That girl with the skull and the mile-high stack of books was sitting under the tree in the middle of the quad, watching, again. Angela had seen her before-- hard not to, she had this incredible stillness about her in a field of moving, yelling, loud and active college students. She didn't really know how to describe it-- but the girl was like a watchtower, or a lighthouse, or something. Observing, silent, still, towering over everything else around her. Angela prided herself on noticing her-- seemingly no one else did, but Angela was an artist, a real one, and she prided herself on noticing things.

The girl always had a skull, and some ginormous stack of books. She'd read furiously for a while, taking notes, then look up and watch what was going on around her before bending back to her notebooks and scribbling some more. She was out here pretty much every nice day, and would sit there for hours, sometimes until it was too dark to work any longer.

Angela loved the quad. Loved the movement, the things people would get up to. She loved watching the way the light and shadows shifted over the grass and under the trees as the sun moved across the sky, and always marvelled at the way the color of an object would change, just because of how bright the sun was. It was the same thing, and yet, it wasn't, depending on if it was cloudy or bright. But this girl was different. Angela never saw her anywhere but the quad, so clearly she was in a completely different program than Angela. She never saw her at the bars near campus or at any of the many socials and parties in the dorms, either. And in the three weeks since school had started, Angela had made sure to make the rounds. She was an observer, and life happened at bars and parties and socials, not just class and the quad.

Folding the cover back over her sketchbook, and shoving it into her bag, Angela decided. This girl was just too interesting not to approach. She had fair skin, and always sat in the shade. Every once in a while, a ray of sun would pick up red glints in her hair. And her posture was perfect-- straight, and slender, and graceful, the few times Angela saw her stand and walk away somewhere. She walked over, directly. Angela handled everything but her art directly. The paintings? Well, she let them just come, like she was a hose and the painting flowed through her onto the canvas. The girl looked up, focusing on her as Angela approached her, she saw that she had the most incredible eyes. Some blue that wasn't crystal, or cerulean, or sky, or any of the other names Angela knew in profusion from her own hundreds of paint tubes. They were clear, and piercing, and it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Eyes are the windows to a person's soul? Not this girl. She was shuttered.

"Hey, I'm Angela. I noticed we've both been sitting here watching some of those doofuses with the frisbee, and thought I'd come over to say hi. I've seen you here before." she offered.

"Hello, I'm Temperance Brennan. Doofus? I don't think I know what that means." Her voice was low and melodious, and her expression curious as she looked up at Angela.

Angela was momentarily taken aback. Who didn't know what a doofus was? And who then went on to admit it? This girl was fascinating.

"So," she said, motioning to the skull, "what's that for?"

"I'm studying to be an anthropologist, a forensic one, and I'm studying all the bones of the skull right now. You can see some of the microfissures and the aging conditions of the bone differently in sunlight than the lab." She picked up the skull, holding it up in a small but dexterous-looking hand. Angela looked at the girl's hands-- long fingers, delicate wrists, long forearms, and thought she could be a painter, with fingers like that-- she'd have total control over the brush.

"Huh," replied Angela. "I'm taking Anatomy next semester, the dumbed-down one for liberal arts students and artists like me-- I've done anatomical studies in studios before, but I want to learn a little bit more. Mind if I sit?"

Temperance? that was a long name, Angela thought. Brennan was better, but Bren was best, nice and short. The girl looked up at her, curious and something else. Guarded? As if she wasn't sure Angela was serious? She cocked her head to the side.

"Feel free."

Once Angela sat and settled her things, the flap of her bag flopping open to reveal her sketchpad. Bren, as she'd already nicknamed her, looked at her more closely. "What medium do you work in?"

That was a blunt question. And precise. Most people said something vague like "Oh, art," or "What kind of art do you do?" even when they weren't interested. But Angela had the feeling that this girl wouldn't ask, unless she was interested.

"Mostly painting, a little clay sculpture, though that's mostly dabbling, and sketching. I mostly sketch for ideas," she said, opening the pad and handing it over. "I tend to be more abstract with the finished stuff, but I like to be as realistic as possible with the sketching."

The girl nodded, flipping through the pages with interest and that watching look in her eyes. "These are very good, very realistic. I imagine that the abstraction can only come into play once you've captured all the details-- you can only decide what's not important after that."

Angela sat straighter. No one else had ever gotten that, the divide in her work, not even her teachers. But this girl looked at her work for three minutes, sized Angela up, and spit out a short and concise truth that summed up something Angela had been trying to express for months without success-- not since her last sketching teacher gave her up as hopeless, when he wanted her to adopt a photorealist side to her painting and Angela wouldn't. "That's it, exactly."

Bren tipped her head to the side, as if gauging the response for genuineness, and then smiled slowly and slightly. The small expression fascinated Angela. It was almost as if she needed to think about how to smile before she did it.

"Look, Bren," said Angela, deciding. "I'm starving, and was going to go to the Union to get some coffee and something to eat. You want to come?"

The girl startled at the instantaneous nickname, and again looked at Angela, watching and thinking, before deciding. It was unsettling to be on the opposite end of that gaze, but at the same time, it was magnetic. She nodded, and began to gather her things. "I'm not really hungry, but I'll join you for a coffee."

Standing, they looked at each other, each observing the other in her own way. Each nodded, deciding. This would be interesting. Together, they turned and walked off the quad.

"So why are you interested in Anthropology? And what does Forensics have to do with it?"

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.