strum their branches like a guitar. 

I have this song in my head when Red's head suddenly snaps up, barking loudly. 

I'm startled, nearly ruining my picture when I jump, "Jeez, Red, what's your problem?"

He sniffs the into the wind, his ears perked up. I listen for a moment. At first, I don't hear anything, but after a few seconds I recognize it. 

Footsteps. 

I stand up hastily, snatching up my backpack, ready to run. Who knows what really happens in these woods when they're supposedly quiet?

But I don't have to wonder for very long. Soon, a tall, slightly intimidating man trods into my view. He has cropped, blonde hair, freckles, glasses, and inhuman eyebrows. I see that a modest, green backpack is swung over his shoulder as well, and he carries a black and white notebook in his hand. He bends over, studying a plant before he opens up his notebook, scribbling something down. He seems fairly harmless. 

Deciding that it would be creepy for me to remain concealed any longer, I step out from behind the brush that veiled me before, Red following closely behind me. 

When I step out, the man looks up, looking a bit surprised at first, but his expression quickly changing to one of ease, "Oh, hello. Didn't see you."

"I figured." I offer a friendly smile, "And I thought it would be weird if I didn't make it known that I was here." 

He grins, standing up as he finishes writing in his book, "Well, you might be right." Then he looks to Red, "Nice dog. Golden Retriever?"

"Yes," I nod, "and he's a buttmunch."

The man laughs, leaning over to scratch Red, who surprisingly allows him.

I observe him once again, looking at his book and the plant he was studying, "So, what have you got there?"

He looks at his notebooks, "Oh, nothing. I'm just working on a project for work. I'm an environmentalist, see? So, I'm recording some of the plants that we have out here and charting them. It's always different every season..."

"That sounds like a cool job." I say. 

He shrugs, "It's pretty peaceful. The basics of my job don't really change." He says, looking at the book that I hold in my own hand, "What about you? What's your book?"

I hold my book up slightly, showing it to him, "Sketchbook. I've been coming out here to draw the scenery."

He raises an eyebrow, inquisitively, "You're an artist, huh?"

I smirk, "Sort of."

"Now, I think that sounds like a cool  job." He says with admiration, "I couldn't even draw a stick figure to save my life."

I chuckle, "Good thing that stick figure drawing isn't usually a regulation of being allowed to live then."

He laughs pleasantly, his smile one of the naturally widest I've ever seen. Once he's finished laughing, he asks, "Can I see your sketches?"

I shrug, holding the book out to him, "Sure. Can I see your project? Unless it's top secret, that is."

He shakes his head and we exchange books, "No, nothing top secret in there. Just plant descriptions and a few rough sketches..."

I flip through the pages of his notebook, enamored. In it are names of plants such as Juniper, and Voodoo Lily. There are several sketches here and there of plants. Everything is written in neat, precise handwriting. 

"These are amazing." I hear the man mutter, studying my book.

I scoff, "Well, this isn't horrible either. You lied to me--look at these plant sketches!"

"Oh, those aren't anything. I love this cluster of pine cones you did. It took me a minute to recognize what they were, but this is really neat."

I smile, "I guess we both underestimate ourselves, then."

"I guess so." He grins, looking  up at me through his glasses. Then he laughs, "Look at us - a couple of dorks out in the middle of the woods, geeking out over sketches and plants, and we don't even know each others names!"

"My name is Stephanie Bennet." I respond, laughing.

"That's a pretty name," He says, and I'm immediately reminded of Thomas. "I'm Will Poulter."

"Nice to meet you."

"The feeling is mutual." He replies, handing my book back to me, and I doing the same with him. He starts, "So---"

Suddenly, I hear chiming come from my backpack. Signal! I pull my bag off my shoulder quickly, rifling through it. 

"Sorry," I mumble, "I don't get signal around here very often, and when I do I always take advantage of it."

"I understand." Will nods, "So, you're staying at the campground, then?"

"Yeah." I say, successfully finding my phone. 

"For how long?"

"I don't know." I say, watching as notification after notification pops up on  my screen. There are a couple for social media, some YouTube channels  that I follow, as well as News, and texts from my brother, but what my eyes linger on is the notification from my bank account. I haven't checked it since I got here, and I was already low on funds.

I click on it and read over everything twice before I curse under my breath. Will watches me as I frustratedly  search over my records, before huffing and stuffing my phone back in my bag without bothering with the other notifications. 

"Something wrong?" He asks, tilting his head to one side. 

I release a slow breath, "No. Well, I mean, yes, but don't worry about it."

He smirks, "If you tell me, I might be able to help."

I study him for a moment before I shrug, "All right, well, I'm nearly out of money. I need a job so that I can keep staying at the campground, and you know, eating."

He blinks, nodding in thought, "Well, I don't know how much help I would be with getting you a job-"

"Really, it's fine don't worry about it--" I interrupt.

"I didn't finish." Will says, giving me a playfully scornful look.

I blush, "Sorry."

He starts over, "I probably wouldn't be much help finding a job...but I know someone who would be."