We didn’t discuss whether it was a date, but we did agree that going to either of our houses was not a good idea.

Even if we insisted our relationship was strictly platonic, my mother would never believe it and she wouldn’t leave us alone.

Clair’s family was at least rational, but she wasn’t allowed male visitors.

After ruling out our houses, the options were down to an arcade in the mall, an ice cream shop, or one of many local playgrounds.

The arcade was ideal, but Clair had been the one to suggest the creamery so I agreed and we went with that.

I couldn’t shake my nerves. Once we left the school grounds it became harder not to focus on the fact that I was walking alone with my crush. Neither of us spoke, and for the most part I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, but when I worked up the courage to look at her, I was surprised to see her looking back at me.

She was beaming like she’d won some sort of prize, but it only lasted a moment. Her cheeks flushed red and she turned away—her excitement vanishing just as quickly. I looked back at the concrete.

A few more minutes passed, then Clair whispered, “So… What do you think of school?”

I struggled to suppress a scoff as I answered, “It’s okay, I guess.”

“What’s your favorite subject?” she asked.

“Probably English,” I replied, thinking of how I loved to read, especially fantasy novels. 

There was another period of silence that felt uncomfortably long, despite lasting less than a minute.

I realized I was being too clammy, so I added, “I like reading; and writing, but I’m not so good at that.”

“Really?” she said. “I bet you’re better than you think. You should show me.”

“Show you my stories? Absolutely not. I’d sooner burn them.”

Clair stopped and glared at me. “What’s the point of writing if you’re just going to keep it all to yourself?” She moaned. “If you didn’t want to share, you would’ve just kept it all in your head.”

She was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to see it. The thought alone was enough to give me a heart attack. If I showed her my scribbles and she laughed, or worse, thought it boring… I’d rather not risk finding out how much that would hurt.

“Sorry…it’s not that I don’t want to share, but—”

“You’re scared I won’t like it right? Then how about an exchange; I’ll show you my art journal and you’ll show me your best story.”

“That’s not exactly—”

“Good, it’s a deal then.” She declared with a determination that told me her mind was made up.

Sighing, I nodded. I might’ve agreed, but I hoped she wasn’t planning on doing the exchange today—or any time soon. I had a story I could show her, but emotionally I just wasn’t ready.

“I like reading too.” Clair said as we stepped into the ice cream parlor and took our place in line. 

We talked about our favorite books and authors as we waited in line and discovered that our interests aligned. We liked some of the same books, and had the same favorite genre—fantasy stories about a land of magic.

At some point, we stepped out of line without getting any ice cream and found a table, on the patio outside the shop, to continue our discussion. Before I knew it, the sun was setting. 

As she tucked a strand of hair behind her hair, Clair smiled and said, “I had a great time.”

“Me too,” I replied. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked, her green eyes alive with joy. 

I nodded.

Then with a smile, she got up and started to walk away. 

“Wait, Clair.”

Reaching out, I caught her wrist. I could see the confusion in her eyes as she turned back to face me.

“Is something wrong?” She asked. 

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have a reason for stopping her. I just wanted more time. If magic was real I’d find a way to stop time. Then my dream resurfaced, flooding my mind with the horrific scene of a dying dragon, but also, I recalled Clair’s presence in the dream.

“Can I tell you a story?” I asked.

She nodded, so I began. “It starts with a prince, an elf; his name is Silvon. He lives in a place called Faerelle and one day, two dragons visit the realm…”

The whole time I talked, she listened intently, growing more interested with each detail. She never interrupted and when I finished, she asked, “Is there more?”

Shaking my head, I admitted, “It was actually a dream I had last night, but I’ll think about it and see if I can continue the story.”

Clair nodded vigorously, then she pressed both hands flat on the table. “You can’t just leave Silvon like that. And what about Lumia? There’s so much still unresolved.”

I appreciated her encouragement, but couldn’t stop myself from chuckling at her reaction. I had been expecting her to find the story disturbing, but she was actually invested. 

“You’re right Clair, I’ll definitely work on it. As soon as it’s ready I’ll show it to you, but next time it’ll be in written form.”

“Alright,” Clair said. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew a sketch book and handed it to me. “…and as we agreed, I’ll show you my art.”

It was a pink spiral bound notebook with a lone tree on the cover. As soon as I opened it, I found myself crying, but I couldn’t say why. The first picture was of a sprawling meadow. A single tree stood at its center and thousands of flowers swayed in the breeze around it. The drawing seemed to come alive the more I studied the picture. Motes of fog crept in from the edge of the page as if trying to hide the scene from view and faces of animals I thought I saw in the background disappeared.

“This is amazing.” I said.

She remained silent.

Looking up, I discovered Clair had gone. Probably as soon as I opened the sketch book she took off. A sense of pride welled up as I realized how big a step this must’ve been for her. I wanted to tell her how moving the drawing was, but I’d be sure and let her know tomorrow.