[ WP ] Make me cry .

Though the sun was beginning to set, the air was still hot and humid enough to leave the girl's skin glazed in a light film of sweat. When she heard the bell ringing once-more outside, she ran to her bedroom window and flung it open. 
 
 “ Where are you? ” she called. 
 
 In the garden over which her window had opened, the boy had embedded himself in the hedge, along with his bike. In the past he had hidden in this spot to avoid the girl's parents, but today he was also hiding a little bit from her. 
 
 The bike-bell rang once more and his hand waved out from the hedge. 
 
 “ Give me ten minutes, ” she said. 
 
 The wind felt cool and refreshing on her face. Astride the bike's pannier rack, the girl listened to the wheel squeaking underneath her weight. She was holding on to the boy only by the points of his hips, a fact which the boy noticed and which made him worry, though he could not bring himself to ask her to hold him tighter. Although she wanted to do just that, to lock around his waist, to nuzzle in and rest her cheek within the warm, strong valley of his back, she appeared, outwardly, as if the only thing of interest to her was whatever happened to be passing them by in the street at that very moment. She spoke of these things in a very rapid and meaningless way that sought no reply. 
 
 They went to a mutual friend ’ s house party. The girl had been accepted into a college on the other side of the country. This would be their final evening together. 
 
 “ The sheets are fresh,'' the friend said with a wink after leading them to the bedroom. Then the friend closed the door and left, leaving the two of them together, alone. He sat down on the bed beside her, and their arms fell in such a way that back of her hand rubbed against the back of his own. It was warm. 
 
 The boy tried to motivate himself by listening to the music coming through the floor, but in its thumping repetitions he found no solution to the seemingly insurmountable problem of making the first move. Suddenly, the girl beside him began to weep. Blotch by blotch, her cheeks flushed red. He realised that this was first time another person had ever cried because of him, or for him. As she cried, she sometimes paused to sniffle, and, when she wiped away a tear, he felt the wetness, gifted from the back of her hand to his. 
 
 For the rest of his life he would recall the coolness of those tears whenever he heard that song. 
 
 “ I need more time, ” she said. 
 
 “ It ’ s fine. ” 
 
 His reply caused her to flinch, as though she had forgotten he was there and had been speaking to herself. She leapt from the bed and fled to the on-suite bathroom, locking the door behind her as she disappeared. 
 
 In her earlier hurry to prepare for the party, the girl had forgotten to change her underwear. Now she was mortified the boy might take one glimpse at the yellow ducks and begin to laugh uncontrollably. She hid them under the sink. 
 
 The girl ’ s nervous smile as she emerged from the bathroom lightened the boy ’ s spirits. When she returned, he took her in his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 Afterwards, when they were leaving the party, the boy was unable to find the bicycle where he had stowed it. Then he noticed that the girl, having gone ahead of him, was waiting on the side-walk with the bike in her hands. When she noticed the boy ’ s gaze, it suddenly occurred to her that she had taken his bicycle. Had her action inadvertently confessed to the boy how she felt inside, that she, too, belonged to him? 
 
 The boy could not ask her to clasp him tighter, and the girl could not bring herself to encircle his waist or nuzzle his back. But, still, somehow the streets that took them back home were different.
