"Derek? Are you listening?"
You jostle yourself out of your daydream, blurting out a confused, "What?"
"I asked if you were ready for Donovan's final yet."
"Not even close. That test is going to kick my ass."
"It won't if you study for it." She lectured, "You just need to memorize that anatomy packet and the treatment plans…"
It was easy for your mind to drift away when she ranted like this. That was one of the first things you'd noticed about her- the way she could get on a topic and just keep going, rambling until either someone stopped her or she realized what she was doing and retreated into silence as her cheeks turned red.
But now, you let her ramble. You watch as she studies her textbook, tapping her pencil nervously against the side, her hair pulled back haphazardly with loose ringlets of crimson hair spilling over her shoulders. She's wearing a faded NYU sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants, her unmatched socks sticking out from under her crossed legs, but to you, she is beautiful. She always is. Even with that twinge of self-conscious vulnerability that lingers in her eyes, they sparkle, and when she smiles, they light up, an expression you are happy to put on her face each time you see her.
She looks up from the book, her eyebrows raised. "What?"
"Nothing." You reply, and lean over to read the page she's memorizing. Nothing at all.
XXX
You are sitting at a window table in Starbucks, the green tea in your mug steaming from behind the copy of Jane Eyre propped up in front of you. You squint against the dim coffeehouse lighting, pressing your mahogany-rimmed classes farther up your nose, and you don't see him walk in. But he laughs, and your head raises automatically.
His laugh is possibly the greatest sound in the world, and even on rainy days like today, it makes you smile unconsciously. He hasn't seen you yet, and you watch as he orders, saying something suave to the twenty-something barista who's twirling a lock of her hair as she types in numbers. You suddenly feel old, even though you know you're probably only a year older than the girl at the counter, if that. But while she serves lattes, you read medical journals and Charlotte Bronte, and you think you should feel more sophisticated because of it.
Instead you feel like you did each day in high school- invisible, out of place, and ordinary. And for a moment, you wish you were one of those twenty-something baristas, because maybe then he'd see you as more than just his best friend and study partner.
He turns around and sees you, smiling a greeting and sliding into the chair across from you.
"Rereading it again, huh?"
"Hey, it's a classic."
He knows better than to dispute literature with you, so you sit in a comfortable silence as you sip your respective beverages. You notice for the first time how empty the coffeehouse is- just you, Derek, and the flirty barista, and you hear a faded Diana Krall CD whispering through the speakers.
"You're pretty quiet," he comments, "What's up?"
"Nothing," you say, flashing a smile that you don't even believe is convincing. Nothing at all.
XXX
You're sitting on the subway, the city lights bright despite the late hour, and all you really want to do is go home. But you know it will take a while- Saturday night theatergoers fill the evening route, and it will be a loud and crowded ride back to your apartment.
A man and a woman take the seat in front of you, smiling, most likely in response to whatever Broadway curtain call they'd just witnessed, still on the high of living in another world for two and a half hours. You see couples all the time, but this one is different. Effortless. As if they just went together, simple as that, as if the rest of the world didn't matter in the slightest.
"Thank you for going with me," she says softly, "I know you're not the biggest fan of musicals."
"You know, I actually enjoyed it." He replies, smiling, "And I like to see you happy."
She smiles back, leaning into him.
"You're a great friend, Derek. Thank you."
You can't believe it. You can see what's between them, the feelings that lie underneath, but they haven't crossed that very fine, very inevitable line. Not yet.
They can't see what's right in front of them, and as you step off the subway at your stop, you glance back at the two friends. They just haven't realized it yet. It's nothing to them, you think, nothing at all.