Story #2 - Boy Meets Girl

Alright, it's nighttime here, but it's still Sunday and I've got my second story up! This one was a lot of trouble for me, but I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out. I'd love to hear what you think. On that note, I'd like to thank everyone who read my first story, and especially everyone who commented on it! I really appreciate the feedback. Also, if you spot any typos or other embarrassing errors, please let me know. Anyway, here's the "stats" for my second story. Happy reading! And happy Valentine's Day! :)

Title: Boy Meets Girl (if anyone has a better title, let me know)
Warnings: One cuss word and some kissing
Summary: Alex works at Le Chat Noir. Amber likes to draw there. This is the story of how they met and fell in love.
Length: ~ 2,800 words
Notes: Third person point of view, present tense. Genre is romance, probably more on the comic/fluffy side.

            Boy Meets Girl

            With every scratch of pencil on paper, she feels herself relax a little bit more. A swipe here, a stroke there, and breathing gets a little easier. She makes sure to draw the bird’s wings spread wide open, as if it’s ready to conquer to world. Or at least ready to fly from the nest.

            She’s just sketching in the ruffles in the bird’s feathers when she senses someone approaching the table. She looks up and sees a waiter bringing her croissant. One of the things she loves about Le Chat Noir is that they bring your food to you.

            The waiter approaching her table is young, probably around her age. He’s tall, with short, spiky brown hair and freckles. Watching his gangly limbs as he weaves his way through the tables, she gets the feeling that he just had another growth spurt.

            Finally, he makes it to her table and sets down her croissant and her cup of tea. “Will that be all?” he asks. His voice is deep and smooth and pleasant to listen to.

            She checks to make sure they included marmalade with the croissant (they did). “Yes, thank you,” she replies, glancing at him for a moment before returning to her drawing. The waiter (his nametag reads “Alex”) is still standing there, and she’s beginning to get that “reading over your shoulder” feeling. When she can’t stand it anymore, she looks up at him and says, “Is there something you wanted?”

            “Uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, blushing furiously. “Sorry. I just – um – what’s that you’re drawing?”

            She glances down at her sketchbook, which is lying open, flat on the table. The wings are obvious and she was just making the finishing touches to the beak. She raises one eyebrow and says dryly, “It’s a bird.”

            The waiter laughs awkwardly. “Oh. So it is,” he says after a pause. He still doesn’t move.

            “I’m Amber,” she offers with a small smile.

            The waiter relaxes marginally. “I’m Alex,” he says.

            “Yeah,” Amber replies. “Born in Fresno.”

            Alex looks confused for a moment before figuring it out and looking down at his nametag. “Good one,” he grins. He has a wonderful smile. “For a second I thought you could read minds.”

            “I’m not that talented,” Amber says, and returns to her drawing.

            It seems like every time Amber visits Le Chat Noir, Alex is there. It’s strange that she never noticed him before. He’s kind and caring and funny, and he always stops by to talk to her. He has this infectious grin and the brightest teeth Amber’s ever seen on someone who isn’t a movie star.

            Today, she’s sitting at the same table she always does (in the corner, next to the window, and facing the door), sketching after another argument with her mom. She’s ordered her usual – a plain croissant with marmalade and Darjeeling tea. She sees Alex coming over, delivering the order to her table. He shakes his head as he approaches her.

            “You’re the only person my age I know who drinks tea,” he says. “And who puts marmalade on their croissant.”

            “Tea is delicious,” she says, mock-offended. “And marmalade is a thousand times better on a croissant than butter. A croissant is already buttery enough.”

            “Says you,” Alex replies, sticking his nose up and putting his hand on his hip in an absurd pose. “I, however, know better and will therefore achieve enlightenment quicker than you will.”

            He grins and Amber can’t stop herself from smiling back.

            “You better get back to work,” she says eventually. “I’m not the only person in this café.”

            Alex blushes (he blushes easily) and looks down for a moment. “Actually, my shift just ended,” he says, meeting her eyes. His eyes are dark and brown, framed by long lashes for a guy.

            “Oh,” Amber says, unsure how to respond. “Why did you come over here, then?”

            They’ve talked enough that Alex is no longer so easily put off by her brusque manner. He just grins before saying, “I had a question to ask you.”

            “Hmm. Take a seat,” Amber says with a motion towards the chair across from her, “and let’s hear it.”

            “Okay,” Alex begins once he’s settled. The chair seems too small for him and his arms and legs look like they don’t want to fit anywhere. “What kind of car do you like?”

            Amber frowns. This isn’t the question she was expecting (although now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t know what she was expecting). “I don’t know… I like Mini Coopers, I guess, and, um, Hondas are good cars, and I’ve always been a fan of those little colorful Bugs…”

            Alex nods a few times, mulling it over, but he doesn’t seem satisfied. “What cars are you impressed by, though?”

            “Why are you asking me this?”

            “Uh…” Alex breaks eye contact and suddenly becomes very interested in Amber’s teacup. “I just like… cars.”

            Amber sighs. “You should’ve come up with a better excuse when you decided to ask me that.”

