A/N: Meep is back! :3 Thank you for being here.

Chapters will be kept short, around 1000 words each, in order for me to focus on admission exams and update weekly as well.

I’ve never met someone like her before. I had my share of crazy girls, depressed girls, rebellious girls, nerdy girls, shy girls, mean girls. Young was none. And nothing I tried ever worked on her. It was slowly driving me mad. I had spent so much time trying to get under her skin that I only realized she was the one who got under mine when it was already too late.

I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out anything about her and the closer I got to her, the more questions surfaced and left me baffled. She fascinated me. When I first met her, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and she didn’t interest me. I thought she was just another lonely, nerdy girl who would be easy to seduce, but even after ten minutes of talking to her I could tell I was wrong. Her cool air, her composure, her silence, her resistance to triviality and, most importantly, her resistance to me left me speechless.

Being around her and getting to know her better, I had grown to love her subtle smile, her care for everything around her, her kindness, her bravery, the way she never tried to hide her feelings and even her rare temper. Yet she had clouded eyes, and that was something I wanted to change. I didn’t understand at that time why she seemed to bear a burden that was over her power to carry, but seeing her struggle made me want to shelter her.

*

I always found her reading during breaks. Books, magazines, short stories, she was mesmerized by them. She’d push her glasses up with her index finger when she was sure no one was watching and tuck her hair behind her ears so no rude strand of hair would get in her way and lower her visibility. So many times I walked up to her and she wouldn’t notice me until I called out her name. Interrupting her almost made me feel a tinge of guilt. I wanted to be able to entertain her as much as those books I ended up despising, but I could rarely start any conversation that seemed worthwhile. I wasn’t used to this. Could I really not catch her attention? I decided I didn’t want to seem ignorant, so I asked, “What are you reading?”

“Sylva Plath,” she replied, noticing my discomfort upon never hearing that name. It made her smile, but this time it was as if she was teasing me. At least she wasn’t mocking me.

“Do you like to read?” Her question unexpectedly filled the silence.

“Yeah... sure...”             

Not even I believed myself. This time she giggled, but there was no trace of judgment in her laughter. I could tell she saw right through my efforts, yet she was encouraging me like an older, more mature person would gently urge someone on. I found it so endearing it made me grin.

“Why do you enjoy reading so much?”

She fidgeted and took her time to answer. For sure, she could’ve given me endless reasons or even write a whole paper that would clear up the mystery of why she’s always carrying a book. Biting her lip nervously, she looked even more intriguing. The limited reply surprised me: “It makes me forget about this world.”

Why would someone want to disconnect themselves so often? There was something she was hiding and I was sure it was the same thing that clouded her eyes.

“When I dance, I forget about the world as well.”

After I said that, she looked into my eyes for the first time. Young was definitely an expert at avoiding eye contact, but this time she seemed to feel closer to me.

“Teach me how to dance as well.”

*

“How did you enjoy the movie?”

In my attempt to learn more about her I had taken her to the latest chick flick. And I did learn a valuable lesson: she was completely, utterly allergic to cliché romance. What kind of girl was she? What would she enjoy seeing? At this point I was sure even a sport biography would have been a better movie choice. She smiled softly before answering, “You’re not going to choose the movie next time.”

“So that means you’ll go out with me again?”

I felt embarrassed myself at the childlike enthusiasm in my voice, but it made her smile wider. She was the only person who could take me back to my nervous naive middle school years, as if all the dating experience before counted for nothing. Hearing her say “yes” was enough to keep me smiling for the rest of the week.

*

I went into Young’s room only once, and even then she warned me she’d kill me if I made a move, although she sounded as if she was joking and she grinned playfully. I could tell it’d make her uncomfortable and I wasn’t going to abuse my new-found privileges and see our connection go down the drain. I had finally gained her trust.

The room looked nothing like I had expected it to. One of the walls was midnight blue and here comes the surprising part: she had painted stars and constellations with the utmost care. I could almost picture her wearing gloves and silly paint wear, holding a small brush and squinting her eyes at all the tiny details and measurements.

“This is amazing!” I realized I ended up saying that loud. “What kind of paint is it?”

“Luminescent,” she smiled, blushing just slightly, from the embarrassment of having someone see the intimacy of your personal space.

I kept surveying the room and noticed that the wall wasn’t the only surprising thing, just the one which stood out the most. In front of the window, there was a makeshift telescope. It was obvious the only money she had put into it went on the lenses, while the rest was built creatively with whatever she could find. I was now even more stunned, I had no idea she could create something like that so cleverly and skillfully. On the desk, there was a rocket model that seemed to have taken hours to make. The rest of her walls were covered in posters of scientists I never heard of, charts I couldn’t read and blueprints that I couldn’t figure out.

*

Our most successful date was definitely when I took her to the observatory. Afterwards I walked her home and I asked her to tell me more about why she loves astronomy so much. I never heard her talk so full of passion before. Her eyes were sparkling while she kept telling me stories, starting with acclaimed subjects such as supernovas, the Apollo program and Laika. After that she moved on and started telling me that if you pressed metals together in space they would fuse like Legos, that summer on Uranus lasts for 42 years and she’d miss the snow, that in zero gravity, a candle’s flame is round and blue. I never wanted her to stop and I wished I could find a way to make sure she’d never lose the spark in her eyes. But in the end, I was the one who left.

*