Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

Little bear part I

Finally the chapter that explains that strange story title of mine! Dedicated to my newest follower Dezdemona01. So happy to hear you love the story! Hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

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"You're gonna drop it." I stated, glaring at Allen. 

"It's fine," He assured me in his slow way. Wasn't sure I trusted him though. The giant book titled something like 'Photography in the 20th century' swiveling, swinging precariously above our faces. I made a futile attempt to stabilize Allen's arm with my hand, and he snorted with laughter. I put my life on the line and smacked him instead.

He'd come over for dinner. Third time now. The other Friday we'd joined my mum and her friends and the board games. With cake and popcorn. Without vodka. But this time we'd sneaked back into my room afterwards. Ending up lying next to each other on the bed. My spare pillow underneath Allen's head. One of his cd's softly playing in the background. Himself with another coffee table-sized art book in his hands. My mom really was doing her best in corrupting him. Sneaking him information folders from Susan's school. Susan, who seemed absolutely besotted with Allen, in a platonic old art teacher way. I tried not to think about my own collage-less future, let alone think about Allen miles and miles away. Getting to know new people. Forgetting about me. But I didn't really mind the folders. At least if he went to Gillespie's Susan would be there to remind him. If he went. Allen's mom appearing in my mind. Her hand protectively stroking Allen forehead. Her ice blue eyes. Like she'd let Allen decide for himself, let alone go to art school. It would never happen. The months left until graduation was the time I would be granted. No more. Better not to think about that either. 

This was the last time I'd see Allen for a while. Tomorrow he'd leave for the holidays. Too early to make it for school even. Maybe he'd be back for New Years, maybe he'd go directly from Minnesota to his cousins in New York. If that was the case, he'd be gone nearly two weeks. Two weeks. Almost a third of the time I'd known him. I tried not to think about that scenario either, shooed away the thoughts. Focused on Allen's voice and on the picture above he was talking about. A woman in a tailored dress in front of a window. Sharp eyeliner like wings, her expression apprehensive. Halfway closed blinds making lines of light and shadow across her face.

"Look," Allen urged me again. "Can't you see it? It should be static but there's still movement, the way your eyes travel..." 

"Yeah," I nodded, somewhat distractedly. I did see it, sure, but my eyes mostly traveled between Allen's hands and the line of his jaw, red curls almost whispering against my nose when I turned my head. Allen made it to flip the page, for a second folding the book like a roof over our heads. I scrunched up my face. "Hey, careful." 

"I won't drop it," Allen laughed. 

"You totally will. And it weighs like 20 pounds. You'll drop it on my face and my nose will be even more busted up than it already is." 

Allen snorted. "There's nothing wrong with your nose." 

"There rest of my face begs to differ," I huffed drily, shifting onto my side, so I could get a better view of what was really important. The real life art. Allen's thick curls and the freckles on his neck. It was like I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating on my face. The faint smell of cinnamon. It all made me feel dizzy. Light-headed. Reckless.

"You're so freckled," I mumbled, inching closer. 

"I know," Allen replied evenly, eyes still trained on the book pages. 

"Are you this freckled all over?" I asked, hooking a finger into the collar of his sweater, peeking inside, down his clavicle. Trying to stop myself from exploding or simply flying into the sky with the lightness.