That’s all I’ve had to eat today,” I add. “But no tomato soup, chocolate pudding, or raspberry applesauce. “Are you okay?”Ī guy who looks like a young Abraham Lincoln with a piercing fetish tosses a single-page laminated menu onto my table. “Five classes beside each other, twelve classes together total.” We’ve sat beside each other in a ton of classes.” Josh glances around, as if searching for someone, and then cautiously sets down his pen. I erupt into a smile that immediately vanishes. You can pronounce my name.” Most people call me Iz-la, but I’m Eye-la. For a long time, a very long time, he just stares at me. Three years of desire rip through my body and burst from my lips: The atmosphere is clouded with bittersweet coffee. He’s close, only two tables over and facing my direction. My heart swells with a painful sort of euphoria.
Shoulders rounded down, head cocked to the right, nose an inch from the tip of his pen. His posture is as familiar as a recurring dream. It’s midnight, it’s sweltering, and I might be high on Vicodin, but that guy – that guy right over there – that’s him.
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