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.o2 sitting underneath a tree


I decide I only like him because of his shoes. Which is very, very different from liking the way he looks. Which means I'm not shallow – I am merely an admirer of good fashion when I see it. So hah!

(Even Taichi's got better shoes though…)

Okay, so maybe I like him because of his intelligence instead. Then again, I've yet to actually talk to him and see this wondrous intelligence for myself. I can always ask Joe to sneak him an IQ test or something – the guy owes me a favor for teaching him to break-dance last week.

(Don't ask.)

With a bored sigh I flip the page of my magazine, my gaze planted firmly on the mysterious blonde's face. The lush tree's leaves are shading him from the harsh sun, which is probably for the best anyway since his face is too perfect to be damaged by the effects the hole in the sky that Yolei keeps yapping about.

I've been observing him for the past three days (No, that is not called stalking. Fashion admirer, remember?) and if he weren't really all that handsome, I would've stopped like two and a half days ago. Make that handsome and seemingly single. He's the best looking senior I've seen this year and yet he always seems to be alone and reserved. Reading some kind of book underneath that stupid bushy tree and being all boring and antisocial-like every single day at lunch. He doesn't even eat lunch, I don't think. Well, I've never seen him put anything in his mouth except for the occasional soda can or stick of gum.

He must be a new student because guys like him aren't supposed to be all quiet and lonely like that. They're cocky and loudmouthed and have a train of females swooned and following them like a second shadow. The swooned females exist, I am aware of that by the way the junior and senior girls alike look at him as they pass by. But he always seems to give off such a cold and indifferent demeanor that it becomes a little intimidating to approach him and casually ask if he knows the time.

And really, I'm not the kind of girl that gets withdrawn and shy when talking to people. Yolei says I'm sociable. Taichi says my mouth is as wide as his hair. (Which is quite a bold statement, mind you.) And Joe thinks what I tell him to think, which is that I am an assertive, confident, and poised young woman.

Young woman. Which means I have young feelings. But I'm already seventeen and who's to say that's not a mature age? So perhaps I'm a mature woman instead. With mature feelings and –

-no, okay, stop. Went down the wrong road. What I meant to say is that there shouldn't be anything holding me back from talking to him if I really want to. He smiled at me three days ago in that hallway, (admittedly, it was more a smile of amusement), so it wouldn't be like walking up to a complete stranger. Which is the mature thing to do and –

"You likeeeee him."

I jump, grasping at the collar of my uniform as Taichi's cheerful face comes into view. "Oh, shut up," I tell him furiously, turning my attention to the magazine. Apparently I had flipped to an article on abnormal menstruation, so I close the magazine all together.

Taichi takes a seat next to me on the bench and smiles. "I don't see what's so great about him that you can't find in me," he says, folding his arms behind his head.

I roll my eyes at him as I pull my legs close to my chest. "I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate that kind of talk."

Taichi shakes his head unworriedly. "It's this kind of talk that got her falling for me anyway." He nudges me with a wide grin. "So when are you gonna ask him out?"

"Taichi!"

"Well some girl's gonna sooner or later. Hate to see you kick yourself in the head if it turns out you were too late."

I sigh, sinking in my position. "I don't even know anything about him."

"And how does that make him different from all the other guys you've dated?"

I punch him. Hard. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Taichi rubs the area on his arm with a groan. I don't think he realizes I could've simply aimed a couple inches up and he'd be one eye short. "Ah, geez. Don't have to take your abnormal menstrual pains out on me."

He doges my flying fist.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving." He smirks as he stands, his face carefree as if poking fun at me was his most relaxing pastime. He pats the area where I had hit him. "I'm going to make new friends," he announces childishly.

I turn my head to the side. "I wish you the best of luck then."

He gives me a playful wink. "And fortunately for you, I'm returning it."

I hesitate momentarily to hear him leave before I turn my attention back to him. What did he mean by that comment? Returning my luck? It's not like it's something tangible that you can toss right back to the owner. Not something like a brand new sweater that you've just realized is way overpriced. Or a plate of food that the restaurant had undercooked. Or a CD player that breaks down the first day. Or a – or a...

