Survival Of The Fittest

((Naomi Bell continued from Encyclopedia Of Ignorance))

In retrospect, perhaps Naomi had taken on too heavy a workload this year. It was becoming difficult to find time to do everything. Now she was running late on her English homework.

Okay, so she still had a couple of days to do it. But that was cutting it too close. Especially if a certain someone stole her work and drew dicks all over it again. The downfalls of having a kleptomaniac as a constant adversary were many. She needed time to rewrite her work if that happened.

Naomi scribbled down a few more lines of her English essay before taking a bite of her sandwich. She'd skipped breakfast that morning. It was why she'd chosen to work in the student center rather than the library. She would have done her homework in the cafeteria, but the recent food fight had made her wary of that particular area.

She wasn't keeping her focus entirely on the essay. She was trying, but she kept thinking about prom. She blamed the fact that everyone else kept chattering about it. Asking who people were going with, what they were wearing, plans for after parties, plans for hiring limos, etc, etc. It wasn't that she disliked prom, she just didn't like constantly talking about it when she could be focusing on other things.

This dislike had nothing to do with the fact that Naomi hadn't been asked to go to prom with anyone yet. If she had to think of something to blame this on, she'd blame the fact that she was extremely cold when it came to dating. Letting people that close tended to make her uncomfortable fairly quickly. Maybe people had caught on and decided to go with the more friendly girls.

At this rate, she'd have to ask someone. Ugh. She was not looking forward to that. She'd rather do her presidential campaign speech all over again.

Naomi sighed before taking another bite of her sandwich and returning to her work. Well, it didn't matter right now. What mattered was getting this essay done. Schoolwork always came first. If she had a choice between finishing an assignment or prom, she'd choose the assignment in a heartbeat.

(Oswaldo Marx continues from Cicada Nights)

No one understood him. Sure, they said they did. They said it was alright to be different, but that was the company line. Everyone was just... politically correct. They said a lot of things, but behind his back, he knew they were really just mocking him. He could practically hear their snickering voices in his ears... the people in the lunchroom, even his friends.

Especially his friends. The bastards. Every last one of them.

Oswaldo Marx sighed, opening up his sandwich. Tomatoes and pickles, with a wet slice of lunchmeat. He scanned nearby tables, watching for any wandering friends who might see him now at his weakest.

The coast was clear. Oswaldo pulled out the Snickers bar and unwrapped it, breaking it into tiny pieces and carefully placing them onto the tomato and lettuce.

Oh, shit was getting real now.

Oswaldo licked his lips in anticipation. His hands were actually trembling, and he cast another glance back up toward the door of the student center. The place was surprisingly empty- Naomi Bell was sitting just at the next table over, but besides that only a few second year students dotted the tables. If he acted fast, he could eat his sandwich in peace and quiet, without any prying eyes or giggling friends.

Os wasn't sure where his obsession had begun. Strange toppings on sandwiches... He'd first experienced it back in middle school, with those snack-pack mini-pizzas. Some kid had left a twix laying on the table, and Os had snatched a piece, sprinkling it on his lunch. Looking back, that was the gateway drug.

He'd experimented all throughout high school. Chips on hotdogs? Pfff. That was for the amateurs. He was an addict. Jam on tacos, bbq sauce on pizza. That was his territory. No sandwich deserved to be left to mediocrity and normalcy.

Oswaldo reached into his backpack, pulling out a ziplock bag of gummi bears, and two soy sauce packets.

Glorious.

He added the contents, making sure to douse the lunch meat in the soy sauce. His stomach made a grumbling noise, as if to protest how long he was taking in his preparation. This was an old standby- he'd invented it in Grade 10. Unfortunately, he'd run out of black olives at home, and had had to leave them out.

Finally, his monstrosity was complete. "Stomach's Ex-Girlfriend" he'd called it, due to its habit of playing wanton havoc on his bowels for a day or two afterwards. It was a rare treat, a truly bizarre concoction, and it was all his. Squishing down the top loaf of bread, twisting it around to make sure he had an even spread of its contents, Oswaldo prepared himself.

Can of coke to wash it down... iPod on standbyyyy...

He bit into the sandwich.

