Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Five: Paradise

I watch rain drip from the window, gaining speed as it moves down, racing the other raindrops to the bottom. I pay attention to one drop in particular, rooting for it to beat all the others. With every second that passes it pulls further ahead, collecting more water as it travels down. I'm about to celebrate in my head for the raindrop's victory when it veers off, traveling to the side, and falling behind the other raindrop contenders.

It doesn't win. In fact it takes a new completely route altogether.

The neon lights from inside the diner light up the raindrops with hues of pink, blue and green. I find the sign that flashes the word "Coffee" in bright red letters particularly distracting, taking my thoughts away from the table where my own steaming coffee sits in a mug, and Harry who sits across from me. The window has my attention, the raindrops, even the one who failed to my disappointment, has my attention.

"Greta," Harry speaks quietly. I feel his hand on top of mine, which pulls me back in. His hand feels rough against my smooth skin but his touch is soft, lingering, and his thumb gently rubs over my knuckles.

I quickly spin my head back to him, pushing my hair out my face with the hand that he's not currently holding onto. I blink a few times, trying to get over the racing raindrops and smile his way before looking down.

"Sorry," I say, moving my hand away from his. "Was I spacing off again?"

"Yeah," he laughs, pulling his own hand back. He grabs onto the handle of his mug that's filled with piping hot coffee and brings it closer to him on the table. Leaning down he blows into the mug, pushing some of the steam off to the side. "You do that a lot. Stop living inside your head so much."

"Sorry," I shake my head again, feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's hard not to."

"I want to know what's going on in there," he replies quickly, barely giving me time to finish my own sentence. "I don't want you hiding away."

"Okay," I whisper. I'm sure this would be the moment where I tell him everything that is going on inside my head. But I don't and he doesn't say anything more about it after that.

A waitress wearing a yellow checkered apron walks up to our table. She chews on a piece of gum, twiddling her blonde hair with her fingers as we order our food. Even though it's seven at night I order a plate of pancakes. Harry does the same but he requests that his pancakes have the whip cream smiley face like the ones off the kids menu. The waitress, whose name is Wendy according to her name tag, gives Harry a funny look but his serious face doesn't budge with her judgment as he passes over our syrupy menus.

She turns around, heading toward the kitchen and I watch as she walk, taking in the nearly empty diner. We're in California, where exactly in California I can't remember, but it's north and east. It's been raining since we first stopped here nearly an hour ago. It's a warm rain though, the kind that makes you want to jump in puddles.

I turn back to Harry. He sits across from me in cushioned red seat with his tongue out and extremely focused. I watch him dump package after package of sugar into his coffee. Yellow paper pieces and loose white specks start to accumulate on the table but he doesn't slow down, nearly emptying the entire plastic container meant to hold the sugar.

He looks up at me, grabbing the spoon from the napkin bundle and sticking it into his mug. He stirs carefully, smiling, and I raise my eyebrows at him.

"What?" he smirks.

"That's a lot of sugar," I laugh, he opens up another package spilling half of the contents into his lap and moving it quickly enough to get the rest in the cup. "What happened to the whole vending machine sugar debate?"