Her Name Was December

Day 12

Greyson held a book in front of his face, squinting over the pages at the contents of December's bag. He scanned through the papers at a distance, looking for unnatural crinkles of the pages in her notebook, or the corner of a small, unevenly-folded rectangle protruding from the leather pockets.

Did she get the note? he thought frantically. Did she notice it?

Greyson's mind raced. He'd never felt as anxious as he did then; waiting for the girl of his dreams to reply to his letter- or to not answer at all. It wasn't bad enough that he didn't know how December felt about him. The fact that he didn't even know if she'd seen the note amplified the nervousness by 100%. So many things could have gone wrong. It almost made him wish he'd handed it to her face-to-face.

Every time he had the slightest sense that December had looked over at him from her reading, he'd bury himself back in the book again. He couldn't risk being caught staring, especially after the mistake he'd made by putting that note in her bag. His mind fought between regret and relief, as his mind often did when he got nervous.

For Greyson, the day dragged on; each tick on the clock feeling a minute long and each minute feeling like an hour. December lost herself in her reading as she always did, and Greyson snuck as many glances at her as possible. (As he always did.) Though, the musty air seemed thicker in his lungs, and he had to take the shiny dust cover off of the book he was pretending to read in order to keep the book from sliding out of his sweaty hands. He sighed in both relief and in anguish every time a customer walked through a door, for he needed time away from his thoughts of December just as much as he never wanted to stop thinking about her.

At the end of the day, Greyson was at the back of the store helping a balding old man find some storybook from his childhood that even their store didn't have. That was saying something, considering that their specialty seemed to be old books that nobody cared about, or knew. After struggling for nearly thirty minutes with the man who simply wouldn't accept the fact that this book didn't exist on the shelves; the defeated customer left, muttering a goodbye in a frustrated tone of voice.

Greyson nearly gasped when he turned around and saw that December had been waiting at the checkout counter. All the anxiety on the planet bubbled up from his gut and up into his head, his hands immediately clenching into fists and sweating profusely out of habit. She hadn't said anything to him all day; not about the letter or anything else. He hurried behind the counter as slow as he could. Reality couldn't keep up with the whizzing speed of his thoughts or his racing heart.

He slid his palm along the countertop as he walked in front of December. They both looked down at their hands, but as December's strong silence felt normal, Greyson rocked back and forth on his feet nervously.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke so quiet it was nearly a whisper. "...Hi."

When she didn't reply, his cheeks flushed red. December's hands were crossed over each other on the counter and she kept staring down at her perfectly-groomed fingers. Flowing locks of blonde hair fell to cover her delicate face. Greyson gulped at the awkward tension and slid the book she had been reading toward him. He checked it out quickly and tied the bag up, this time without any extra contents.

He held it out to her, nearly cracking as he said, "Have a nice night."

December didn't take the bag from him, but instead slid a hand toward him across the counter. Greyson held his breath in suspense.

When she pulled her hand away, it was sitting there. The little square of lined paper was there with its uneven folds and scratches of pen bleeding through from the other side. December looked up and tucked her hair behind her ear, face nearly as red as Greyson's.

Greyson's heart raced at the speed of light, and his mouth hung open in shock. "Oh, uh..." he started, frantic to explain himself.

"No need." December told him. She sighed as Greyson's face got continuously warm. "Listen Greyson..." she started. He fluttered at the sound of his name as it graced her lips. Her eyebrows furrowed and she shrugged. "I don't like you."

Greyson's heart dropped to the floor.

"No, that's not what I meant," December rebounded, shaking her head. "I just can't... I can't date someone like you."

Greyson studied her face; it was hard-set as usual, but some part of her read distress. Greyson bit his lip, whispering, "Oh... I-"

"No, no, no. That's not what I meant, either." December said. She rubbed her face in frustration, grabbing the bag from in between them. She spoke sternly, "Just, please, don't get in my way. Stay away from me."

She hurried out the door, letting it slam behind her. Greyson was left to breathe the musty bookstore air alone, the echoing ring of the bell above the doorframe sounding nothing but December's leaving and her cold rejection.