Noelle
Noah sat down next to me on the leather clad sofa.
"So..." I spoke up to break the silence.
"So..." He responds.
"Now what?" I ask.
"We could watch a movie or talk or ....something." He suggests. Being in his house is weird. I've only ever seen the exterior and dreamed of going inside, but now that the day has come, its a little awkward and almost uncomfortable.
"Talking is fine." I curl my sock-coated feet in the soft thick carpet.
"OK, what's your favorite color?"
"...Don't you already know that?"
"Yeah, its sunset orange, like Peeta. You painted your room that color because you like it so much. I remember because one day you came to school with little flecks of dried paint in your hair and I asked you why you had paint in your hair and you told me." He pauses, "I only asked because I didn't know what else to ask. I'm horrible at this conversation thing."
"Wait. You actually remember that? Wasn't that like, in fifth grade?" I swear that boy has the memory of an elephant.
"Fourth, actually. Because in grade five you got bangs and I don't think you had bangs. Then again, I could be wrong." He says in a concentrated tone, probably trying to remember.
I desperately want to kiss him, but I know that if I do, I could screw this up, so I just say, "How about that movie?"