SWEET MOTHER OF FUCKERY AM I BLISSFUL RIGHT NOW OR WHAT.

It was moments like this when he felt the most free. Oswaldo liked the Student Center- sometimes it felt like his sanctuary. He'd never been bullied here. He had a bad habit of associating memories with places- certain hallways and washrooms in Aurora High gave him the shivers when he walked inside, and his fists always clenched. But here, everything was downright awesome.

Oswaldo munched happily on his sandwich, sneaking a sideways glance at Naomi. For a brief moment she looked his way- lacking the grace to do anything else, Oswaldo smiled and gulped down his food, before preparing to take another bite of his utterly bizarre and fantastic sandwich.

Naomi had glanced up while Oswaldo was putting together his lunch, but she hadn't really processed any of it. She'd just noted that someone was sitting over at the next table, and that said someone wasn't someone she inherently despised and thus could be ignored.

She'd gone right back to writing out some more of her essay. Depending how fast she worked, she could probably get this done by tonight. If it was done by tonight she'd have extra time to finish her history paper and then--wait, what on earth were gummi bears doing on his sandwich?

Okay, now it was processing.

Naomi looked back up at Oswaldo, who was holding what may have been the most revolting sandwich she had ever seen. Snickers and gummi bears did not belong there! Of course, she'd seen some disgusting foods. Her little sister was prone to attempting to 'cook.' But that sandwich was on an entirely different level.

And now she was staring. No, she wasn't meant to stare! Especially not at Oswaldo. What if he assumed she was staring at his burn scars? But, dear lord, that sandwich was hypnotizing. No, stop looking. Before it gets really awkward.

Too late. She was fairly certain he'd just seen her staring. Fantastic.

Alright, so you stared for far too long. Just sound casual and make it clear that you were staring at the sandwich. Without saying that the sandwich is revolting. ...Now, how do you manage that? 'People eating awkward sandwiches' is not something you're trained to respond to. How does he even digest that? It doesn't look possible.

"You must have the digestive track of a titan," Naomi said. It took her a moment to realise she'd spoken out loud. "...Erm. Sorry."

Oswaldo lowered his sandwich, scratching at the back of his head. Despite his best efforts, a bit of skittish panic crept into his action and smile. Was she making fun of him? No. Oswaldo had been made fun of for most of his life- he knew what it was like. Naomi was a different breed. She was well-meaning and overly cautious. Afraid he'll take offense.

A part of him, the self-righteous part, felt as if it was his obligation to take offence. But the rational side of him quickly squashed the notion. Naomi, like so many other people, were put off by his burns. Should she ignore them, or acknowledge them? Would that joke make him snap, or would he brush it off? Naomi was always friendly to him, but she was never THAT close. She had no way of knowing, so she apologized.

Or maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe she was just talking about his taste in sandwich? Maybe he was the one making a big deal out of something? The entire world didn't revolve around him after all...

Os, chill.

Sometimes his brain would run him ragged. Naomi was being nice to him, in an awkward way. If only he could take it at face value instead of pondering every social choice. There was a tinge of pain in his heart at the thought, but it was washed away with another growl of his stomach.

Oswaldo full out grinned as he put his food down, turning to address Naomi.

"I get that a lot," He said, as confidentially as he could. "But trust me, it's good food! It takes a little getting used to... And well, obviously its not for everyone. But ah, I really like it. Keeps lunch interesting, and I always like to try new things."

He paused for a moment, stumbling over how exactly to proceed. "Ah, I take it you stick to more mainstream meals?" Oswaldo couldn't help but blush at his own awkwardness.

I hope she was actually looking for a conversation and wasn't just going for a throw away comment there...

Thankfully, Oswaldo hadn't seemed to take offence. He'd just grinned and insisted it was good. If an acquired taste. Naomi wondered what would have led someone to put gummy bears on a sandwich in the first place. Beyond the age of seven, in any case.

"Of course. Variety is the spice of life." Naomi took a small bite of her own sandwich (although her appetite had diminished somewhat) and chewed for a few moments, so that she had time to consider her words more carefully.

