"Look at that girl, Mason. Does she see this line?" my mother said, with that tone that she uses when my father leaves the ice tray out and the poor little cubes melt.
I looked up. The girl was sitting all by herself at the biggest table in the whole cafe. She was reading, and so intent on that reading that she did not look up when she took a tentative sip from her tea cup. Nor did she lift her eyes to the growing amount of people and the shrinking amount of space. She looked about my age, and the very first thing I noticed is that she was really pretty. The kind of pretty where you know the girl isn't trying that hard to look that way. She had little white flowers in her long, wavy brown hair, with pale skin and thin fingers that turned the pages of her book with such care you'd think they're glass. I wondered why I hadn't seen her at the town's high school. It's so small I wouldn't have missed her.
"Yeah . . ." I said, tearing my eyes away from her only for the sake of not looking like a creep staring at the girl. But I couldn't seem to stop my eyes from wondering over in her direction, even after we sat down. I attempted to return my attention to my parents, though it was hard, as they were discussing whether our back shed was large enough.
After a while, she closed her book, her eyes stuck to the page, even as she shut the cover. Standing up and putting some money on the table, she looked around the cafe, as if it hurt to say goodbye. Her eyes came over to me. I quickly looked down and pretended to be extremely fascinated by the bendy straw my root beer. I saw her leave on an old-fashioned teal bike, her book accompanied by others in a wire basket in the front. The girl with the flowers, the bike and the books.
I worked on my car that night, while the sun was setting. It's the best time to do it in my opinion; there's shadows everywhere and it's a lot cooler than during the day. I was still stuck on that girl; my brain was like Velcro sometimes. Why shouldn't I talk to her? I thought to myself, with a sudden surge of confidence. The town's small and I'll find her and we'll talk. Maybe, when the grass turned blue, and my dad stopped watching nothing but the golf channel, she'll like me. As a person, as a friend, I really didn't care. I still didn't even know her, though. At all. She could by an axe murderer for all I know. But I knew that if I didn't talk to her, I'd never get the picture of her hair falling over her shoulders out of my head.
Thank you for reading!
