Not a Sound

I don't want to sit in the hallway outside the band room again, but I do anyway from force of habit. When school is over, I avoid the trumpet-boy's gaze.

Something touches my shoulder.

I look up and feel my face flame. Of course, it's the boy with the trumpet-that-looks-like-a-briefcase and his bright orange sweatshirt. I feel my face flame. I'm sorry about yesterday, he says. I didn't mean anything offensive. I just didn't know and that's been eating me up all day, so please accept my apology.

I nod. I feel a wheedling feeling twinge in my chest and I wish he'd go away.

Okay. You okay? I mean - never mind. He shakes his head as if to clear it. Can I make this up to you somehow? I'll buy you lunch or something.

I give him an OK sign with my hand. I hope he can understand that I'm fine and he doesn't need to do anything.

Okay for lunch? Is that what you mean? He's confused.

My face flushes even more. I swipe my hands in front of my chest. No. No it's okay, I try to motion. I'm perfectly fine. I give the OK sign again.

The boy looks at me, as if deciphering what I'm trying to get across, but a grin crawls across his face and the dimple pokes into his cheek. I have a feeling he understands, but there's a mischievous glint in his dark green eyes.

Okay, so no seafood, but lunch is okay, he says.

It feels like my entire body is on fire from embarrassment. No, I swipe my hands. I'm fine.

Okay, I'll see you tomorrow here at lunch?

I feel myself start to sweat and swallow repeatedly. I want to shake my head, but I don't know what to do. A nervous smile breaks out onto my face.

Cool, the trumpet-boy says. I'll see you then.