She noticed him going a little bit red when he questioned her about having more mainstream tastes. Maybe she'd embarrassed him. Think about your words more carefully. No more titanic digestive system comments.

Naomi was fiddling with the pen that was still in her hand. She still felt like she was treading in the dark with this conversation. Not so much the conversation itself, but she just wasn't entirely sure where to look. When she hadn't been talking, the obvious answer had been 'don't stare at his scars or anywhere near his scars.' But now that she was talking to him... it would be obvious if she was trying not to look at them, seeing as they covered a large portion of his face.

She opted for trying to keep eye contact, making sure that her eyes didn't drift too far towards the skin grafts. Trying to act as though she didn't notice them. Even if part of her mind was obsessing over them a little. She wouldn't want to be scarred like that. It would make plastering one's face on campaign posters difficult.

"For the most part, yes. Fairly mainstream. I've tried a few stranger foods on occasion, but they were usually served in restaurants. Snails and such." Naomi took another small bite of sandwich. "And once my grandmother gave me a packet of chocolate-covered crickets, only God knows why, but they were... surprisingly decent. Although I wouldn't make a habit of it."

She could admit that to someone who ate candy-and-soy-sauce sandwiches without too much shame. They had no room to judge.

"Besides that, however, my palate isn't as... varied. Eating insects is for special occasions," Naomi said, smiling a little as she said the last part. "I'm almost tempted to steal a bite of your sandwich--curiousity, you know--but I doubt I could handle it." I don't want to throw up, thank you.

"Snails? You've tried snails before?" Os smiled, turning in his seat so he could talk to Naomi more. Thankfully, the conversation was going easier and Naomi herself was proving fun to talk to. He'd only talked to Naomi in class before, or said a brief hello in the hallways. A part of him had always seen Naomi as stuck up, always mentally examining people before engaging in conversation. But that was just a combination of his paranoia and distance from the girl. Naomi was pretty rad! And strikingly beautiful, although he didn't dare to say something so forward. Still, Naomi was a good looking girl. Even if her gaze kept twitching, back and forth, as if struggling to know where to look.

Oh. Well, he'd had that problem before. People always tried to be polite about his burns. In a way, it made Naomi all the more attractive. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. For a second his mind wandered to a common fantasy of his. Beauty and the Beast, the girl who could see past his rough and tumble outside.

Wouldn't it be great?

It wasn't exactly a hollow dream, not just yet. After all, if Rihanna could find love in a hopeless place, maybe he could to? He was fantastic at "Where's Waldo?".

"Are you talking about one of those fancy french restaurants where there's a dress code and its called Escargot? Probably with an accent somewhere in the word?" Os gave a small chuckle. He was slouching very far forward, leaning out of his seat with his shoulders nearly level with his head. It made him look like a hunchback, as his friends had told him many times, but Oswaldo didn't see that as a bad thing. He was so focused in casual conversations, hellbent on appearing normal. When he intentionally assumed such a bizarre a pose it was out of comfort.

The Doc had once said that the pose was his way of acknowledging his own problems, critiquing his burns and admitting to them and accepting them. His Dad had said it was just terrible posture.

I'm kind of inclined to agree with him for once.

"Man, sometimes my Dad would take me out to dinners at places like that. I uh, I don't always eat gross food. It's like a weird treat for me. Most of the time I eat like, a steak. Extra crispy, like me."

OH THAT WAS DARK HUMOR.

Oswaldo paused for a moment, before clearing his throat. He sat up slightly, running one of his hands through his hair.

"Oh uh. Sorry if that shocked you. I uh, I've got a kind of dark sense of humor about the whole-" Oswaldo awkwardly gestured to his face, stumbling over his words. "Uh, the whole like. Face. Burns, thing. I mean. Me and my friends, like, we don't try to ignore it. So like, y'know. Don't worry if you ah, don't really know where to look..."

And like so many conversations before, it's turned back to me talking about my ugly mug. Beauty and the Beast, this is not.

"Yes, that's the one. Escargot," Naomi said, briefly mimicking a French accent for 'escargot.' "It's quite delicious. Although it depends on the type of snail they used... I've had a couple of different kinds, one of them was extremely revolting. But I digress." Naomi kept her usual polite smile fixed onto her face, though she was still nervously playing around with the pen in her hand.

