General eternal gratitude for the reviewers!
I, for the first time, am without a proper euphemism.
To want to kiss someone is far too strange to think, let alone put into words. It's particularly strange that none of the others seem to want to talk about it. I had foolishly hoped that someone would break the stone wall that protects The Topic from being breached. This, I realized as Georg and Moritz compulsively conjugated Latin during lunch, is unreasonable. I am beginning to realize that, while people certainly are—well, useful, they do not generally benefit me.
That was rather nihilistic. Obviously, I don't mean exactly that. That would be strange, and somewhat unnatural. Of course people are beneficial. It's just that often, they neglect to be so in the ways in which I would like, the ways that I thought everyone wants. I would like them to talk to me about something besides Latin and algebra. Clearly, this is ridiculous.
Despite their lack of educational verbalization, observing my classmates frank ignorance is slightly frightening. They seem not to know or feel as I do. For example, when we eat with the girls at recess, the others in my class rarely talk to them. Occasionally, some will connect—those from the older grades, or church acquaintances who's mothers are friends. I, on the other hand, always carry on discussions with the girls. They seem to enjoy me, and I them. Maybe today will be another day that they let us socialize.
It is. I am pleased. It is November, and the wind makes their cheeks raw. I myself wear no scarf, and they seem to be impressed. I generally dislike scarves, although I find myself liking the soft charcoal scarf that Thea wears. The cold seems to have galvanized Thea. Her September calm has melted to November feistiness. Grins and giggles intersperse her speech. I don't giggle back, though I do return her enthusiasm with a slightly tilted smile that I don't bother to straighten.
The conversation turns to hats, and Ilse comments on how utterly warm my hat appears. Thea smiles. "What's it made of," she wants to know. I shrug, although I know my mother made it from our sheep Hulda. Suddenly, I feel the harsh wind through my too-short hair. Thea is examining my hat, blushing and grinning impishly. I immediately swipe for my hat. It seems to dance out of my reach. I step toward Thea, and one of the other girls—Ilse, a loud, pretty one—makes a purposefully breathy gasp. Thea raises both of her eyebrows and begins to run.
I am chasing after her because I would like my hat back. She runs over the gravel, blissfully unbothered by the teachers. The teachers of my school and hers seem to like Thea. She is little and bright and also refined. They offer no chastise as she scuttles around the school building with my hat. Though I am faster than she, she is running ahead of me. I catch her once she has taken a respite under a sappy maple. I swipe back my hat, and my hand hits hers. I regulate my breathing, though she does not. She looks up and into my eyes. We breath at the same moment, and I lean forward and my lips meet hers and now I am really without a euphemism, because I can never tell anyone and I don't know what's happening and we are kissing.
I hear the squeal of Professor Bonebreaker's whistle. It is earlier, I think, than the noise should have come. We break apart. Still, we are breathing heavily. Thea looks panicked, as if she has done something wrong. I know otherwise, but I don't speak. I make the slowest of motions indicating turning back to the school, and Thea quickly follows suit. We walk in silence, the air between us a combination of shame and jubilee. I consider speaking, but can think of nothing to say. She, too, is silent, though she makes the stuttering starts of sounds many times. All of her not-words are mumbled. We part at the gate, and she does not look up at me as she leaves.
I smile at her back.
Review, please!!!