This is From Matilda.

Chapter fifteen - upsidedown

For the past five consecutive days, I had met with Jack. I think he said it was our new record. And I couldn't say that I wasn't enjoying it.

We were sat in the cafe again, the morning chill too bitter to venture outside, despite the glow of the April sun. We had already decided on some other characters who would feature in the novel. Now Jack wanted to start on major plot points.

It still baffled me, that Jack wanted my help at all. Besides reading books from the library, I didn't have any developed education regarding literature.

Jack insists that he values a second opinion; whether he's telling the truth or not, I had to admit that being involved with this was exciting.

*

Jack was tapping his fingers on the table, a pen hanging from his mouth in determined concentration.

"What if she has to produce a lot of money, in a short space of time. So she has to steal something big... But it's more of a heist and-"
His sentence runs dry, and he goes back to chewing his pen.

Jack did this a lot; he had random spurts of inspiration, making excitement shine in his eyes. I could almost see his machine of a brain whirring, and ticking, tumbling out ideas. But he often stops suddenly, as if a wire had snapped in his circuit.

Sometimes, he falters because he thinks his ideas aren't good enough; I think he's just impatient.
"Ok, so like stealing a painting. Or a jewel? From a museum?" I said, trying to prompt him.

"Yes, yes... But a museum would be too far fetched. It's too cliché..."

"What about stealing something from a mansion? Or a fancy house. There's no shortage of those in Paris."
I suggested.

His face lit up again, the switch flicking on, the machine now running in full swing.

"That's brilliant! See? This is why I need you."
He dives down into his notebook again, and scrawls with energetic speed.

I need you, I need you.

His words echoed in my head, but Jack was too invested in his writing to notice my stunned expression.

He needs me

I've never been needed before. As self pitying as it sounds, I've always felt inadequate, a waste of space in the grand scheme of things. I mean, I was a thief.

I looked at Jack again, who hadn't lifted his head from his book yet. His eagerness and energy was almost child-like, and it was contagious. The smile that slowly stretched my face couldn't be fought.
Sensing my gaze, Jack looked up, his blue eyes still shining, but confused.

"What?" He said, his expression unsure.

"Nothing," I said simply.

"You're smiling." He said, pointing at me with his pen. "You don't smile like that, not for no reason anyway."

"Can't I be happy?"

"Yes...yes. Of course." Jack stumbled for words, and he threaded his hand through his hair, as he bent down his head again to write. But his eyes flickered up to look at me again, still as confused as before.

"What?" I asked with a laugh, amused at his discomfort.

"Nothing. It's just... I like it when you're happy."
He ducked his head again, but I didn't miss the twinge of pink in his cheeks.

I laughed again, my smile impossibly wider. It was then that I knew, that I needed Jack too.

*

It had started to rain again, so we ordered another drink in an attempt to wait it out. Jack continued to write, occasionally pausing to bite his pen in thought, or to take a sip of his coffee. As a result, a silence ensued between us, but I didn't mind; instead, I observed the world outside the rain-stained, cafe windows.