Oswaldo had shifted his sitting position into something that was reminding her of Quasimodo. Probably not the most sensitive comparison to draw, but it's what came to mind. Especially since the names even sounded somewhat similar. Though at least Oswaldo wasn't a bitter misanthrope like Quasimodo was in the original novel.

Wary of accidentally blurting out what she was thinking again, Naomi took another bite of her sandwich to prevent herself from saying anything untoward. She chose a terrible time for it, as this was when Quasi--Oswaldo made his 'extra crispy me' joke. Naomi choked on her sandwich and quickly covered her mouth to muffle the coughing. She had not been expecting such a joke.

She regained most of her composure pretty fast, but judging from Oswaldo's words he'd noticed her attempts to not look at the scars. Meadow dressing.

"Oh. It was that obvious, was it? Sorry, I just... I mean, I wasn't sure... erm..." And her composure was slipping through her fingers again. This was not a good day for keeping calm and composed. Calm. I am calm. Don't say anything ridiculous. Naomi wrapped up the remaining half of her sandwich, mostly to give her hands something to do. She'd gone a little bit pink from embarrassment. At least I haven't voiced anything too offensive out loud. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I assumed people ogling at your face would get irritating, at the very least."

"Well, it would get irritating. Yeah. I guess. But like..." He trailed off his face turning quizzical as he stumbled over his own words. What was he trying to say?

"I mean like. If someone was looking at me, and I didn't like them, then it would get irritating. Because like... if they already dislike me, their only purpose in looking at me is to make fun of me. That would be irritating. But when pretty girls look at m--"

Oswaldo slammed his mouth shut, coming to an abrupt halt. A sudden wave of heat seemed to hit him full on in the face. Quickly he ran one of his hands through his tangled brown hair, scratching, trying desperately to look busy.

Oh, was he ever pathetic. Was he ever stupid, and silly and desperate and prone to putting his foot in his MOUTH today. This was Naomi Bell. He couldn't just go and call her pretty. That was something the lead character on teenage dramas did, someone with self-confidence. He wasn't supposed to have self-confidence!

Oswaldo bit at his lip, acutely aware of how awkward his sudden silence was. He managed to get an odd half-word out of his mouth before clearing his throat and gently trying to steer himself from any further embarrassment.

"I mean, like. Not you. I mean, that as like, not to say it in a mean sense, but rather... but rather uh, saying it in the sense that uh, uh, not a flirty sense, because I'm not trying to flirt with you, that's just something I don't do, you know? I mean, I mean, nothing against YOU, no, no NOTHING against you, you're... you're very pretty yes, but I wasn't, like, when I said I don't mind pretty girls looking at me, I don't mean it in the sense that I was trying to be a Cassanova or anything and trying to... uh..."

Naomi had nodded politely and listened to Oswaldo make the distinction between 'irritating looking' and 'normal looking.' Or at least he'd started to, until he reached the phrase 'pretty girls' and quickly clammed up. Naomi blinked, but didn't react on the outside more than that. Rather, she was wondering what was the best way to react to it on the inside.

It wasn't as if it was the first time someone had referred to her as pretty, even just by implication, but they normally didn't clam up so quickly afterwards. Of course, most guys that had said that to her in the past were the sort that had the confidence to think they had a chance with her.

Naomi didn't really have a chance to come up with a fitting response before Oswaldo started babbling at the speed of light. Naomi was baffled by the stream of excuses and backtracking. Like he thought she was going to reach out and slap him just for using the phrase 'pretty.'

"Oswaldo. Breathe," she finally said, raising a hand to try and signal for him to stop babbling. "There's no need to panic. If you were trying to be a Casanova I assume you would have been much more shameless about it." She shook her head slightly. "Trust me, I've heard much more... shall we say, more 'forward' compliments.

"Besides, pretty is something that all girls like to hear. I'm flattered, thank you," she said, smiling at him. It did have a degree of truth to it. While she knew she looked fairly nice, it was always good to hear that from others. And a stream of babble and apologies, while awkward, wasn't as bad as the boys at school that fancied themselves as 'God's Gift To Women.'

