She sits alone in the same seat she's sat in for the past twelves hours, and they're beginning to wonder if she has anywhere else to go, which, honestly, is the only reason they haven't told her to leave yet. She's sat there eating her kid's cookie (paid for in coins) crumb by crumb, as though she's afraid that once it's gone, she'll have nothing left to live for.

She stares out the window and sighs wistfully, like a kid who woke up old one morning and realized that growing up isn't all that it's cranked up to be. She's only seventeen, but she has this horrible aura of sadness around her that makes her seem so many years older, and they wonder just what must have happened to reduce a girl as beautiful as her to sitting in a Starbucks for hours and hours on end.

Her clothes are dirty and her jeans are ripping in the most unglamorous way possible, her dirty blonde hair laying limp and dead atop her pale, heart shaped face. She glances self consciously down at herself every now and then, as though she isn't used to looking like this, before she goes back to her cookie-crumb meal. She's way too skinny, they're realizing, and they're wondering how long she's been living off skimpy meals like this.

And then he walks through the door. He stands there and he sees her and he doesn't look like he has a clue what he's supposed to do, but he feels it's his obligation to do something with this poor, broken wreck of a beautiful girl.

He smiles nervously at her and she looks away and she's scared and she wants the world to stop giving her pity glances and dirty looks, as though she did anything to deserve this.

"Hey," He says uncertainly, pulling up a chair next to her and smiling. She turns and smiles at him and she's just as uncertain because, she has to admit, he's gorgeous, so what the hell would he be doing sitting with a girl like her? He's never seen her and he doesn't even know her name, but he has the nerve to pull up a chair and sit with her.

If he thinks she's desperate and he's getting laid in a couple of hours, he's got another thing coming.

"You need something?" She's asking, and even though she's trying to hard to be a hardass, and she isn't really sure if she wants this guy here or not, because she's never met him before and god knows how old he is, she still feels guilty for being mean to him.

He looks at her and he has the same look she's sure she must have. He's just like her, she's realizing, as she looks at him. He's not sure if he should try and be some tough guy or he should be the sensitive emo guy who writes about dying and spills childish philosophies laden with pretty words with the awesome hair, or if he should be the football jock, because he really can be whatever he wants to be.

But he's himself, and she can tell.

"Do you want some coffee?"

He's not asking why she's here and why she looks the way she does and if that kid's cookie is the only thing she can afford, and if she'd given him answers, she knows he wouldn't ask why she was running away and why she didn't want to go back home and why she sits here for hours and hours instead of going out to see the world, because isn't that why some teens run away?

So she smiles at him and she's being genuine this time.

"Sure."

--

It's short. Really, really short. Short enough that I actually finished it while I was going over a bridge. A 20 mile bridge, but a bride. lol

The bridge-tunnel in Virginia, if anybody's wondering. :D