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She shakes her head. The school T-shirt she is wearing is itchy at the collar, and she scratches at her neck absently. No. I must stay. That's my purpose. The rebels may try to retake the town. He has divested himself of his shirt and pants, and lies on the bed in his underwear. On her dressing table a small stereo bops away with a funk rhythm, the tiny cosmetic cases littered on the table shuddering with each walloping beat. She finishes applying blush to her cheeks and turns to face him. You're sure you have enough, she says. Yes. Come over. The stereo plays a new song, a love song. A piano spins a descending line that ends with a winsome tinkle, a memory of love yet to be lost.  |
The singer, trilling with emotion, almost whispers: I've been on a chase all my life…chasing someone like you… She approaches the bed shyly, her hands behind her back, her head tilted to one side, a pigtail brushing against her shoulder. Can I tell you something? she says. He stares at her with his nearsighted eyes, the breath caught in his chest, and he whispers: Yes. I've always liked you, she finishes. She is now on the bed, kneeling down over him. I've liked you since the first moment I saw you. I feel the same way too, he replies. He has said as such thousands of times in his head, dozens of times out loud, but for the first time he realizes he  |
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