Wind
"You know, Phineas, it's really not necessary to walk me home," Isabella shouted over the wind.
"I know," the sixteen-year-old answered in an equally loud voice. "I'd just hate for you to be attacked by a trash bag or something."
A particularly powerful gust caused Isabella's hair to blow around wildly.
"I guess it's a good thing I didn't work too hard on my hair this morning," the girl clad in pink quipped.
"Do you smell something?" Phineas questioned as he had picked up an almost floral scent in the air.
Isabella was turning toward him to answer his inquiry, when the wind picked up again and the red-head received a face full of the girl's dark locks.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Isabella exclaimed.
"Your hair smells really good, like flowers. What did you do to it?" Phineas asked, ignoring her apology.
Isabella just stared at him. "I- um- washed it."
"Sorry, was that weird?" Phineas mumbled, suddenly becoming very interested in the ground. "Well, I guess personal hygiene is a good thing."
The rest of their journey to Isabella's house was made in silence.