The Potential of a Day

Chapter 11: Beautiful Boy

Beautiful Boy

          When we get back to the festival, things are finally getting up and running. It’s seven; it was a two hour movie. The sun is just beginning to sag in the sky; darkness is starting to play with the edges of the horizon, but the brilliant orb of fire is still far from that horizon. Abby and I are wandering about the street ringing the Plaza; the heart of the festival. My parents have broken off from us; my mother took quite a while to help us convince my father that there was anything uncool about teenagers hanging out with their parents.

          Abruptly, Abby stops in her tracks; feeling at her pockets, riffling through her bag. “What is it?” I question, looking back at her.

          “My cellphone, I can’t find it. I think I might have left it in the theater.”

          “Well then let’s go back for it,” I indicate over my shoulder, back towards the movie theater, when Abigail doesn’t move, I repeat, “come on.”

          “No, it’s fine, Lily, you stay here. I’ll be back in like ten minutes. Just wait for me by the gazebo,” I’m about to object, but then, for the second time today, Abigail is off like a shot, running from me as quickly as her legs can carry her.

          Despite no one being around to witness it, I roll my eyes. But I see no point in making an extra effort, so I don’t follow after my friend. Instead, I make my way towards the pavilion; there’s a band playing beneath it. A very orchestral sort of band; a tuba, a violin, a flute, and all sorts of other booming instruments.

          It is as I am making to lean against one of the posts of the gazebo, that I catch a sound diverging from the booming harmony of the music. A voice. A vice I recognize, though, admittedly, never expected to hear speaking the words it utters now.

          “Lily? Lily Simcoe, right?”

          Surprised, I reel around.

          Beautiful, defined cheekbones. A face a beautiful diamond shape. Thick locks of near-black hair falling around his ears. Almond-shaped chocolate eyes, flecked with ochre; a colour so brilliant, so exotic, that I could get lost in them in moments. Full lips of a deep shade, that turn up into a gorgeous half smile that makes me swoon. A defined nose. An adam’s apple, undulating strongly as he swallows. Slightly tanned skin. Broad shoulders, and a height of maybe five inches taller than me. The most beautiful boy in the world.

          Leo.

          His is a smile I never expected turned on me. A smile so absolutely stunning, that I can’t possibly bear even to consider glancing away. Because heck, if this is my very last day, I think I have the right, to drink in the most impeccable sight I’ve ever had the privilege to see. Even in my dreams, my name is not one that I thought I would ever hear in his deep, silken voice.

          For nearly the past year, I have looked upon his face every other day at very least, with a drunken desire. I feel as if I know him; every aspect of him. But I suppose, even though he speaks my name, he won’t expect me to know even his first. Despite what my mouth is opening to speak, I realize that I must feign unknowingness.

          “Uh, yeah. How did you…uh how did you know my name?” wow, great first words there. What a wonderful, elegant first impression; that must have been like, what, five filler words. I desperately hope he’ll grace me with the chance to make up for that fumbling soon enough.

          He smiles again; that stunning half smile, and swings himself around to rest against the post along next to me. Leo extends me a hand, which, after a moment, I realize I’m meant to shake. His grip is firm; he releases my hand slowly, almost reluctantly. “My name’s Leo, Leo Haines. I’m one of the few people who actually reads the local paper.”