Weighing

He watches her approach from one end of the field. From far away he knows it's her by the way she moves. Upright, but floaty. Yes, Janine floats down the field. His limbs feel heavy when he sees her walk that way. She's breathless. She sits down beside him. Did your mother tell you I called? He looks at her. There's a hole in his chest, a space to fall down into.

Federico?

The trees are waving their arms her way. The wind blows her hair round her face. He puts his hands in his pockets.

Were you trying to impress me?

Federico tilts his head. From that angle the green field and oaks revolve around her. There's a lot he'd like to tell her, but his throat feels closed over, his body silencing itself. She looks away from him and turns her palms to the sky as if praying, or receiving. She speaks quietly. Has anyone said anything to you about the fire? This is not the conversation he wants. He shakes his head. He is exposed here on this strange green with this girl and her beautiful hands reckoning with him. Those paint guys haven't got jobs now, they said so in the paper. Anger, like a bolt, shoots through his spine. He stands up. Where are you going? He shrugs. Federico … you can't just ignore me. Her cheeks go red. He turns and walks away, towards the school gates. Her voice calling him is a moth caught in his ear.