Writer's Wednesday || Part 6 - The Acquaintance

So, I'm thinking for posts like this, I should have those little buttons at the bottom of the post that you can click to give quick feedback. Well, instead of them being things like "funny" or "creative" or "inspirational" I'm thinking I should have them be like "gasp" or "aaaaaawesomenesss" or "plot twist" or "NOOO!"
What'cha'll think?
Hope you enjoy this!

- Part 6 -

The Acquaintance

Dyaln Bryant sat in the dark of the ice cream shop.

He leaned with his forehead against the glass of the front door, his breath fogging up the windows. It was only a few more minutes until April would come around the corner. She got off work at the fabric store at 6:40 every night. Dylan got off work at the ice cream shop at 6:30, but he didn't mind waiting ten minutes if it meant he got to walk April home. Of course, she never needed to know that. She just thought they happened to have the same route home at the same time each evening. Dylan actually lived three or four miles the opposite direction from her house where he left her every night, but she didn't need to know that either.

A flicker of movement caught Dylan's eye. April was coming around the corner. Quickly, he wiped his condensed breath off the glass, turned the sign in the front from OPEN to CLOSED, then went out the door and locked it behind him.

"Hey," smiled April as she approached, heels clicking on the pavement. She was wearing a pink dress. Her honey colored hair was silky in the sunset's light and she was shyly clutching her leather bag, the same way she always did.

Dylan grinned back, "Hey."

It had been only been a few months since they met, but Dylan could hardly remember what he had done before that night in the park. He couldn't get the girl out of his head. April Portlynn. Maybe it was because that was the Name in his head. The Name he had always heard in the back of his mind since his earliest memories. Why had it been there? How?

They walked out of the town square, down the road to the entrance of the park. April always watched him light the lampposts before continuing down to the neighborhoods. Dyaln unlocked the supplies shed hid in the bushes beside the park gate, took out his light-pole, and set it to life with a flame from his match.

Most nights they were alone in the park. April would tell him about the books she had read that day while waiting for customers in the store. Dylan would tell her how many kids he had made snort milkshake out of their noses at the ice cream shop.

She had just finished describing the Norse mythology book she had read as he lit a lamppost, when they saw a figure stride into the pooling light of the park path. It was a boy, perhaps a year younger than Dylan. He was short and skinny with shaggy blond hair and a pair of round glasses perched on his thin noise. A stack of books was grasped in his hands.

"Hello," greeted April brightly, startling the boy. He looked up from the gravel path in front of him to take in Dylan and April.

"Hello," he replied, voice wavery.

"You work at the library, don't you?" asked April.

The boy adjusted his glasses uncomfortably, mumbling, "Yes."

"I'm April," April thrust out her hand, smiling warmly.

"Dylan," said Dylan.

The boy shook their hands hastily, his eyes constantly darting around the park. Dylan felt bad for the kid. He knew his type. They were the ones who sat in the farthest corner of the classroom at school and didn't make eye contact.

When the boy didn't say anything, April asked politely, "What's your name?"

"… Richard," the kid cleared his throat, "Richard Stallings."

April smiled again, "It's nice to meet you. Maybe we'll see you around sometime."

"Maybe." The boy pushed past and hurried on down the park path, into the growing shadows of dusk.

"Weird kid," observed Dylan.

April pushed him playfully, "Don't be rude."

"I wasn't! Weird isn't an insult… Just an observation."

April rolled her eyes, but was smiling. Dylan lit the last lamp. They continued back out of the park. 


Now I want ice cream...

~The Scribbler in the Attic