He took another sip of his drink and carefully placed the cup on its plate balancing on his bare knees. “So. What do you like to do?”
Really? What do I like to do?My eyes twitched. I was looking at the cars passing by, trying to think of how to relax myself and suppress this tight bubble of anxiety surrounding me. “I like to read and write, I guess. But I haven’t done much of that in a while.”
Before he could reply, I noticed he had finished his cappuccino. “Oh. How was that?” I pointed to his froth-lined cup, trying to fill the void after my short response.
“It was great. I needed a pick-me-up.”
You needed a pick-me-up? Am I boring you?
“Writing? That’s cool. What do you write about?” he asked, leaning against the wall to straighten his back.
“Nothing special. I write little stories here and there. I like science fiction and fantasy.” I hesitated as he raised his eyebrow. “I know. Really nerdy.”
“No. It’s interesting.” He stopped for a second and analyzed me. “Is it hard to think of things? To make up stories?”
“Not really. I daydreama lot.” I crossed my legs, then added, “So, it just comes to me.”
“You’ll have to show me some time.” He smiled, forcing a tingling feeling in my stomach.
Is he serious right now? This has to be a joke. What is going on with me?
“You into any sports?” he asked.
“Kind of. I swim, and run cross country and track, but when the seasons are over, I don’t really do anything.”
“Oh yeah. You mentioned cross country yesterday,” he replied, and I nodded with a half grin before leaning forward.
We both watched the cars driving down the avenue. The tree branches reaching over from the median swayed with the light breeze even when there weren’t any cars passing by.
“I play hockey,” he said after a minute of silence.
Nice one, Étienne. I probably should have asked him what he liked to do. I end up getting so taken away with answering questions about myself that I forget to ask about other people in return. I think sometimes it comes off as disingenuous.
“Hockey?” I asked, though I already knew from seeing him in his hockey jersey a few times in class over the years. “That’s intense.”
“Not really. I mean yeah, it can be. But I like it.” He grinned.
It was funny, he didn’t really look like the super muscular type you’d think of as a hockey player. I mean, he was in shape, but not intense sports kind of shape.
“Want another coffee?” I pointed to the empty cup still balanced between his two bare knees. I had finished my iced tea.
“Not really.”
“Oh. Well. You ready to go then?” I added before he could continue. I don’t know why I was letting my anxiety take over. We had no reason to rush.
“Well. Uh, not really. Want to walk down the avenue a little?” He gestured toward the sidewalk.
You want to spend more time with me?The thought of him still wanting to hang out with me alleviated some of my doubts. Maybe there wasn’t an ulterior motive to this whole thing.
“Alrighty.” My voice cracked nervously.
Thad guided us out of the café, and we headed north on Mack Avenue. I always forgot how pretty this area was with all of its little mom and pop shops. It’s so much more intimate than the mammoth industrial-looking stores whose ugly parking lots took up blocks of what could have been greenery.
Thad and I sauntered for what felt like an hour, given the short distance we actually covered. He asked about my family and if I had any siblings, trying to progress our conversation from the café, but I only gave him a brief overview. He told me about his older sister, which I already knew about. She went to our school; she was only a year older than us and possessed the same physical features as her brother. Am I a creep for having noticed that?
Talking with him didn’t hit the same nerves as it did whenever I had to speak to a male classmate at school.Maybe he is genuinely interested in who I am.Would that be the first time? Possibly. But why the sudden change?
“Oh. Do you mind if I run in for a sec?” I asked as we neared a cute pet food shop.