            “Yeah, I know I should’ve,” Alex says with a sheepish grin. “But I’m not exactly the most creative person in the world.”

            “Are you going to tell me the real reason now?”

            “I’m working in this café to get enough money to buy a car. I asked before I was just wondering… um, what sort of car girls like.”

            “What?” Amber can’t help but scoff. “Do you think I speak for all girls or something?”

            “Uh, not exactly,” Alex says. He’s blushing again. “But I thought your input might be… valuable.”

            “Well, I guess I’m impressed by Corvettes, Mercedes, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, those kinds of cars. And a car with a heck of a lot of bumper stickers is pretty impressive.”

            “Thanks,” Alex replies. “I guess I’ll have to go with the bumper stickers, because I don’t think I could buy a Ferrari even if I spent my whole life working in this café.”

            “No, probably not,” Amber says.

Alex is working to buy a car to impress girls? That doesn’t seem like him.

            But maybe Amber doesn’t really know him at all.

            The next time Amber comes to Le Chat Noir, Alex is there, but he doesn’t come over to her. He seems to be hovering around this group of cheerleaders who all ordered salads. She tries to draw another bird, a cat, a child, Brad Pitt (for old time’s sake), but they all come out wrong. She mashes up every ruined drawing in her fist, not caring about recycling it.

            She glances from time to time at Alex. He’s joking with the cheerleaders, putting them at ease with his charm and his wit. She recognizes a few of the cheerleaders. Brenda Fong, Katy Smith, Carla Something-Or-Other.

            Is it just her imagination, or does Alex keep on trying to catch Brenda’s eye? Amber wonders if he’s planning on asking Brenda what type of car she likes or what car impresses her.

            She didn’t realize how much she’d been counting on his company until he didn’t come to her.

            Amber doesn’t come to Le Chat Noir for a while. She has things to do – grades to keep up if she wants to get into NYU. Her mom’s been quiet lately, which is a relief. Well, she had been quiet until she saw Amber googling “NYU admissions essay”, and that had brought up the tired old argument again.

            After screaming herself hoarse, Amber finds herself at Le Chat Noir again, sketching out her frustrations. She’s trying to do a self-portrait, which might not have been the best idea. She probably shouldn’t even draw her eyebrows, because hers are so pale that you can’t tell them apart from her ridiculous near-albino skin.

            She’s interrupted by Alex, who comes over and takes the seat opposite hers. “Hey. I haven’t seen you for a while,” he says, his voice as deep and welcoming as always.

            She looks up at him and debates the pros and cons of holding a grudge. Alex is wearing glasses today, and it emphasizes his rather large nose. He’s looking at her with wide brown eyes and she realizes that whether the pros and cons are for or against holding a grudge, she can’t stay mad at him.

            “I’ve been busy,” she says.

            “I’ve missed you. Everyone was making such boring orders. I suggested putting marmalade on a croissant to one customer and he just looked at me like I was crazy.”

            “I don’t blame him.” Amber closes her sketchbook, covering up her self-portrait. “Most people think marmalade on a croissant is crazy.”

            Alex makes a noncommittal sound and they both sit there for a while. He stares down at the table. Amber is the first to break the silence.

            “So, is the car for Brenda Fong?”

            Alex lifts his head fast enough to give him whiplash. “Sorry?”

            “Do you like Brenda Fong? Y’know, the cheerleader?”

            Amber half expects him to say something along the lines of I don’t see how this is any of your business, but of course he’s much too polite to say something like that.   

            “Yeah,” Alex admits with a sigh. “Silly, huh?” he adds with a self-deprecating grin. “She’s way out of my league. It’s not like getting a car will make her suddenly fall in love with me.”

            “I know plenty of romantic comedies that could prove you wrong,” Amber says. Alex laughs, and despite everything, Amber finds herself laughing with him.

            She learns not to go to Le Chat Noir when the cheerleaders are practicing. They always go out for salads after practice, and Alex always spends the whole time entertaining them (and staring at Brenda). It annoys Amber to no end that anyone could be that hung up on someone else.

            Despite avoiding the cheerleaders, she finds herself going to Le Chat Noir more often. She no longer goes only when she’s had a fight with her mom. Sometimes she goes just to talk to Alex. But she always brings her sketchpad and her pencil, just because.

            One time, Alex asks, “How long have you been drawing?”

            Amber looks up from her paper, where she’d been trying to draw a basketball player. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, uh, I’ve played baseball since I was seven. How long have you drawn?”

            “Since I was a toddler. I used to do finger paintings. I still have some of them.”

            “I bet they’re beautiful.”

            She laughs. “I’ll bring them next time, and you’ll see how beautiful they are.”

            She brings them the next day. They are all unrecognizable blobs of color on crinkled and stained paper. She points out a blue and green painting that she thinks is a house, a yellow and purple one that might be a dog, and a red and black one that could have been an attempt to draw the Eiffel Tower. Every time Alex accidentally touches her hand when she’s showing him a painting, she feels a little thrill. Before long, she’s focusing on their hands instead of the pictures, watching his long tan fingers and her long pale ones, crossing and touching occasionally before drawing back.

