Her name is ‘Lu Han’, but she tells everyone to call her ‘Xiaolu’ because ‘Lu Han’ is a boy’s name. The name fits her, I think, because it means ‘little deer’ in chinese. She’s five-foot-two, which is certainly little compared to my six-foot-one. Her eyes resemble those of a young fawn’s, wide and glistening with a moist sheen. All the boys look at her when she walks into the room, her petite, demure appearance making her a hot topic at school. 

 

It is a cold, January day. I am sitting on a ledge with her at the local beach. This is a familiar thing for the two of us. We come here every two weeks, Fridays after school. It’s been a ritual for God knows how long.  A long, lit cigarette is lodged between her index and middle fingers. A part of me wants to say, ‘Sixteen is too young to be smoking a pack a week,’, but instead, all I say is, “I think it’s going to rain soon.” I also want to offer her my jacket, but I don’t.

 

Her lips twitch up into a pretty little smile, and I feel like it’s not going to rain anymore. “If anything, it’ll snow. Temperatures are below freezing,” she says. It’s almost like she’s pretending that she’s wearing more than a t-shirt, mini skirt, and knee-high stockings. Our legs are dangling off the ledge and her bare thigh is almost touching my bare hand, but that’s okay. My hand creeps a little closer, fingers almost coming to brush against her skin.

 

This is the same outfit she was wearing when I met her. There’s a schedule on the door of her room that tells her when to wear each outfit. She thinks no one notices, but they do. Everyone notices everything about her, because she’s so different. Really, she’s almost ethereal, with the way she talks and the way her words captivate her audience. Her thin lips almost accentuate her quiet words, her long legs almost accentuate her small strides.

 

“You think it’s gonna snow?” I look up at the sky. From my peripherals, I can see her nod and take a long drag from her long cigarette, the smoke sprouting from her lips just a few moments later. She’s usually silent, and when she does speak, her voice comes out raspy. She used to tell me all about how much she wanted to become a singer, but I think she got into a fight with her parents about it or something. Sometimes, she still sings for me, and it still sounds gorgeous, the melodies flowing from in a melodic manner.