Author's Note: I wrote this while eating peanut butter out of the jar, which was i'm pretty sure was caused by post exam depression. Moral of the story is study for exams and not be like me, who probably weighs a bit more. Review and enjoy.
Alphabet by The Twilight Sad
It was at times where Plum found herself desperately running to make it in time for first period on a Monday morning where she understood her mother's exasperation of Plum's knack of daydreaming too often. On her way too school the forest had captured her and she had stood still watching but in her mind drifting into the dream of her and her abundantly sized wolf. It wasn't until a passing jogger asked her if she was okay that she realized she had been pondering the many possibilities for at least fifteen minutes, which meant she was already five minutes late.
She paused briefly in front of the class to catch her breath and work up the courage to enter late, something her teacher was probably accustomed to by now, but also something Plum feared doing which was absurd seeing as it occurred on a regular basis. She lingered at the door in thought, thinking of excuses involving bizarre mention of aliens and odd creatures but the strange process of her brain was interrupted by a voice behind her.
"Oh, Plum." It said, "You're late as well?"
It was Paul, she recognized – but he was different. Taller, muscular with broad shoulders and shorter hair – it flopped in his eyes and hung a little over his ears but by comparison to the length before, it was short. He was also different in the way he was acknowledging her; in the way he spoke and the way he said her name.
Yet should could not return his gaze or words, she simply nodded and put her head down before stepping back from her position directly in front of the door so he could pass. To her surprise he immediately opened the door so violently it almost bounced back into his face but at the same time ever so gently he clutched her wrist and puller her along behind him.
"Sorry we're late," Paul greeted in a sly voice, "Stuck in traffic."
He led her back to her seats confidently, while she trailed along behind clumsily walking into desks and muttering apologies. She could almost hear a snigger from Paul as they sat down. The change in Paul was more noticeable when he sat down at the tiny desk, it was more like an ape – no, in fact the giant creature from before sitting next to Plum, she had thought, peeking at the slumped over figure next to her. He took up most of her desk too, with her crammed as far away as she could be, she noticed how he fumbled with his pencil and how hard it was for him to focus. Soon, she forgot about the overgrown boy next to her and began to dream about the woods, the sky and her wolf. She wondered if it was lonely, she wondered if it had friends but mostly she wondered if she would see it again.
Next to her, the boy silently watched the dreaming girl. He believed it was the pointedness of her chin resting on her fist; the absent and soft look in her eyes and that dreamy expression that caused him to be unable to look away. His heart thudded. He felt helpless and unable to talk to such a strange yet wonderful creature, she was quiet but in her own unconventional way, interesting. He knew her painful shyness would limit their interaction, but something urged him to try anyway.
"Plum," He suddenly murmured, awakening her from the daydream, "I noticed you always have a lot of books. Why is that?"
Her initial reaction was to blush but before words that would brush the boy off left her mouth, she thought about what she had spoken to her wolf. She had confided in it for a sense of longing, and she knew, somewhere inside of herself, that she could not simply ignore the attempt of someone who wanted to talk to her. So she smiled.
"Oh, I love books. I'm always reading at least four at once." She whispered softly in order to avoid the teacher's faltering gaze, "There are so many hidden worlds inside them, so much to be discovered."
At such an odd answer one would usually be put off by, the boy was instead overjoyed by the unusual response. It evoked thought within him, and also a sense of curiosity. Books which once he disregarded and knew nothing about now filled his mind with images of Plum and her untied shoelaces and paintbrush behind her ear. In fact, the girl was the reason the boy drove to the secondhand bookshop that day to purchase all the books she listed and described.
She watched him as he watched her, she felt something familiar about his eyes, they were so brown and so warm for someone usually so angry. She talked about her favorite books and he listened, something she wasn't use to – somebody listening to her. His eyes almost felt heavy on her as she spoke, the unfaltering gaze made her nervous and she tripped over her words and stuttered, but to her surprise he didn't laugh or make fun of her. He simply listened.
Plum felt the day go by, it slipped by in a dream almost. She thought of her wolf most of the time, the dark silver that seemed to light up in the sun. And the eyes, she thought about eyes, Paul had nice eyes too. Like always she faltered at edge of the forest and wondered if her wolf was in there and if she should be too, but she remembered her parents and how they worry about their only child. She did not go, not today at least.
She arrived home to the beach side house on the far end of the reservation, it was secluded and painted a pale pink which could once be considered merry if it had not been faded by the sun. Plum collected the mail from the letterbox she had happily painted swirling pastel colours before letting herself through the white picket fence and entering the house. Plum heard her father tapping away on the keyboard and assumed the absence of her mother was due to her work at the bookshop.
"Hello Plum," Her father called, "Did you have a nice day at school sweetheart?"
She picked up an apricot from their fruit bowl and smiled, "Indeed, somebody talked to me, and they were quite friendly."
The typing stopped and her father emerged from the living room with a crooked smile on his face. Just like her he wore spectacles, had untidy hair and wore mismatched clothes, her mother would always say they were too alike for their own good. He was Plum's gene source of weirdness
"Who was it?" He asked, sitting on top of the kitchen bench and crossing his legs, just like a kid, "Was is a boy?"
She let out a laugh. Plum's laugh was always quite off putting to some, it sounded like the wind and it came out unevenly. It was a sound that was too soft to be considered a laugh, but she thought it was anyway.
"It was actually," She said, but at the sight of her father's eyes almost popping out of her head she added, "Oh dad, it wasn't like that. Just friendly, if you know what I mean."
He relaxed a little and took a sip of his tea, "What's his name then? Is he cute?"
Plum could never be offended by her father's bluntness, like some were. In fact, since she was a child they'd make a joke of it and fall about laughing whenever her mother got mad at the two, but of course she could never stay like that for long. Her mother regarded the two as quite weird and people who often lost themselves in their imagination, but to her, there was never anyone quite so wonderful as her husband and daughter.
"Paul Lahote," Plum smiled broadly, "We sit next to each other in geography. He asked me about my books."
Before her father could respond the front door clicked open and her mother appeared, rolling her eyes fondly at her husband's childish manner.
"Oh, hello dear," Plum's father grinned, "We were just talking about a boy."
"Which boy?" Her mother questioned, "Why?"
"Paul Lahote talked to me today, he was very nice indeed." Plum smiled and looked down at the apricot in her hands
"Our Plum is a bit smitten, I'd say." Her father joked but her mother looked thoughtful.
"Paul Lahote?" She asked placing her bag down on the table, "He came into work just before I left, he bought a lot actually. A lot of the titles you like, your favorites actually. How strange."
Plum and her father exchanged a look of shock, and then he winked at her when her mother's back was turned. Soon she found herself in her bedroom. On moving in, Plum has painted the walls – not just one colour though, she was way too unordinary to stick to just one. She had painted the sky and the woods and the animals in a way that only she could really understand, it was abstract. Bookshelves covered the walls and as though they were not enough, books littered the floor in piles, they sat on her bedside table and the ones she could not reach gathered dust. In the corner of her room an easel sat, old and worn she had received it when she was young as a present from her mother and father.
Plum had flopped onto her bed in thought, what a peculiar boy, the strange girl had thought. To her, he was peculiar in the way he listened to her and in the way he went and purchased the books she had talked about. He had listened, and to her that was enough to make her heart race.