            It’s sometime in early February when Amber gets an idea. She orders her croissant and her Darjeeling tea and waits for Alex. It’s his day off, but she told him to come. He seemed bemused, but he agreed.

            The door opens with a creak, bringing with it a bunch of cold air and Alex, wrapped in several jackets and wearing a ridiculous red beanie hat. Amber can’t stop the smile that takes over her face.

            Alex spots her and heads over. “What’s up?” he asks.

            She just shakes her head. “Nothing,” she answers, and then reconsiders. “Well – that might not have been the best thing to wear today.”

            “Why not?” Alex asks with a frown, taking the seat opposite hers.

            “Because I am going to draw you,” Amber says, sitting up straight and tapping her pencil on the table. “And I don’t think I want to draw you wearing a beanie.”

            “Oh, you’re going to draw me, are you? Do I get a choice in this matter?”

            “No,” Amber says with a smile that’s more like a flashing of her teeth. “Now take off that silly hat.”

            Alex complies after much groaning and mock-protesting. Finally, he asks, “What am I supposed to do? Sit here?”

            She stares at him for a while. The weak winter sun lights up most of his face, albeit dimly. His lashes cast shadows on his freckles. He’s not wearing his glasses today.

            “That staring is kind of creeping me out,” Alex says after a minute or two.

            “That was the idea,” Amber grins, shaking her head a little to get herself to focus. “Can you tilt your head a little to the left and then just kind of… gaze into the distance?”

            “Like this?”

            “Perfect.”

            She begins drawing.

            It’s dark by the time she finishes. Alex was a wonderful model, only taking a few breaks and sitting extremely still. When she’s done, she shows it to him, trying to ignore the sudden butterflies in her stomach.

            He doesn’t say anything for what feels like a century. He just stares down at the picture, an inscrutable expression on his face.

            “Well?” she finally asks. “Are you going to say anything?”

            Alex blinks a few times as if coming out of a deep sleep. He looks at Amber, his eyes slowly focusing on her face.  She wonders what he sees. She fancies that she can see her reflection in his dark eyes – her pale, short, nearly colorless hair, her aristocratic nose, her own bright green eyes.

            “I think it’s amazing,” Alex says, his voice low and reverent. “But,” he shoots her that self-deprecating grin of his, “you made me much too handsome.”

            “No, I didn’t,” she says firmly. He looks at her, surprised, and she finds herself turning red. Quickly, she adds, “Keep it. I want you to have it.”

            Alex smiles softly, and his eyes look so tender and caring that she wants to hug him. Or kiss him. Or both. “Okay. Thank you, Amber.”

            She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

            It’s Valentine’s Day when she next goes to Le Chat Noir. She doesn’t expect to find Alex at the table where she usually sits, in the seat where she usually sits, nursing a Pepsi and poking at a triple chocolate cake. Without hesitation, she decides to order her food later and walks over to where Alex is. She sits down across from him. It’s weird, how their positions are reversed. It makes everything feel different and significant.

            “Hey,” she says, her voice strangely gentle. “It’s me.”

            Alex barely glances at her, continuing to poke holes into his cake. “Hi.”

            She’s not good at this whole consoling thing. But that doesn’t mean she can’t try. “What’s wrong, Alex?”

            He sighs and sets down his fork, pausing in his mauling of the cake. “She said no.”

            “Who said no?” Amber asks, although she probably already knows.

            Alex finally looks straight at her, and she’s shocked at the barely veiled anguish contained in his eyes. “I asked Brenda out today. It was stupid, I don’t know what I did it. I don’t even have a car yet! Of course she’d say no! I’m such an idiot.” He forces a chuckle like it’s funny, but she’s had enough of his bullshit.

            “Stop putting yourself down,” Amber scolds him harshly. “I’m sorry that Brenda said no,” and she is, she really is, “but if she’s too blind to see what a truly good person you are, than that’s her loss. She doesn’t deserve you.”

            Alex looks a little awed and maybe even scared by her passion, but he doesn’t seem convinced. “Thanks, Amber, that’s really sweet of you to say. But I’m not putting myself down, I’m just being realistic. What girl would ever want me?”

            “Me,” Amber says, and leans forward across the table to kiss Alex on the mouth.

            At first, Alex is completely unresponsive, and Amber realizes how stupid this was, how unplanned and unwise and utterly stupid, how he’s not over Brenda yet and they’re just friends, and how now she’s messed everything up – but just as she’s about to break away and run out of the café, Alex tangles his fingers in her bleach blonde hair and kisses her back.

            After a few breathless moments, they pull away and stare at each other across the table. Alex’s lips are red and obviously freshly kissed and she’s sure hers look the same. Amber can’t stop a laugh from escaping, and pretty soon Alex is laughing too. After a while, they calm down and just breathe together. This thing between them is new and sudden and frightening, and Amber knows they need to talk about it. But that can come later. For now, she just smiles and takes Alex’s hand, intertwining their fingers together like she had wanted to do that time when she shared her finger paintings.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alex,” she says.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day, Amber,” he replies.

            Then they lean in for another kiss.

THE END J