Fugue #141

Smiles.

That’s how it started for Gene and Emily. With smiles.

Back up...here’s the story:

It was after school, midweek in September. She was painting pep club signs for Friday’s football game, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hallway outside the library. He was in the classroom of his English teacher, talking and walking backwards out the door. He swung his stuffed backpack over his left shoulder, turned to his right, and stepped squarely into the middle of a large wet red W. As in Warriors. As in whoops. And he tracked that paint across the blue A and the R, before finding a way to get off the paper.

- Oh, man, I am so sorry.
- It’s ok.
- It was a really nice sign, too.
- Well, thanks.

Gene crouched down and tried to wipe the red paint away. It didn’t work, but it did make a smeary mess of everything. Emily smiled and laughed nervously. She wasn’t happy about the sign, but she was happy that this boy she had seen and thought about so much was actually talking to her. He reached out a wet hand.

- I’m Paul.
- I know. I’m Emily.

She smiled again, and nodded at his hand. He smiled, too, as she handed him a paper towel. Small pleasures.