...certain cute, friendless, blonde boy…

I scramble from my spot on the bench and dash across the field. "Taichi!" I nearly screech in frustration. He smirks again and picks up his speed, running like the wind in those hideous shoes of his that I now have another reason to hate.

Our little show of cat and mouse catches the attention of the blonde guy, and he glances up at both of us stampeding towards him. At this, I slow down, covering my face in humiliation. This was so not the impression I had wanted to make. Running across the field like a crazy mad woman after a crazy big haired mad man and now my hair now looks like I've been sitting in front of a fan for hours and oh – Taichi's worse than PMS!

I peek from the gaps between my fingers just in time to see the two conversing, Taichi's finger pointed at me, but I can't hear what he's saying. By the bemused look on the guy's face, it seems as though Taichi has just told him I'm secretly a man.

Groaning inwardly, I slowly lower my hands and watch as Taichi approaches me with a wide smirk on his face. I'm so pumped to treat his grinning head like a soccer ball when he gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Go," he whispers into my ear.

I give him a confused look but he simply nudges me toward the blonde guy before walking away. Tentatively, I glance at him, and he meets my gaze with those sky blue eyes of his. He looks like he's waiting.

Go, Taichi had said, so I go. Awkwardly and worriedly I approach the blonde boy and the tree, ready to dispel any stupid lies Taichi had told him. Like I 'likeeeeeee' him, or something of the sort. Because I've already established that I'm a fashion admirer

"Hi."

My knees almost buckle at the smooth sound of his voice, and I wave back a little stupidly. I mentally curse myself as I stand in front of him. "Hi."

He returns his head back to his book, pausing for a moment before looking up again and realizing I hadn't moved. "Did you mean my spot?"

I blink. "I'm sorry, what?"

He nods toward Taichi's small figure in the distance. "Your friend said you wanted a shady spot to sit." He looks slightly irritated as he gestures beside him. "Is that spot not good enough for you or did you want my spot in particular?"

I quickly shake my head, already feeling a blush on my cheeks. "No, no, it's fine, it's fine. I'm sorry – it's –it's fine, really." I tear my eyes away from him as I lower my belongings and sit down on the grass. With clumsy movements I bury my head in my magazine, not daring to look up at his annoyed face.

For a few minutes the silence between us is stiff and uncomfortable and I suddenly wish I were back on my bench just simply admiring him from afar. Up close like this, I'm too nervous, and my heart pounds loudly in my chest. My fingers tremble and I don't understand why really – I don't. It's not like he's that handsome…

"Do you have the time?"

I look up, my voice shaky. "Time?"

He glances at me and again I feel nervous. "Yeah. Time, Do you have it?"

I bite my lip in embarrassment and I look at my watch. "Six-thirty. No – wait. Twelve-twenty five… No wait! I mean thirty! Twelve-thirty, it's twelve-thirty…"

He smiles faintly. "No… Sorry, I meant, do you have time?" He glances at my magazine before turning his gaze back to me. "At this moment? Right now?"

I hesitate before nodding in sudden realization. "Ohhh. Yes-uh, yeah. I do, I-I have time to –well, I have… Um, what do you need me to do?" I laugh nervously.

He holds up the book. A book of poetry that I recognize from English class. "I don't understand this poem."

I don't either, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I smile sweetly and inch closer, leaning in. "Let me take a look."

He leans in as well to tilt the pages in my view, accidentally bumping his forehead against mine. We both share a small laugh, and I can feel my stomach flutter slightly as our eyes both scan the Western characters on the page.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." (1)

I pull back, touching my chin. I remember we'd gone over this sonnet just a few days ago, but I more clearly remember the doodling of the principal Joe and I did. (Well, I did. Joe gave me the paper. Joe can't doodle.) "It's talking about how humans enjoy summertime," I say simply. It's not like he'll correct me.

But he glances at me uncertainly, and I almost think I see a smirk behind his expression but I don't. He pulls the book back to his lap and whispers a quiet thanks. With a sigh, I shrink back in my spot and lean against the trunk of the tree. I let my eyes observe him calmly studying the text as a soft smile creeps to my mouth. I make a promise to myself not to punch Taichi… well, for this week, at least.


(1) William Shakespeare, Sonnet XVIII.