said. “I’m always at least ten minutes early.”
minutes early.”
Brayden’s grin widened. “I aim for fifteen. To tell you the truth … I realy didn’t want dessert anyway.” He held the door open for me as we stepped outside. “I try to avoid getting too much sugar.”
I nearly came to a standstil in astonishment. “I totaly agree—
but my friends always give me a hard time about it.” Brayden nodded. “There are all sorts of reasons. People just don’t get it, though.” I walked to the park, stunned. No one had ever understood me so quickly and easily. It was like he had read my mind.
Palm Springs was a desert city, filed with long stretches of sandy vistas and stark, rocky mountain faces. But it was also a city that mankind had been shaping for a long time, and many places—Amberwood, for example—had been given lush, green makeovers in defiance of the natural climate. This park was no exception. It was a huge expanse of green lawn, ringed with leafy deciduous trees instead of the usual palms. A stage had been set up at one end, and people were already seeking out the best spots. We chose one in the shade that had a great view of the stage. Brayden took out a blanket to sit on from his backpack, along with a worn seeking out the best spots. We chose one in the shade that had a great view of the stage. Brayden took out a blanket to sit on from his backpack, along with a worn copy of Antony and Cleopatra. It was marked up with notes and sticky tabs.
“Did you bring your own?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. I couldn’t help but be impressed. “I didn’t bring many books from home when I moved here.” He hesitated, as though unsure he should say what he was thinking. “Do you want to read along with mine?” thinking. “Do you want to read along with mine?” I’d honestly figured I would just watch the play, but the scholar in me could certainly see the perks of having the original text along. I was also curious about what kind of notes he’d made. It was only after I’d said yes that I realized why he was nervous. Reading along with him meant we had to sit very, very close together.
“I won’t bite,” he said, smiling when I didn’t move right away.
That broke the tension, and we managed to move into positions that alowed us both to see the book with almost no touching. There was no avoiding our knees brushing one another, but we both had jeans on, and it didn’t make me feel like my virtue was at stake. Also, I couldn’t help but notice he smeled like coffee—my favorite vice. That wasn’t a bad thing. Not bad at al.
still, I was very conscious of being so close to someone. I didn’t think I was getting any romantic vibes. My pulse didn’t race; my heart didn’t flutter. Mostly I was aware that this was the closest I’d sat to anyone, maybe in my life. I wasn’t used to sharing my personal space so much.
I soon forgot about that as the play started. Brayden might not like Shakespeare performed in modern clothing, but I thought they did an admirable job. Folowing along with the text, we caught a couple of spots where the actors messed up a line. We shot each other secret, triumphant looks, gleeful that we were in on something others didn’t know about. I kept up with Brayden’s annotations too, nodding at some and shaking my Brayden’s annotations too, nodding at some and shaking my head at others. I couldn’t wait until we discussed this on the ride home.
We were all leaning forward intently during Cleopatra’s dramatic death scene, intensely focused on her last lines. Off to my side, I heard the crinkling of paper. I ignored it and leaned forward further. The paper crinkled again, this time much louder.
Looking over, I saw a group of guys sitting nearby who appeared to be about colege-aged. Most of them were watching the performance, but one was holding an item wrapped in a brown paper bag. The bag was too big for the object and had been roled down several
minutes early.”
Brayden’s grin widened. “I aim for fifteen. To tell you the truth … I realy didn’t want dessert anyway.” He held the door open for me as we stepped outside. “I try to avoid getting too much sugar.”
I nearly came to a standstil in astonishment. “I totaly agree—
but my friends always give me a hard time about it.” Brayden nodded. “There are all sorts of reasons. People just don’t get it, though.” I walked to the park, stunned. No one had ever understood me so quickly and easily. It was like he had read my mind.
Palm Springs was a desert city, filed with long stretches of sandy vistas and stark, rocky mountain faces. But it was also a city that mankind had been shaping for a long time, and many places—Amberwood, for example—had been given lush, green makeovers in defiance of the natural climate. This park was no exception. It was a huge expanse of green lawn, ringed with leafy deciduous trees instead of the usual palms. A stage had been set up at one end, and people were already seeking out the best spots. We chose one in the shade that had a great view of the stage. Brayden took out a blanket to sit on from his backpack, along with a worn seeking out the best spots. We chose one in the shade that had a great view of the stage. Brayden took out a blanket to sit on from his backpack, along with a worn copy of Antony and Cleopatra. It was marked up with notes and sticky tabs.
“Did you bring your own?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. I couldn’t help but be impressed. “I didn’t bring many books from home when I moved here.” He hesitated, as though unsure he should say what he was thinking. “Do you want to read along with mine?” thinking. “Do you want to read along with mine?” I’d honestly figured I would just watch the play, but the scholar in me could certainly see the perks of having the original text along. I was also curious about what kind of notes he’d made. It was only after I’d said yes that I realized why he was nervous. Reading along with him meant we had to sit very, very close together.
“I won’t bite,” he said, smiling when I didn’t move right away.
That broke the tension, and we managed to move into positions that alowed us both to see the book with almost no touching. There was no avoiding our knees brushing one another, but we both had jeans on, and it didn’t make me feel like my virtue was at stake. Also, I couldn’t help but notice he smeled like coffee—my favorite vice. That wasn’t a bad thing. Not bad at al.
still, I was very conscious of being so close to someone. I didn’t think I was getting any romantic vibes. My pulse didn’t race; my heart didn’t flutter. Mostly I was aware that this was the closest I’d sat to anyone, maybe in my life. I wasn’t used to sharing my personal space so much.
I soon forgot about that as the play started. Brayden might not like Shakespeare performed in modern clothing, but I thought they did an admirable job. Folowing along with the text, we caught a couple of spots where the actors messed up a line. We shot each other secret, triumphant looks, gleeful that we were in on something others didn’t know about. I kept up with Brayden’s annotations too, nodding at some and shaking my Brayden’s annotations too, nodding at some and shaking my head at others. I couldn’t wait until we discussed this on the ride home.
We were all leaning forward intently during Cleopatra’s dramatic death scene, intensely focused on her last lines. Off to my side, I heard the crinkling of paper. I ignored it and leaned forward further. The paper crinkled again, this time much louder.
Looking over, I saw a group of guys sitting nearby who appeared to be about colege-aged. Most of them were watching the performance, but one was holding an item wrapped in a brown paper bag. The bag was too big for the object and had been roled down several
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