Scribblings

Just a collection of various stories I began with no intention to finish, or answers to writing prompts. Enjoy! Please visit my author page on FB! facebook.com/author.anrisaryn Also note, some of these may be removed later if I feel the urge to expand on them!

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27. The Best Thing

 

          An average Monday, she mused, looking out the window into the busy urban street. She sighed, despite the bright sin warming her face.
          The cafe was nearly empty, as usual. She sipped her vanilla milkshake and watched the teenager (Though he could have been older, she guessed. He was small and pasty for his age.) behind the counter, wiping it down with a grayed microfiber scrub cloth.
          She flicked an auburn bang out of her view and titled her head, looking at the various posters on the wall of the place. Very few her age would even recognize Humphrey Bogart or Marilyn Monroe, she observed. Her parents had educated her in classics, much to her dismay. Now she knew nothing of modern movies and their references.
          The boy caught her eye again. She glanced his way, and he looked down again. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but took another sip and looked out the window once again. People were so joyful today, which was expected in late April. The weather was warm, and the flower shops were abundant with fresh arrivals. 
          "Nice weather today," she said absently, not looking back.
          The boy blinked, not sure at first if she was talking to him. He paused for a second with his cloth, and looked up.
          "...Oddly nice for the cold Springs we usually have, eh?" he attempted.
          The girl said nothing, surprised he answered. A series of situations rean through her mind.
          If I respond, he'll want to talk more. she reasoned. Her experience with most men had been less than savory, most involving them staring at her over sized chest. He's shy, she reasoned. He can't be that bad, then.
          Turning back to the boy, she set her empty glass down, drained of her nearly daily milkshake. She wondered how she looked so great despite her eating habits. She reasoned it was her exercise program, and she thanked the greater powers that she had become addicted to it.
          "What's your name?" she asked simply. 
          When he didn't answer, she rephrased.
          "I come here almost every day, and I don't even know your name."
          "Oh, um," he paused, a little shy. "I'm Steve," he added, simply.
          "Steve," she echoed, playing with the red straw. It clinked gently against the empty glass.
          "Here, let me get that for you," Steve said, briskly walking to her table near the window. She blinked at him, but he didn't meet her gaze.
          "Thanks," she said simply, watching him avoid her eyes. "I'm Rebbecca, by the way."
          She saw him swallow as he placed the glass behind the counter. It was as if he was preparing for something he'd planned for weeks.
          He looked at her, his jaw set, and his expression nervous. His face was slightly pink. He took a deep breath and said a series of words she never thought she would hear again.
          "Will you go out with me?"
          Shocked, she didn't know what to say. Never had a boy asked her out. She was always the first one to act, being the assertive and ambitious girl she was. She wasn't sure what to say.
          What could it hurt? she decided. It's not like he's asking anything huge from me.
          "Sure, I'd love that," she said, a bit more disdainfully than she meant. "I mean, yes, of course," she added, trying to not sound so fierce.
          "Are you free tomorrow?" he tried again, his face growing redder.
          "There's a new movie I wanted to see," she suggested. "We could meet at the theater at 6:30 tomorrow evening-"
          "No!" he interrupted. Then, realizing he a bit too loud (her expression as one of confusion and shock) he cleared his throat. "No, I'll come pick you up."
          A little taken aback by his reaction, she accepted anyway. "Alright, if you insist," she added with a grin.

          Steve swallowed nervously, his small stature slightly awkward in his mother's minivan. He was the bright age of twenty, but his lack of pituitary hormones had caused him to not grow very tall. He had always prayed that something would kick his genetic growth instructions into gear.
          Pulling up to the apartment, he parked awkwardly in the street and locked the door with a nice little chirp from the locking system. He gulped, trying to squash the butterflies in his gut.
          Apartment 12B, he reminded himself, looking at the wooden door. The sun was just setting, so many of the open-air hallways were lit with porchlights. He put his hand on the cold metal railing behind him, mustering the strength to knock.
          Calm down, she won't bite your head off. he told himself.
          He could hardly believe he was at this moment. For weeks he had smiled nervously every time she entered the cafe. She usually ignored him, but something about her made he want to learn more. She was quiet, never saying much to anyone. Sometimes she would bring a friend and they would talk about the latest in recreational technology. Last week she had debated the the best oil filter for her Tundra SUV, and another week she talked about the best places to wake-board.
          He had never met another girl like her. She didn't dress any different, though he could tell she wore almost no makeup. What little she had said to him before yesterday included weather-related topics, and occasionally discussions on television programs. He continued to be intensely interested, though he knew such little about her.
          One day, he decided he wanted to know more. He had never been good with talking to girls, but he wasn't going to let her get away. Even if they just became friends, what could it hurt?
          Taking a deep breath, and letting it out slowly, he raised a fist to know. The door swung open with a force of ten winds and she stood there with an odd grin on her face.
          "How long were you going to stand out there, dolt?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning on a hip.
          He couldn't breath. His face grew red, his arm still poised to knock on her door. 
          She wore a pair of dress jeans, classic denim, a v-neck shirt in a dark purple, and carried a small black purse, which looked like faux leather. Her eyeshadow was faint, but visible and her lips were the color of ripe cherries with a hint of port wine.
          "Well?" she frowned.
          "S-sorry," he stammered.
          She looked over the railing at the blueberry minivan near the curb.
          "Is that your's?" she askedm leaning on the door frame, her arms still crossed.
          "It's...my mom's..." he replied.
          "Ah, well, a car's a car," she said with a playful grin. Now, buddy-boy, let's get going, huh? Better get this over with," she added with a hint of cynicism.

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