A Pocketful of Gems

Chapter 4: baked in a pie - Part 3

My heart stuttered. I took too long to reply.

He sat up.

"Yea," he reached for me. I didn't draw away but I told him, "don't."

His fingers curled into his palm. I smiled.

"Go back to sleep, I'm almost done."

"I can pose like a French model," he offered. His smile was unsure.

"Without clothes?" his smile slipped away.

"Any how you want me," I frowned at him. "What?"

How can he say stay friends yet say something so blatantly provocative?

"Go back to sleep," I picked up my sketchpad and closed the tin of pastels. I should try sketching him in charcoal, gray suited him. It made his yellow curls vivid. It'd be time consuming rendering his fluffy light curls in charcoal, but it'd be worth it.

"I'm awake now," my hands were shaking. Was he doing this intentionally or was he unaware of how I was struggling to hold myself back. He was literally laid out for me.

"Do you want a story?" He inflated his cheeks as he though then nodded. "Okay, let me think, how about the story of how Cupcake Pony met Sprinkle Pony."

"Seriously?"

"Yep," I uncovered my pastels and flipped to the back of my sketchpad. I scribbled a rough drawing of two little horses, one with a cupcake on its head and the other with speckles all over, "I do this for my younger cousins. Ready?"

"Sure."

"Little Pink Cupcake Pony lives in Sweet-tooth Valley." I drew hills and a green valley dotted with sweets, keeping the different colours between my fingers. I scribbled the tiny pony in between the valley.

"You gonna draw out the entire story?"

"As much as I'm able to." He nodded.

"She's lived there all her life; she's seen all the flowers bloom each spring and the snow fall in winter."

His eyes stayed glued to the pad as I scribbled roughs of a pony frolicking in a flowery meadow and building a snowman in a wintery scene.

"And she waited patiently each year for the purpleberry bushes to grow purpleberries. They're her favourite."

"Do I know this pony?"

"Do you know a lot of ponies?"

"No, but this one sounds familiar."

"Right thru." I drew a cupcake wearing pony galloping with a basket in her mouth.

"The purpleberries finally arrived and she hurried to pick them, gobbling down more than she was adding to her basket." I drew a close up of Cupcake with her cheeks bulging and her hooves filled with yet more berries to stuff into her mouth. "When suddenly the ground shook vigorously, scaring the little pony and she ran for cover."

I scribbled a pony with its head under a bush. Spencer laughed.

"She was terrified. The mountains on either sides of her beloved valley grumbled and groaned at each other. They where loud and their wails could be heard all the way to the ocean city of Cinnamon Bay-gle."

"Pft!" I glanced quickly up at Spencer.

"Soon, they quieted and little Pink Cupcake Pony crawled out from beneath...from beneath the purpleberry bush. What had caused this horrible disaster...I can't do this."

"What?" Spencer sat up.

"I'm tired; I'm going to go to bed." I tossed the pastels into their tin and folded the sketch pad closed.

"Gemma," he took the pad from my hands, "stay...you don't have to finish the story you don't even have to talk, just stay with me."

He took my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Spencer," he shushed me.

"I'll take my shirt off if that's what it takes."

I laughed and swiped at my nose, "no, I'll stay."

He fixed the pastels in their tin and placed them on the side table with the pad.

He lied back, shifted till he was comfortable and beckoned me to him.

"What?"

"I think I would prefer you with your shirt off."

"Too bad, you missed your chance," he smiled and pulled me to him, "but you're permitted one hand under my shirt."

I stretched out beside him, one hand on his chest. His heart was beating a staccato inside his chest. It was like a wrecking ball smacking repeatedly into his breast plate. I curled my fingers digging my nails in.

"Gemma," his hand rested on mine, "I'm sorry."

Crying silently was an art form I'd perfected over the years, and I employed it now as the realisation settled over me completely – Spencer didn't like me, like that.
                          -

My head was pounding when dad dropped Spencer and I to the Bakery early next morning. Clara wasn't back yet, stomach flu probably, the girl at the register told us. We passed through the bakery going upstairs and caught sight of Mr. Meyer with his head in an oven. Spencer sent me to feed the obviously overfed feline that quickly gravitated to my ankles the moment we came up, and went to blow his hair dry.

After having to physically pry each of Gunter's individual claws out my hoodie we went back downstairs and gave Mr. Meyer and Rebecca a hand with the crowd. I was on the register.

The crowd came and went like a typhoon creating a lull in the bakery afterwards. My pounding head was now spinning.

Rebecca relieved me and I sat watching Spencer prep orders for school, we said our farewells to the bakery staff and a haggard looking Mr. Meyer and headed off to school.

Despite the night's turn of events conversation was effortless and Spencer didn't hold back on a single one of his smiles, leaving me breathless, flushed and seeing sun spots. I wasn't feeling frayed around the edges or the least bit vulnerable, being with Spencer made me feel grounded and safe, even though my apprehensions had now grown to include him.

I'm pretty certain Spencer has feelings for me, but was his to the extent that mines had reached or were they frail and honey coated. My head swam; I tasted bile on the back of my tongue despite still tasting the blueberry bagel Spencer made me for breakfast. I felt cold, or was I hot. Spencer's mouth was moving, but I wasn't hearing his words.

"Spencer?" I can't hear you. I'm not feeling so good. "Do you love me?"

My breathing accelerated. Mom's words from the other day, bombarded my mind. Twisting around the loops and serifs of her words are Spencer's from last night, "let's stay friends".

"Gem, are you okay?" he touched my hand and it's hot against my skin. It burned. I pulled my hand away and standing stumbled, but caught myself on the table.

"Gem!"

"Do me a favour please, Spencer."

"Sure, anything." I looked into his eyes. Clear. Blue. Ernest. Loving.

"Don't ever speak to me again."

                              ***

As you are here I'm assuming you guys didn't do an early raid on Area 51...there's always next week. Till then, if you see any errors let me know....