I follow a brisk pace down Main Street, nodding occasionally to passersby. It's the kind of town where you wouldn't get away with not nodding, as you're more than likely connected to that person somehow.

That's the annoying part at living in such a rural place - there's pretty much no chance of meeting a complete stranger that you will never meet again.

I used to think this place was big and exciting, but once I hit those awkward teenage years and discovered the world.. Well, frankly this place just bores me now. The same close minded people stuck in the never-ending cycle of their daily lives.

Sometimes I think I'm the only truly unusual person in Hayworthstown. Which would only be a half truth, as there is one other person that I consider unusual. And I mean that in the interesting and cool, unusual way. Not creepy and unusual like old Mrs. Henderson the cat lady, or Pedo Bob who runs the grocery store.

Actually, that other unusual person is the reason I’m walking down Main Street at this very moment in time, although I’d never admit it to anyone of course. If anyone asks, I’m just on my way to the local bookstore to browse for anything interesting.

So I’m not about to subtly stare at him from behind the rows of books at all. I smile warmly at a passerby, before my smile turns to a frown the second I pass them. That was one of my friends, David. I would usually stop and talk, but then he’d want to go with me wherever I’m going, and there’s no room for two people staring at the thoughtful expression on Lee’s face as he reads the summary of a historical book for the umpteenth time.

Those are little things I notice about him - the way he keeps returning to the same books to read a few pages and smile that hazy smile, but never buys any. Which just goes to show, as David once told me he struggles to make ends meet.

--

As I finally arrive in the bookstore, the girl behind the counter sends me a smile. Alicia, her name tag reads, but I know I will have forgotten it within five minutes as I’ve never been good with names. I know her as a familiar face from the corridors of my high school, and she is always seemingly smiling.

She lightens up the dreary bookstore, which is sheltered from most light the large glass panes at the front of the store would bring, if not for the large and obscuring bookcases stacked firmly in front of them.

Deciding not to go off into one of my all too frequent daydreams, I quickly return to my usual spot - between gardening and horror. An interesting mix, I know, but it pretty much sums up this town in my opinion. I bend over slightly and pretend to be looking for a book, before eagerly peering through the bookshelf and into the adjacent aisle.

I can barely contain the smile on my face when I realize he’s there as usual, until I realize how stalkerish I’m acting and decide to play it cool. I’ve considered walking up to him and commenting on whatever book he has in hand, of course, but that would be way too bold for me.

I still don’t understand why we’re not friends! We’re the two most ‘alternative’ looking people in the entire town, why doesn’t he notice me?

After a few minutes of casually staring, and reading disinterestedly in The Dark Half by Stephen King, a small cough makes me furrow my eyebrows and look up.

What the hell? He’s not in his aisle! He’s here! My mind’s whirring as I realize he’s looking at me, which also makes me realize my face is working on arranging my features into an expression of horror. Which coincidentally matches the book he’s holding. I widen my eyes as I realize I’m acting like a teenage girl with a crush on celebrity.

“Are you okay?”, he sounds concerned, and his foggy blue eyes reflect this. I want to run my hands through the untamed hair on his head, but I know that would ruin how perfect it is naturally. And would also probably end up earning me a restraining order, of course.

I seriously don’t know how it got this far. One day he transferred to my high school from somewhere in Arizona, and ever since I’ve been unable to take my eyes off of him. I consider myself a metalhead, what with light brown hair down past my shoulders, and I was beginning to think that I’d never meet other people like that.

But then Lee came along, and he’s a punk. At least I think he is, I’ve never asked, but his clothes seem to tell the tale for him. Before I started noticing Lee, I’d never really had a crush on a girl or a guy. So I guess my feelings for him are stronger because I’ve built up all this energy for crushes that I’ve never had a chance to release before.

Which ultimately resulted in me gaining an almost stalker like affection for Lee.

“Uh, yeah.. What’s that book you’re holding?”, I decide to try and act like he’s just a guy in a bookstore. Which would be rude of course, as we’ve talked a couple of times before. He’s just never seemed interested enough in me to talk to me past that.

“It.. You know, the killer clown story”, he speaks disinterestedly and places the book back on the shelf, apparently looking for more interesting titles.

“That one still gives me nightmares”. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I mentally hiss at myself. I don’t want to tell him straight away that I get nightmares from books, it makes me sound like a complete pussy. And I have to admit that I look like anything but a pussy.

At least I wish I didn't. I'm 5 foot 4 at the age of seventeen, and have absolutely no muscle to make up for it. Instead, I try and dress tough, by wearing a Slayer t-shirt and combat trousers. It’s too hot for combat trousers really, but that doesn’t stop me. My appearance often makes me wonder if there was a switch up at the body factory, and someone else’s mind got given to my body.

“I wouldn’t have expected that”, he says shortly, and sharply. I frown and feel my cheeks tinge a slight pink. He didn’t have to be rude, what happened to the rules of polite conversation?

“That was kind of rude..”, I whisper before I can stop myself. That’s one of the problems with me - I never know when to shut up. It gets me in a lot of trouble sometimes. He raises an eyebrow, sighs and puts another book back on the shelf.

“I’m sorry.. Chris, is it? I’m not here for small talk”, he states, before returning back into the History section of the shelves. I glare at his back for a moment, before once again pretending to look at books and secretly watch him. Maybe he's just having a bad day.. Yeah, that'll be it. I'll talk to him at school on Monday and he'll apologize..

Author's note: Feedback greatly appreciated :)