Imperfectly Perfect

5.

I step out of the car, my eyes never straying from Alfonso's. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I follow my dad to the door.

"Is that him?"

"Yup," I say, popping the 'p'.

"Hello, Alfonso," my dad says, stretching a hand out to help him up.

"Hi Mr. . . ?"

"Dubin," I pipe up, looking between the two of them, wringing my hands together nervously.

"Hi Mr. Dubin," Alfonso tries again, "I was wondering if I could take Ariel on a walk with me?"

"And you are. . ."

I stifle a laugh, he knew exactly who was standing in front of him. Alfonso was being tested of his truthfulness and reliability.

"Hi, I'm Alfonso, I live just down a few blocks from you."

"Well Alfonso, as long as you bring her back in one piece then you may take her on a walk."

He shifts awkwardly on his feet as he looks at
me. I in turn, look at him in the corner of my eye. I hear my dad chuckle and I look at him questioningly as I raise an eyebrow.

"I'll be here waiting for you when you come home," he smiles at me.

"Okay," I sigh looking at Alfonso, but all hopes he'll disappear are in vain.

"Le' go."

I cringe, why would he say that the grammar it's just so gah!

"Let's go," I correct with a teasing grin.

"What are you a grammar nazi?"

"Nien," I reply, my eyes dancing around his face.

"You did not," he dead pans.

"Oh," I laugh, "but I just did."

I stop, mid-laughter, looking over at him, he stops looking suddenly very self-conscious.

"What is it?"

He feels his face, touching all over it.

"Is there something wrong with my face?"

I shake my head suddenly, clearing my head of my thoughts.

"Sorry," I rub my neck, "just lost in thought, I guess."

"Is my face okay?"

I roll my eyes, "your face looks perfectly fine," I reply, sarcasm dripping from the words.

"I need you to be serious Ariel," he pleads with me.

I sigh, seriously surveying his face, "your face looks perfectly fine."

Perfectly handsome, my conscience says, and I look at him again, trying to hide my shock.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I return a grin, I'm good. I'm grand. I'm greaaaaaat. I stretch out the 'a' inwardly as I talk to myself.

"I want to tell you something. Eventually. I know, I act like an asshole a huge percentage of the time. My mood can change like the snap of a finger. But, everything has a reason. I have my own reason, I'll tell you it some day, because, I trust you. Shawn and my parents are the only people that know, so, when I tell you, please don't tell anyone. It's my story to tell."

I didn't notice until he finished talking that somehow during our conversation our hands found their way together and our fingers were laced together . . . I shyly try to remove my hand from his, yet to my surprise, he holds onto my hand, even tighter.

"Don't ever leave me, Elle, please promise me that," he's clasping my hand now, between hands, as he kneels on the ground before me making; it look as if he's proposing to me.

I look deeply into his eyes, and see a flicker of hope, or maybe something else, before I see true sadness, and emotions that he's kept hidden for far too long.

"I promise," I breathe, as he stands up, our bodies so close I nearly fall back, but he grabs me by the waist, just in time.

"I'm here," he says, as if he sees the doubt in my mind, unsure of what's real and what isn't.

"You're here," I repeat his words, as I use his shoulders to help me stand up.