the shepherd's sword

part ii

she roamed the produce aisles, reveling in the cool air of the grocery store. she loved the cold.

she rolled her eyes for what must have been the twentieth time at her ridiculous roommate, who was currently sick. a rare occurrence, since her roommate had quite the formidable immune system. however, hannah was sick nonetheless, and had given shelby a very specific request: organic chives. she wanted none of "that over-processed, ammonia-soaked by-product bog," as she referred to canned soup as. shelby thought the whole thing quite ridiculous, but her friend had gone all-natural everything about eight months ago, and would hear nothing of progresso or any other corporate giant pre-concocted stew. she had told shelby that she herself would fix the soup; that shelby only had to collect the ingredients. however, shelby already knew that an annoying, albeit courteous part of her was not going to allow the gut-wrenchingly ill hannah prepare the soup herself. morality is so very irritating.

their small apartment was already stocked with chicken, carrots, and onions, (all organically raised, of course) and thus, chives were the only missing ingredient. why are chives even important? she wondered. they don't have any flavor! they won't make a difference!

yet she trudged on, in search of the things. because, for some reason unbeknownst to her, she was endeared to the overly-emphatic, sometimes contradicting amateur writer and star wars fanatic, who also happened to have a beef with unnatural chemicals being associated with her food. what a little oddball.

so lost in her thoughts was shelby, that she collided with a person standing by the pineapples. "oomf!" he grunted as he landed on his side.

shelby bounced back on her bottom, exclaiming, "ow!" as she began to stand, she deplored in mussitate, "sorry. i should have been watching where i was going." she glanced down at the boy as he too rose to his feet. when their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow. "hey, it's you."

"i am whom?" he asked as he dusted himself off, then met her gaze again.

she studied him. dark jeans, a light wasabi-colored v-neck, black converse. shorter, brown hair combed neatly. hazel eyes, and a timid smile. peculiar.

finally, she answered him, "i saw you salsa dancing in the street a week ago."

he flashed an easy grin. "so you were there, and you noticed me?"

she eyed him skeptically, crossing her arms. "yes. how could i have missed such an idiot?"

he didn't falter, didn't miss a beat. "ah, but how does one truly define an idiot? it is left up to opinion, is it not?"

shelby pursed her lips. "not really. not when you think logically about it."

the boy shook his head and laughed. "you would have to know why i was salsa dancing in the street to know if i was embracing idiocy."

"i disagree," she replied evenly.

"perhaps you oughtn't," he offered. "if i had danced in the street, say, because i wanted attention; because my ego had been generously fed my entire life, producing a paradoxical concoction of arrogance and insecurity, and therefore needing to be constantly affirmed by the notice of others, that, my friend, would be idiotic." he handed her chives, which, turns out, had been just slightly to his left. she had almost found them before the collision.

she took them, and confused, began, "how did you-"

"you mumble under your breath more than you realize," he answered quickly. "anyway, the earlier mentioned was not my reason for dancing."

she re-crossed her arms, chives in hand, and stared at him hard for a long moment. finally, she said, "okay, then enlighten me: why were you dancing?"