She looked up from the doodle, pen poised over one careful purple petal. “Huh?” she asked.
“I said, is that a character?” he asked. He had on a faded purple t-shirt with a hole in the collar, and his brown hair hung across one eye in a carefully affected unaffected way. She noticed the colour of his shirt was the same as the flower; that his skin had the same smooth yellow hints as her little creature; that his eyes sat deep in shadows touched by the unflattering fluorescent lights. But he held himself as someone secure in his attractive prowess; someone who would never take the time of day for a girl like her. Silently she shrugged, ducking her head back to the paper, hoping to dissuade his interest, which she assumed was due to boredom on this simple summer afternoon.
“Well, does he have a name?” he asked. More than persistent, he went so far as to perch on the edge of the table beside her. She glanced around the mall food court, wondering where the boy had come from, but could see no waiting snickering friends, no huffing girlfriend.
“Mike,” she said. She added a careful line to the top of Mike’s head, finishing the arch of his body.
“That’s my name,” the guy said, and settled himself into the chair across from her, clearly intending to stay. She gave him a suspicious glare. His brown eyes glittered and she thought he could sense her distrust; but clearly it amused him.
“Do you eat clover?” she asked, but he only laughed.
“I might.” He touched the drawing gently, and lifted his finger to his lips, halfway between a taste and a kiss. It sent a shiver through her, to her surprise and dismay.
“Do you… want something?” she asked, her hand pressed protectively across the drawing’s small face. He leaned close, as in the telling of a secret, and the air they shared was the same. His body shifted into sudden intensity, every muscle poised.
“Yes,” he hushed. Then he leaned back, casual movement and motion, and slipped up to standing. “But not yet,” he added.
And he was gone.
Picture by April Milne