Missed opportunities

HER:

She glances up from her sketchbook. She senses the presence of someone entering the library. Her eyes widen. Her breathing stops. Wow. Simply gorgeous, she thinks. Never before has she laid eyes on a guy so perfect. Look at the way he's got his hands in his pockets. So slick and sophisticated. He breathes charm. She pictures him to be a thoughtful, easy-to-talk-to kind of guy. Definitely plays guitar and has a passion for music, judging by his headphones. His eyes are neither blue nor green, but rather a rare olive sort of shade. She wonders if he is in a band. How does he spend his weekends? What is he passionate about? What is he thinking right at this moment? She suddenly becomes aware of how she might look right now - mouth open, eyes wide with interest. She tries to bring her attention away from him when she notices his gaze flickering to her as he takes a seat at a table two down from her. Embarrassed, her cheeks fill with red colouring. She looks away and pulls her eyes back to her sketch. His phone sounds, probably a text from his hot girlfriend. She now realises what he must be thinking of at this moment. His girl. Does he love her? What does he like most about her? Is it the way she includes everybody? The way she laughs? Stop it! Just ignore him. Don't think about him and his beautiful girlfriend. She feels the blood rush to her head. Her brow furrows with disappointment. She tries not to breathe to heavily as she casts another glance at him, absorbed in his world of music. Her hands begins to move with her pastels on paper without her control. Her drawing takes the shape of his handsome face. She feels stupid and childish that she has wasted paper on drawing him, when she's never going to see him again. She ponders what his name is. Putting down her art tools, she takes another look at him. Standing up. And moving towards her table! She frantically searches for something to cover her sketch of him. Act natural. Stay calm. He's just going to grab a book from the shelf behind you. Hope wells up inside of her when he doesn't reach for a book, but rather looks right AT HER, a magical grin spreading across his face. Her world is alight as happiness warms her inside. Be realistic, she tells herself. He probably just wants to borrow a pencil. She decides to return an equally large grin. But the ringing echo of his mobile startles her, knocking her out of the romantic moment. His smile fades, replaced by an apologetic grin. He steps outside to take the call. His phone is obviously his first priority, right? Boys and their toys, isn't that what they say? It seems like nothing else matters. She feels naive for being drawn into a false fantasy. Who was she kidding? There would be no magical moment. Feeling angry and frustrated with herself she wonders how she could have thought that a guy like that would go for a girl like her. Guys prefer the bubbly, confident girls who wear their dresses short and flesh-exposing. With tears stinging her eyes all because of a guy, she feels positively pathetic. She doesn't want to spend another moment in there, unloved and alone. All guys are jerks. The tears flow down her face and onto her paper, smudging the sketch. She scrambles to collect her drawing supplies and stuffs them in her bag, not bothering to push her chair in. She makes a dash for the door, for the comfort of home. She's gone.

HIM:

He thinks that spending two whole hours in library after school is not his idea of fun. He enters the library, which is practically empty, apart from a girl sitting at a far table. Bloody Hell. She's freakin' amazing. Beautiful. Probably has guys reminding her of that all the time. But this doesn't seem like the flirty, up-herself kind, like most of the pretty girls usually are. He decides that she is better than them, special. She'd have to be pretty smart to be seen in a library after school. Looks to be drawing - must be a creative type. A modest, artistic beauty. Long brown hair worn up with some kind of fabric, not sure what style girls call that. Really light blue eyes. Skinny, petite build. Can't see her boobs over the table. A smattering of cute freckles. She's looking up from her sketchbook. Dude, she's caught you checking her out. She thinks your a sleaze now, he tells himself. Way to go. Just sit down. Not too close, or she'll think you're trying to make a move on her. Stop looking at her. Focus on something else. Better change songs. Cool guys don't listen to All American Rejects. Phone beeps. Another text from Dave. He ignores it, resuming his thoughts about her. You should go talk to her. Wait. Bad idea. She doesn't care about what you have to say. You'll never see her again. She's not like other girls though, she's an individual. he likes her, wondering what she listens to. Thinks that it would be a way cool indie band. What's her name? He imagines her to smell like an exotic...don't think things like that! Without his consent, his hand prints out the digits of his phone number on a slip of paper. Slow down, mate. What are you doing? You've never asked out a girl before. He wouldn't be cool enough to be liked by her anyway. He stands up. At that moment she peers up from her sketch, right AT HIM. Woah, legs becoming jelly in form. Chill, seriously. Don't overthink this. Just go up and say high. Introduce yourself. Ask her about her interest in indie bands. Maybe just casually drop your number on her table. What is she doesn't see it, though? Whatever. He walks over. Her hands move to cover the sketch she's working on. She obviously doesn't want to talk to you. Heart hammering in a pounding beat. He smiles. She smiles back. Phwoar. His phone starts ringing. No! Her expression tightens. The ringing becomes louder, reverbaerating through the library. He feels the eyes of the librarian on him. Glaring. Oh, shit. Not wanting to be yelled at in front of the girl or for her to see his daggy old phone, he tries to act mature. He gives her what he hopes is an apolegetic face and leaves to take the call. It's Dave. Calling to confirm training times tonight. Then the line goes dead, Dave has hung up. Stupid Dave. Typical. Any chance he had to woo a hot girl has evaporated. He renters the library, hoping to continue in his attempt to ask her out. That's difficult to do when she is no longer there. He hangs his head in disappointment. One of her pastels lies on the table where she was sitting, left behind. Way to ruin a day. He picks up the pastel, closing his hand around it on the spot she was touching it just moments ago. She's gone, and with her a missed oppurtunity.