Improbable

Thirteen

It seems so long ago we went to our field... so long since we were we.

HIs head is down in his books, brown eyes focused on the words they see nothing else. He's a high school student, so I guess it's to be expected. But I'm so buzzed.

My heart won't stop soaring at the memory of the grin on his lips... his lips, his eyes, his slightly reddened cheeks. His beauty haunts me like the most well-received ghost. We haven't spoken since, almost like he's forgotten about me.

I sigh. If only I thought that were the only possibility. He's just such a dazed guy and goes with his thoughts. I haven't made him think of me enough. I mean, I can't make him. But I can try. Do my best.

I press the pen to the paper of my refill paper and scrawl across the page. Neatly I fold up the page and throw it at him.

When it hits him he looks up, surprised, with a dazed look in his eyes. When he spots the paper on the ground he picks it up while looking around for the culprit. I grin when his eyes settle on me.

"You?" he mouths at me.

I just grin slyly in return. He smirks at that. My heart flutters- it's been a while since I saw those lips quirk up. They have been so steadfast in a firm line. His jawline impenetrable. Enticing.

I gulp. Stop.

When he opens the note his smile widens and his eyes focus on the lines on the paper. I drew him. Well, his cartoon. A humorous interpretation of his incredible focus. I've always loved focussing on drawing so I guess I've gotten better at it and quicker. I don't mind failing and I learn how to move my hand steadily to create the exact picture I want. My mind's eye becomes projected by my hand. The right one, and sometimes my left hand if I feel up to a challenge.

"It's good," he mouths again, very dramatically.

I sigh happily and get up from my seat, moving across the library towards him.

"What are you writing?" I whisper in his ear, blushing slightly as our feet touch accidentally under the table.

"An essay..." he quickly closes his notebook, his cheeks reddening.

"Hm... I don't know if you sounded very believable just then," I playfully whisper reply.

He shuffles in his seat, unable to look at me. I catch his eye with a smile.

"Alright! I'm writing lyrics!" he says.

"Shh!" the old librarian lady pipes up from behind some shelves. She's good and very much your stereotypical librarian.

"Can I see?" I ask quietly, looking at him sincerely. As if he could get cuter.

"Um, I'd rather not show anyone," he mumbles, moving to pack up his stuff.

"Where're you going?" I ask, scared he'll leave me. Scared he doesn't like me.

"I just have to get out of here."

"We still have three hours left of school..."

He shrugs.

"How about our field?" I ask, gathering my stuff up. I feel like I have to go too. When I turned into a rebel, I don't know. It's kind of just always been under every thought. A contradiction to every right choice always lies underneath.

"My car's in the street behind the school. An easy getaway," He grins.

Off we go.