His Blue ✓

14| You are different

Tap. Tap. Tap.

     The sound of my pencil tapping against the cafeteria table is the only sound close by me. In the distance are some students eating breakfast. What a fine Tuesday morning.

     I stop tapping my pencil and stare blankly at my composition book. For a week I haven't been able to write. I have no muse.

     Sometimes I have this writer's block- where nothing is profound enough to write down. I hate it.

    Gravity tugs my lips into a frown, and I hardly feel my booth wobble as I'm joined by someone else.

     I look up and lock eyes with Anson.

     "How is it that I eat breakfast in here every morning, but have never noticed
you?" He raises a brow.

     "Maybe you're too focused on your football friends to look around for two seconds."

     "I don't think that's it." He gives me a sassy look and I shrug.

     "Then I'm not sure, but it's good to know that my invisibility cloak still works at times."

     " ha ha."

     I watch as he pulls a biscuit from his backpack pocket and unwraps it.

I listen to the crinkle of the wrapper in his hands for a moment.

     My ears happen to catch some distant conversation, and I follow the sounds to a table of popular kids. They're watching Anson and I in utter confusion.

     "Wait- did you actually leave your friends to come over here?"  I ask, not taking my gaze off of the group.

     Anson swallows. "Yeah. I saw you alone and thought you might want some company." He shrugs it off like no big deal, but when I spot Marissa in the distance, surrounded by a hoard of athletes and cheerleaders, my stomach feels uneasy.

     "I sit here alone so that I can write." I explain quietly.

     He snorts. "Is that what you call it?"

     I blush and protectively close my notebook. "I've not started yet, but-"

     "Better get going." He looks at his watch, cutting me off, "we don't have long until class starts. Surely you're dying to find out more about Hamlet?"

     I scoff at the mention. "Oh yeah- I'm dying to have more random English tasks assigned to me."

     "That's what I thought." Anson grabs my pencil and opens my book up to a blank page while I'm distracted.

     My heart jumps and I reach out. "Anson what are you doing? You know I have separation anxiety when it comes to that book!"

     "Relax." He chuckles. "Don't think I haven't noticed you can't come up with anything new to write."

     My mouth drops. "You've been keeping track?"

     "Maybe..."

     I feel butterflies erupt in my stomach and I push the feelings aside. I watch as Anson bends down and starts scribbling away in my book. Finally, I can't take the anticipation of not knowing what he's writing. I grab it back and scan the page.

      I don't mind, if you push me away
     I'm not going anywhere. I plan to stay.
     It's true we just met, and you hardly know me,
     But you are different, I can see.
   
Now I'm not a poet, and I'm not a fan,
     Of writing down words that I don't understand.
     But when it comes to you, my blue, I think we can agree,
     That I understand I'll write anything to save you and me.