The rollerblading story, v. 1

He saw her there every day without fail. Rollerblading along with a vacant expression on her face, paying no attention to where her feet went, moving with natural grace. She never fell, which made Eliot a little regretful. He would have liked to help her up.

Eliot loved skating; the ice rink was too far, so he went to the roller rink instead. He didn't mind the obsolete music or the kids that came up to his knees and always fell, startlingly, onto their backs and then got up again with dazed looks and tooth-missing grins. He was by now an expert. He used rollerblades, not rollerskates, as did the girl.

She was pretty, he thought. He had never been much of a Casanova at school. In fact, he'd never really had a girlfriend at all. He had been the fat kid; now he was average weight, muscled even, what with all the skating, for hours sometimes. He would of course have shifted to the streets and begun exploring his town, making friends, maybe, if it weren't for the skating girl, who drew him back to the rink still.

After about four months (she had, he guessed, moved to town and quickly located the rink, as any dedicated skater would) he managed to get up the courage to speak to her. They were almost alone, discounting a competent old woman and about four small children with their hassled mother. "You're pretty good at this," he said, squeakily.

"Thanks," she replied after a pause in which she looked at him, startled, and he blushed. "Um, you are too."

Her voice was gentle, melodic. "I'm Eliot," he blurted out.

She lifted a graceful eyebrow. "That's nice." Then she pushed off again.

Eliot felt crushed for a little while. But his admiration of the girl stubbornly pulled itself up (with gravelly hands), dusted itself off, and declared itself unwounded. She was still beautiful and clever and mysterious. She didn't want him to know her name because she naively thought it added appeal, not realizing how much she already had. She didn't speak because she was listening, because she was thinking, pondering, maybe even wondering. Eliot grew steadily more enamored of her.

Two weeks later he tried again. "Hello," he said, trying to be cordial as he put on his skates expertly. She had arrived, for once, at the same time as he and was putting hers on as well. Somehow being on flat feet made her disappointingly human. But he didn't really mind, not really.

"Hi," she said.

"I'm Eliot."

"I know."

"Um." Eliot was blushing again, probably. "What's your name?" he tried.

She glared. "Amanda," she finally relented.

"Nice to meet you." He held out a sweaty hand.

She nodded regally, stood, and glided away.

It took a little longer for Eliot to bounce back from that, but nevertheless he managed to. He skipped skating for a while, went to a different rink, but felt the loss keenly. So he returned one day. Amanda was there, of course. He was a little let down that she hadn't quit because he had-- but maybe she had! Maybe she had but knew he would be back today! And why not?

"I haven't seen you for a while," she said when he caught up to her. It was the first time she'd initiated conversation. Eliot felt so encouraged by this that he had to pull out his trump card, the question he'd been saving up for months and now was about to explode out of him.

"Um, can I... can I buy you a drink." His tongue darted out over his dry lips. Adrenaline pumped through his body. He brushed a hand across his forehead.

Amanda gave him a scornful, scathing look. "Sorry, I'm not interested in nerdy rollerbladers."