AN: well, my first story. I dunno what brought this on, honestly, but it got second place in the school short story contest mind you, I go to a small school. Hope you enjoy!

--

I have decided, she proclaims, kicking her legs up so the tips of her combat boots poke over the top of the bus seat and her shorts ride up her legs just enough to reveal a wrinkled knee. That I am not going to think today.

He gives her a tired glance that, rather than saying something, sighs.

She is constantly making statements like this. It’s almost as though she can’t help it. Like these thoughts just meander into her head through some forgotten back entrance and decide to stick around for a bit, then come popping out her mouth at odd intervals.

A bit like very confused gophers, he thinks.

It goes oddly with the rest of her personality, or at least half if it; for every bubbly moment there’s a downswing where all she wants is to read shojo manga and sit around and cuddle people and wear her fat sweater. The fat sweater is huge and baggy and blue and probably hasn’t been washed for about three months, and it looks simply awful on her. He always knows it’s going to be a quiet day when she comes up to the bus stop with her headphones and fat sweater on, blasting the Shins.

She pats the spot right next to her leg.

Come here. She grins. Snuggle with me.

He pushes up against her, rubbing his head against her shoulder repeatedly like a cat, the way he knows makes her try hard not to giggle every time.

--

He can see the lead dust smeared over her nose and, when he gets closer, her fingers. It always gathers along the side of her right hand that sweeps across the paper as she fixes this line, perfects that eyelash. She’s getting a callus on her thumb where the pencil rests, and has a raw, pink spot on the side of the second knuckle of her pinky from sliding against the paper.

Her eyes are narrow, calculating. Her concentration is completely fixed on the drawing pad in her lap.

She looks up him and smiles, just a little in the corner of her mouth. He sits and she immediately proffers the notebook to him, expectant eyes waiting for anything at all from him. He flips to where they left off on Tuesday, the last time she was ‘inspired,’ in her own words, and begins to point out the flaws, careful to keep his hand hovering a few millimeters above the paper to avoid smudging the lead.

I still need to work on the hands… and that one has awful arms… this line, here, that’s off… she’s muttering, partly to herself, pointing out her little dissatisfactions. Her mouth screws up into a concentrated scowl. He smiles and flips back a few pages. She grins. This is one of her favorites, in terms of anatomy, at least. He runs his finger along the line of the back, then down the length of the arm, to the hand, still not touching the paper. Her smile is ebbing away into something hard, dissatisfied. He can see every stray mark or misplaced strand of hair piling up behind her eyes.

The only physical flaw I can see in this drawing is here- he points out the curve of the back -but otherwise it’s a bit lifeless. You got the arm and the hand just right, but it’s just a kinda boring. In this one- he flips backward more until he comes to a sketch of a boy with wings sprouting out of his back- you have more life, but he’s too thin and his hair is too long. He looks like a girl. The water is interesting, but you haven’t quite caught the flow of it down the wings and body. You’ve really gotten the pain in the position, though.

Her grin returns and she hugs him from the side. He knows his knobby shoulder is digging into her breastplate, but she’s ignoring it. He pats her back and doesn’t protest when she leans her head on his shoulder, stretching the muscle in the side of her neck in a manner that looks rather uncomfortable so she can see her paper.

--

She’s standing in the back of the bus when he gets on this time, late because he’s toting his saxophone, which he accidentally left at school yesterday after band. She’s laughing, long and hyper and with a little snort in it like always, at something one of the flippers has said. He’s named them the flippers because that’s all they do: flip their hair. Well, that’s not entirely true. They also giggle, and make little shrill remarks about other boys at other schools who he doesn’t know and will never meet. They always stand in the back of the bus right up until it leaves, when they scramble around, giggling even more, to find their seats then lean far into the aisles and chatter more about who knows what.

Like birds, he thinks. Or maybe squirrels.

She spies him and smiles, gesturing her seat, further up the bus, near the center. He slips in, sax on his lap, and sandwiches himself between the windows and his backpack.

The bus revs up menacingly, and she comes scurrying up the aisle, still laughing a little. Her eyes are shining, and she looks exhilarated as she bounces down next to him. Immediately, she leans out into the aisle and begins to gabber away with one of the flippers about someone or other boyfriends ex, who one of them knows from camp and who Seemed really nice, honestly, I would never think she’d do something so rash as…

He tunes out at this point, and idly flips the little metal strap holding his saxophone case together back and forth as he thinks about the math homework he needs done by Monday…

She’s frowning at him, tugging impatiently at his backpack as she tries to get his attention. She said something to him, and he was too spaced out to hear it. She repeats it, pulls his backpack down to the floor, and scoots over to squash against him. He grins, reaches into his pocket and tugs out his ipod. They sing the rest of the ride home.

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,

They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe.

Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,

Possessing and caressing me.

Jai Guru De Va Om

Nothing's gonna change my world,

Nothing's gonna change my world.

--

She’s listening to her indie music again. He can tell from how she’s squished herself as tight as possible into the corner of the seat with her knees pushing into the back of the scaly green fabric- plastic, really- in front of her so her feet dangle well above the grimy floor. She’s not standing in the back of the bus like usual, talking and laughing with friends he doesn’t have enough energy for. Her brow is pushed up against the window and her fingers rest lightly on the jacket scrunched up in her lap. She hums along quietly.

He sits down. Scrunches up as close to her as he can get. She wraps an arm around him and they both close their eyes.

--

She’s bouncing today, hyper from something. He doesn’t really want to know what could make someone hyper at seven- thirty in the morning.

Japanese pop. He realizes, with a tiny laugh that surprises him. Straight from the soundtrack of Gravitation.

She pops down the bus, humming the tune and a few words. She only speaks the Japanese she’s learned from the anime she watches with subtitles. Halfway to him, she breaks into song, and he sings along with the only phrase he knows.

Toki o koetai

I wanna transcend time.