Page 46 of Jagged

Nothing.

"Clem."

Nada.

"Clementine." I leaned my skateboard against the wall and folded my arms when I stood barely a foot away from her. It took her a moment to notice me, and it started with my shoes.

"Those are vintage Vans," she said, her voice perky as she set her book down.

"I mean, I'm pretty vintage myself so…it works." I didn't move as she continued to stare at my shoes, but only then did I notice hers. Coupled with her sleek, but relaxed, outfit, she wore a pair of black-and-white saddle shoes. I hadn't seen anything like them since I was a kid forced into Easter dresses by my grandma. "I like your shoes."

"Oh." She smiled when she uncrossed her legs and pressed her feet together. "Do you?"

"I do." I chuckled and finally broke whatever bizarre stalemate we entered to sit down across from her.

"Thank you. They're not very new. I've always liked them. Oxfords, too." Eventually, she looked up at me and set her book down on the table. I noticed the title, O Alquimista, by Paulo Coelho.

"The Alchemist?" I pointed at the book when I recognized the name of the author. "I've read that. In English though. A long time ago."

"It's a very good story," she said, turning the book over. Only then did I notice the worn pages. "It's one of my favorites. I've never read it in English though… This copy is in Brazilian." She scrunched up her nose for a fleeting moment.

"Tatiana makes that face, too. Whenever people think Portuguese people are all Brazilian or when people think Brazilian Portuguese is European Portuguese."

"It's a real thing." She chuckled and her gaze finally flickered to meet mine. "How are you?"

The sudden on point social engagement sent off a wave of anxiety through me and I responded robotically. "I'm good. How are you?"

"Good," she replied, though the awkwardness seemed to take hold of her, too.

We shared an unusual quiet moment until I managed to break it. "Can I get you something?" I motioned to the short-haired woman who carried out the fresh tray of brownies to the front case. "They make great brownies here. Almost everything is vegan."

"Are you vegan?" she asked, her brows lifting with interest.

"Not really? I mean, I tend to eat mostly vegan or vegetarian, but mainly because I hate, absolutely loathe, cooking," I admitted. "I tend to choose vegan or veg items though."

"Fruits and vegetables are the best," she said, simply, without an inkling of judgment.

"Are you vegan?"

She shook her head. "Not particularly. I will eat anything but do so reasonably."

"What do you mean?"

"I try to buy sustainably sourced products. Like pasture-raised farm eggs and if I buy meat, very little or from the same circumstances." Her gaze flickered in my direction, though it appeared with caution as if she worried that I would criticize that.

"I'm here for that. It's how it should be. Things are much better now overall since they passed that bill. Especially here in Washington."

"Yes." Her smile broadened suddenly. "In New York and California, too."

"Yeah." I nodded and felt myself relaxing into the conversation for the moment. In just the short period of time, we covered literature, our dietary preferences, and pretty much disclosed our liberal leanings. My mind continued to evaluate the process, but also looked for a way to bring up what she sent me and what she meant by it.

When quiet fell again, she ran her fingers through her hair, lending light to the natural highlights that cascaded through the lengths of it. She tucked it behind her ear again and glanced at me. The tiniest hint of makeup made her eyes stand out, and the lights above us brought them to a humble twinkle. Clementine was beautiful, and I'd be an idiot to not admit it. She almost always wore a serious expression, which was difficult for me to interpret most of the time. Did I upset her? Is she mad at me? My thoughts berated me.

"How come you sent me that quiz?" I blurted out without an ounce of tact.

"Because I think you're interesting," she said, rather blandly.

"Interesting? You hardly know me."

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