By Pommy

Arnika smiled softly, her eyes teasing his, withdrawing slowly every time his attempted to make contact. The rose carefully placed in his bag suffered another blow as he turned around ever so slightly. She was sitting just too far away for it to be easy, and just near enough for it to be possible, he knew that and she knew that. Inside his bag, a petal fell from the stem and floated gently to the base of the bag.
Unknowing of the events within his bag, her eyes rolled sideways, and settled on her can of coke. Around her the polite titter of conversation continued, filling her senses with a tinge of annoyance, but her mind was concentrated on attempting to look sophisticated and beautiful. Michael was also deep in thought, searching for inspiration to ask her out; it wasn't any feature on her face which was outstanding, she didn't have beautiful eyes, she didn't have beautiful complexion, it was just the whole effect that seemed to fit perfectly together and produce something wonderful.
Both wondered silently about each other, although it’s fair to say they had done so for the last few years. Nothing had happened; both had continued the flirtation, slow and drawn out. Michael had pined, Arnika had dreamt, but nothing had ever come from it.
Today was different though; Michael had bought a rose to make sure he went through with it. It had taken three weeks to bring up the nerve to ask for a rose, and another week to bring it to school. He felt the flux of adrenoline, his heart beating heavily and turned around. She felt his attention draw towards him, and took a deep breath, "perhaps" she thought under her breath.
"I've err got somethi..rea...w...um...lllre..." He could feel the words twisting around his tongue, he gasped for air.
"Still suffering from that awful tongue disorder I see." She said, smiling the smile that melted his defences everytime, "Good luck in getting over it."
Both stared at each other for a moment longer and in an awkward instant, turned back to their food. Michael felt disbelief flowing through his body, this was the day, he'd planned it. He would have to try again, later though, he started playing with his food and preparing himself.
To his horror, the bell rang sharply, lunch break was over. Inside both, some chord twanged, as if to silence any love tunes left playing. Michael quickly stood up and walked over stiffly, "You're looking particularly ravishing today Arnika."
Her eyes fluttered upwards in mock gratitude, "You too, Michael dear."
A silent look again passed between them, a cross between acknowledgement and cynicism.
To his alarm, Michael felt the sting of the comment rising in his throat, after a brief struggle he let it go, "When I say ravishing, I of course mean ready to be ravished, I'd be watching out on that long walk home, you can never be sure of us teenage boys."
Arnika pulled a halfhearted face at him, turned swiftly and strolled towards the girls lockerbay. Inside, she dreamt shamelessly of the possibilities of his comment.
Michael cursed softly, and in turn turned away, making towards the boys lockerbay.
Suddenly he felt a last flicker of confidence burning and turned around, "Arnika?"
She broke from her dreams in an instant and pirouetted on her heels, "Yes?"
Their eyes met, for a second both searched, Michael felt the words rising in his throat, but it had taken the last flame to say anything, "You got English next?"
She felt a cloud of disappointment settle on her senses but shrugged it off, "Yeah, see you there?"
"Yeah, remember the spot test."
She nodded and after an instant of hesitation began moving away, he watched for a second, thought of saying something but forgot about it. It was over; there would always be another lunchtime, another day. As he turned, the rose touched the side of his bag, and a few petals dislodged themselves from the stem and began floating down, only a few remained.
As he let it loose in his mind, and the rose slowly died, she turned. Confidence began to burn feverishly, if he couldn't do it, she would have to. She called gently over the lockerbay, "Michael…Michael?"
He didn't turn around: his mind was elsewhere, and she had called too softly for him to hear without straining. She looked at his retreating back and stared in disbelief. Inside paranoia started flowering, he heard her and deliberately ignored her, it had all been a mistake, she'd just dreamt the flirtation, it was never anything. There would be no other days, she thought her heart breaking softly, it is over. The rose on cue, let its last petal float softly to the base of Michael's bag, leaving a lifeless stem, alone in the darkness.