Ice Cream Innocence

I love her innocence. I love how she never gets the perverted jokes high schoolers will usually tell to amuse their equally dull-witted friends. I love how she favors old-fashioned strawberry ice cream over different varieties and flavor combinations the factories churn out. I adore the way she chews on her nails when she's nervous, how her bright blue eyes get wide and round when she's surprised, how polite she is to everyone. Her favorite color is a light blue, which seems to fit her personality- shy, but definitely there. It's amazing how she can keep silent in her group of laughing friends, but still stand out to me at the same time.

She is silent a lot. It isn't that she can't think of something to say; no, she only speaks when she has something important to say. Her innocence makes her seem simple minded, but she is actually extremely intelligent, something I respect as well as admire. Her grades prove that fact well enough.

Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her.

I had been watching her. We share a couple classes together- orchestra and accelerated geometry- and I overhear one of her friends trying, and failing miserably, to convince her to go to the homecoming dance.

My pulse jumps and I automatically rub my hands against my jeans. They tend to sweat when I'm excited or nervous. Or both.

She doesn't have a date. The thought bounces around in my mind for the remainder of the day. Who cared about corresponding angles? What did the periodic table of elements have to do with me? She didn't have a date!

How would I ask her? Would she say yes?

She is the intelligent type- not too romantic, but definitely not emotionless. It wouldn't be wise, I knew, to embarrass her in front of her friends and ask her out during school. Not to mention the fact that it would put her on the spot, and I knew from the way she analyzed things and mulled over her thoughts before speaking a single word that she would not like that at all.

What should I do?

I rub my palms against my jeans again, the movement comforting me somehow. I tell my heartbeat, which had started pounding wildly, to calm down.

What does she like?

Okay, stupid question. I know what she likes. I practically know her better than I know myself. She's a quiet, introverted girl. Her favorite color is light blue. She particularly enjoys strawberry ice cream and she has a fetish for those cute cocker spaniels with the annoying barks and poofy tails.

Those are only things she likes, her personality. I almost ache to know more, but I know it would take a lifetime for me to know her inside and out. It's so strange, how I can fall in love with a girl but know so little things about her. I don't think I have even had a real conversation with her.

Lost in my thoughts, I walk blindly to the instrument storage room, bumping into someone. I apologize quickly and my eyes focus on the girl I bumped into.

What was that saying? The one about karma being a five-letter word?

I swallow and bend down to pick up some of the folders she accidentally dropped when we collided. My eyes connect to those soulful blue ones and the intensity of her gaze almost make me want to hurl. After returning to her a pile of books and folders, all haphazardly shuffled into a messy pile, I straighten and wipe my hands on my pants.

She thanks me.

I smile awkwardly.

She turns to go, but before she does, I ask her to go to homecoming with me. The question spills out before I can even think about what I'm saying.

She blinks, her cobalt eyes enlarge, and she looks surprised.

I look down to the floor, abashed, telling her it was her choice and I wouldn't be offended if she didn't want to go. With me, I quickly add.

She tells me matter-of-factly that she thought I would have known by now.

Known what? I voice this question.

She smiles a rare smile at me, and I can feel my heart hammering. She tells me she thought I would have known by now that she had no interest in going to homecoming.

I mentally smack myself on the forehead. Was I that obvious?

She, again, turns to leave, but with her back facing me, informs me that she wouldn't mind going out with me sometime.


A couple months later, we're sitting at the small shop downtown that boasts homemade ice cream while everyone else is at the dance. The diner reminds me of one of those old 90's stores, where candy costs a penny a piece and records play in the background.

I tell her this, and she laughs. I love that sound.

She's licking at her strawberry ice cream contentedly, and I can't help but smile.

A/N: Edited, but barely. One of my favorite oneshots.