Earth to Skye

8

8Next time I talked to Javi, he was playing guitar, a Smiths song, on a picnic bench in back of school, near the library.

Kids were pouring out of class. Girls in groups of six that I was never a part of. I was glad that I didn’t dress like them, even if we could have afforded it. I was wearing a turquoise fifties dress that was already vintage thirty years ago, when my mother wore it in a play. It had a tight waist and made me feel good about my figure.

“I love the Smiths,” I said. Could I say anything more mundane?

“Yeah, I’d like to learn more of their songs,” Javi said. “There are a couple of albums I don’t have.”

“You want to borrow my iPod?” I asked. “I’ve got everything they ever recorded on it. Listen to Louder Than Bombs.’ Or ‘Hand in Glove.’ ”

“Awesome.” I noticed Javi’s long fingers, as I passed the iPod to him. “That’s so cool of you.”

Just as I was about to leave, sickening Cindy, star of the theatre department, walked by with her Marc Jacobs bag and smiled flirtatiously at Javi. He ignored her, instantly becoming an even bigger hero in my eyes.

“I liked the haiku you read at the slam,” Javi said.

He remembered that I wrote haiku!

His eyes were like magnets – I could hardly let go. My arm touched his accidentally as I leaned forward on the bench. I left it there on purpose. But then I had a slight panic attack and suddenly felt like I had to get home. I knew we’d talk again soon. At the very least, he had to return my iPod.