Lark (2 page)

             
Ew.

             
It's not middle-of-summer-in-the-Midwest hot or anything. We see well over 100 degrees just about every day in the summer, and while it is definitely not that bad right now, it’s already way too hot to be considered pleasant this morning. I cringe at the thought of having to work with Brian smelling of B.O. all day. Even on his good days, when his car actually starts and he can drive to work in air conditioned comfort, he smells funky. It's an unusual, earthy stench, almost like stale dirt. On the days he has to walk though...well, let's just say I’m thankful I don't have to work in the concession stand with him. Freshly-popped-buttery-popcorn and body odor do not mix well. 

             
He’s a couple of years older than me and he just started working at the movie theater a couple of weeks ago, so he doesn't have many friends yet. I should probably be nice to him. With a sigh, I pull over next to him and roll down the window.

             
“Need a ride?” I ask as I reach over to unlock the door.

             
“Thanks.” He gets in and buckles the seat belt. His white shirt is stained yellow and his pants are worn thin.  An amethyst pendant dangles over his vest, but when he notices me staring at it, he quickly shoves it underneath his shirt. I suppose if I were a boy wearing a purple necklace, I would probably hide it too. Well, actually, I probably just wouldn't wear it. It must have some sort of sentimental value to him or something because he never seems to take it off.

             
“No problem,” I respond as I start driving again.

             
Awkward silence.

             
I hate those.

             
“Do you know who opens with us today?” I ask him even though I already know who does, but I can't think of anything else to say, and I feel like I should at least make an attempt at conversation.

             
Silence.

             
I wait.

             
More silence.

             
Okay, that is just plain weird. Who just sits there in a car and refuses to talk to someone who just saved them from walking a mile to work in nearly 90 degree heat?

             
I glance over to find him staring at me. Not in the way a boy stares at an exceptionally beautiful girl or a particularly delicious-looking steak. No. This is different and a little rude. He’s staring at me like you would stare at an abstract piece of art as you try to figure out what’s so special about it.

             
“Um..hello? Brian?” I try waving my hand in front of him to break him of his trance.

             
“Oh, sorry,” he recovers. “What did you say?”

             
“Um...nothing,” I stammer. “It's not important.

             
We pull into the parking lot, and he immediately gets out.

             
“Thanks for the lift,” he says as he stands there awkwardly, once again, staring at me a little too long to be considered polite. Then he closes the car door and walks towards the building.

             
I’m more than a little creeped out. A pit forms in my stomach but I have no idea why I feel so uneasy. He didn't even really do anything. There is just something about him that makes me feel weird and uncomfortable.

             
Okay, seriously. Stop being stupid. He’s just some 20-year-old guy. A perfectly normal guy. Although a little smelly...and kind of creepy... but definitely just a regular ole guy. He was probably just daydreaming or something. He was most certainly not staring at you even though it definitely felt like he was.

I attempt to calm myself down from my overactive imagination for a few more minutes before I figure I better get my butt into the building so I'm not late. Not that the manager, Dave, would even notice. He will undoubtedly be in his office playing Solitaire on his computer, while the rest of the staff gets everything ready for the day. I gather up my things, take a deep breath, and get out of the car, only to run right smack into the hard chest of
Greyson St. Clair. He reaches out to steady me at once, but drops his hand back down to his side as soon as he is certain my feet are planted firmly on the ground once more.

             
“Oh!” I gasp. I feel the blood pooling in my cheeks. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't really paying attention.”

I lean over to pick up the book that has fallen from my clumsy grip, but he beats me to it. I swear he has the reflexes of a ninja.

“We should really get you something new to read,” he says as he glances at the book with a knowing smirk and hands it back to me. He must be thinking about the first time we met. It was under similar circumstances. My face starts to burn as I remember the first time I ran into him. Well, I guess that is not really a good analogy. You would've thought I’d slammed into a cement wall the way I’d dropped to the ground. I was distracted then too, but over something a little less weird than a creepy boy with a staring problem. That time I was just preoccupied with my class schedule, debating between what I wanted to take and what I thought I actually should take. Every spring I enroll in a fluffy class like Choir for an easy A. But every fall, my guilty conscience forces me to drop it for something more practical like a lab. That day, Grey had just exited the counselor's office as I bounded in the door completely engrossed in the debate going on in my head and not paying any attention to where I was going. I had slammed into him, hard, dropping everything that was in my hands and landing flat on my back.

             
I'll never forget the look on his face. He went from befuddled to amused in a split second. Probably because his beautiful purplish-blue eyes had stunned me into paralysis, and I was just lying there on the ground staring into them, completely entranced, like an idiot. I had never seen eyes that color before. Finally, he gave me a crooked smile and offered me his hand as he introduced himself. He helped me pick up my things and handed me the exact same book that I brought with me to work today. I tend to re-read my favorites.

             
“But I love this book,” I say as I stare down at the familiar cover affectionately. 

             
“I know,” he says with an amused smile. “So what has you so distracted this morning? I've been standing here waiting for you to get out of your car for several minutes now.”

His smooth, velvety voice brings me back to the present, and as I look up at him I notice his eyes are lit up with humor. Yeah, he is definitely remembering that embarrassing day as well. We’ve been friends for a couple of months now, he knows very well how easily distracted I am.   

