Harvestland

FIVE

The first time Noah Faison saw Charlee McCool was at St. Andrew's for Sunday mass, after service in the crowded lobby. He noticed her hair first, choppy and uneven and cropped short like a boy's. It did not go well with the Amish-like dress he was sure her parents had made her wear and in which she looked utterly miserable.

Charlee was so tall and already a bit too thin for her own good, and with no curves to offer, the dress made her look lanky and awkward.

But by God, she was beautiful.

Noah remembered staring across the lobby at her, knowing it was rude but unable to look away.

He took her all in, her pale skin and thin lips, the tiniest hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose, light brown eyes that brought contrast to the dark chestnut of her hair.

Later, when he would see her at school, she was much more poised and in her element. She'd wear pajama pants or camouflage pants or leather pants with lots of chains, ripped thermals or XL male shirts or hoodies, knit beanies or skull caps or even berets. He had worried for a bit that she was into girls and that this crush had no hope whatsoever, but the few times he talked with her he never got that vibe.

That first day in church, as she stood next to her parents who were exchanging pleasantries like good church folk with the other members, Charlee looked like she would rather be anywhere else.

Noah wasn't sure how long he had been staring before she finally discovered his gaze.

And even then, he didn't look away.

And he was glad he didn't. Because she smiled at him.

And it was her smile, the way she smiled at him, the way her eyes softened as they looked into his—

God, she—

She was loveliness so total it seemed to reach out and touch him, caress its palm against his cheek and across his chest, tear through skin and flesh and bone, squeeze his beating heart.

He could barely breathe. He smiled back and swallowed and felt his face growing hot.

And he felt—

He felt like he recognized her. But it was more than that, something deeper. It was a feeling like he had known her already, like she had left an imprint on his soul long ago, lifetimes ago, and until he saw her this day it had been dormant.

He left with his parents before he could meet her or talk to her. And he was glad for it because he wouldn't have been able to handle it had the opportunity arisen. But in school he'd live for those moments he would see her in the halls, see that smile, exchange a nervous hello or how are you.

She wasn't like the other girls in school, dime a dozen slaves to the fads and brand names, girls who all passed over him and his cardigan sweaters and button-ups and loafers. Something about Charlee was so real, so refreshing.

He hadn't made any friends yet, had never been much good at it. He kept to himself and his books and his schoolwork and that had always been fine, lonely but fine. He watched others, always the outsider. And he watched Charlee.

She had been wearing all black ever since the death of her best friend, Alison Brown. He knew of the two of them as a lot of people did, an unlikely pairing of friends if he had ever seen one.

Noah had not spoken to Charlee since it happened. But today when he woke up he decided that he was going to, that the timing was never going to be right and it looked like she needed a friend anyway.