              I narrow my eyes at him, and he smiles that sexy, crooked smile I know so well. The boy is so beautiful when he smiles like that. I have to mentally slap myself to stop staring at him before I start to drool. He is already dressed in the required uniform. Only
he
could make that ugly maroon vest look good. His black pants and white button down shirt are both perfectly pressed. His face is cleanly shaven, and I have to resist the urge to touch his smooth cheek to see if it feels as silky as it looks.

             
I feel so very inadequate standing next to his perfection.

             
“Nothing,” I reply as I try to come up with a reasonable excuse. “I’m just tired.”

             
“Oh yes, big game last night, right?”

             
“Yeah, we played against our biggest rival. Didn't you go?” I ask, even though I already know he didn't. Grey is new to our school this year and he doesn't really seem like the overly social type. In fact, other than to our co-workers and myself, I rarely see him speaking to anyone. Which happens to be quite the disappointment to the female student body. Grey has more than his fair share of admirers.

             
“Nope, somebody has to hold down the fort while you are out cheering on the home team.” Another smirk. Apparently he finds it amusing that this semi-nerdy girl is also on the cheerleading squad.

             
“That's right. How was it last night? Super busy?”

             
“A little busier than normal for a Friday night, I suppose. We didn't close up until after midnight.”

             
Perfect. If Friday was that busy, today is definitely going to be a nightmare. Oh well, at least I'll be working with Grey. Work is never terrible when he is around. In fact, it is downright lovely. I don't know what it is about him but I feel drawn to him. I mean, there is, of course, the obvious fact that he is, hands down, the most gorgeous creature ever to walk the halls of our high school. His eyes are the kicker for me. They are an unusual and stunning shade of indigo blue that contrast handsomely with his dark, disheveled, slightly longer than chin-length hair. Normally, I am not a fan of longer hair on boys, but on Greyson it’s just downright hot. Several inches taller than my 5'2” frame, he isn't an overly “big” guy, but he isn't tiny either. Somehow, he is just perfectly in between.

I feel like I’ve known him for years instead of only a few short months. When I’m around him, I feel all sorts of conflicting emotions. He makes me feel vulnerable yet safe.
Nervous, but completely at ease. Which is funny, since he is so completely out of my league that you would think I would forget to breathe around him.

             
And, well, let's face it, sometimes I do.

             
We clock in and begin our opening duties. I get the cash register ready and he helps with the concession stand. Greyson is an usher, which doesn't require much prep work since that job consists mostly of tearing tickets and directing patrons to the correct screen.  In fact, he doesn't even have to be here this early, but for some reason, he always comes in with the rest of us and helps us with whatever he can. While he really is a genuinely nice person, I secretly suspect his perfectionist nature may also have something to do with his willingness to lend a hand.

             
The day proves to be just as busy as I’d feared; I hardly get any reading done at all. Darn those big blockbuster hits. If it’s this bad in October, I don't even want to think about how busy we will be next month. November is one of the busiest months for big movie releases. The good thing about hardly getting a break in the perpetual line of movie-watchers is that I don't have much time to contemplate the awkward incident that happened this morning with Brian. Although I swear, every time I glance over at the concession stand where he is working, I catch him watching me. He doesn't even try to look away when I notice, which unnerves me even more. Why does he keep doing that? Has he always done that and I am just now noticing? Why doesn't he at least have the decency to act embarrassed when I catch him? He looks like he is expecting me to sprout wings and take flight or something.

             
Grey walks me to my car at the end of our shift like he usually does. The guys we work with have teased us about our obvious closeness before, but when confronted over the matter, he always responds with “We're just friends.” Which is completely understandable since he is, well, Greyson. He could have any girl he wanted at school. But it’s so unbelievably frustrating for me because, sometimes, he doesn't act like we are just friends.  

             
Take today for example. Whenever it was time to clean up between showings, Grey would somehow find a way to get me to help him. It seems like whenever we work the same shift, even though there are always several other willing employees available, he specifically requests my assistance. I don't mind at all, of course. It's a welcome break from my regular duties, plus the extra one-on-one time with Grey is icing on the cake.

             
Sometimes, as we are waiting in the back of the dark theater for the last of the patrons to finish watching the credits, he will press up right behind me, so close I can feel his breath on my neck. The boy always smells amazing, like apples with a touch of sandalwood.  I just want to turn around, lean in, and inhale his sweetness. The odd thing is, I could almost swear he feels the same way about me. Though, of course, nothing ever happens. The occasional casual brush of his fingertips along my arm or back is about the extent of our physical contact. Casual or not, these secret moments with him send my heart into a fluttering fit.  A warmth comes over me and spreads through my chest until I feel like I can't breathe.

             
With a sigh, I remind myself that these fleeting secret moments are all I have with him since he has made it abundantly clear to everyone that I’m “just friend” material. And even though I feel like I have come to terms with the fact that friendship is all that’s in store for us, on the drive home from work I find myself daydreaming about the "what ifs."

Chapter 2

             
The weekend never lasts nearly as long as it should. Monday always ends up sneaking up on me. At least I only work the morning shift on Sundays, so I had the rest of the afternoon to lounge around in my comfy sweats and do my homework. I tried to work on my English essay, but my mind was racing back and forth between trying to come up with a logical explanation for Brian's disturbing staring problem and day-dreaming about what would happen if one of those times Grey and I were alone in a practically empty, dark theater room he just happened to lean in and...well...to say the least, it was hard to concentrate on my homework, but I somehow managed to finish it.