Oswaldo was acutely aware of the fact that he was blushing. He raised his good hand, brushing his cheek, desperately wishing that he could just knock the red out of them. Oh, this was a disaster. This was an utter disaster. And the day had started so well too. A lazy chemistry lesson that he easily finished, his special sandwich...and now this.

Naomi's reaction wasn't as adverse as he was expecting. In fact, her flattery appeared genuine. That was the surprising bit. Oswaldo straightened in his seat and cleared his throat, a lot more calmly this time. Could he possibly salvage his self-respect?

"Sorry about that, heh. I guess I did sound kinda silly. Just ah, didn't want you to misinterpret what I was saying. I mean, I know prom is coming up..."

Oh, no, no, Oswaldo, steer clear-

"And, you've probably already got a date, what with you being, you know, as I've said, uh, pretty, so I didn't want to... Like, i know some of the guys in this school, they're a lot more forward, but uh."

He finished it up with a flurry of hand motions and a bashful smile. "You uh, know what I'm trying to say right?"

Naomi raised her eyebrow slightly when prom dates came up. She wasn't entirely sure how to interpret his babbling about that, but... was he asking her to prom? Or implying that he'd like to? Or was he trying to confirm that he didn't want to. She was a little bit confused, but... hm. She hadn't considered that.

"Well... no. No-one has asked me so far," Naomi said slowly. She wished she hadn't wrapped up her sandwich. She had no excuse to pause while she weighed up the circumstances in her mind.

On the more negative side of things, she was fairly certain some of her friends would not approve of Oswaldo. She could already see Mara giving her a rather incredulous look. Plus, she still wasn't quite certain on how to behave about the scars. ...He was also a lot shorter than her, which would probably make dancing a little bit uncomfortable.

On the other hand... going out with him couldn't harm her image. It would just make her appear like the scars didn't bother her. Like she didn't care about physical imperfections. (Biggest understatement for burn scars ever.) She tried to appear as someone who was non-judgmental and friendly, this would only help that image along. Plus, maybe by the end of the night she really would be able to forget about the scars.

On a more personal note, Oswaldo was clearly not very experienced in romantic matters, which meant he wouldn't be too pushy about... certain expectations that prom night seemed to have. (Naomi recalled Travis' embarrassing comments about not wanting to go with anyone prudish, and she was sure some other guys would have similar thoughts on the matter, even if they weren't as loud about it.)

Also, Oswaldo didn't seem to be an idiot. Which was always a bonus. He seemed like he'd be pleasant company.

Naomi was perhaps silent for a little too long while she weighed up all the pros and cons. But eventually she spoke. The words came out slowly, but they were completely steady. She didn't want to appear nervous.

"I may have misunderstood what you were saying... but if you did want to ask me to prom, I wouldn't object to it at all," she said. Good, she didn't sound nervous, nor did she sound like she was being too strong about it if she'd, in fact, muddled up what his intentions were.

Oswaldo could feel his mouth flop open and the flush on his cheeks increase. His stomach seemed to ignite with butterflies. How had this happened? He tried to swallow, but he couldn't manage it. How... how had this happened?

He needed to look away from Naomi, before it got weird. He had to- he-

HOW HAD THIS HAPPENED?

"I- I- uh," Oswaldo managed to stammer. His heart wouldn't stop pounding. It was too good to be true. It was like something out of a cheesy romance movie, the kind he'd watch and never admit to enjoying. The casual, beautiful innocence of something like Socrates in Love, only without the heartbreak. All the same, he could feel tears.

Oh, oh fuck, he couldn't cry. Not now. Oh, but that would be embarrassing. The world around him was a blur but he bottled it up, shaking hair out of his face and smiling- honestly, genuine and eager as a newborn puppy.

It was all happening so fast, like... like reality.

"I, I would love that, I would- I-" How, how did this happen? Oh god, how did this happen, how did I MAKE THIS HAPPEN?! "Yes, that is great, that's what I was trying to get at. If you want, we could... go to the prom and... yeah, that'd be great!"

He was gaining confidence now, even if he was still half out of it. It was a straight sucker punch to his heart, a perfect KO. He was resigned to going to prom alone- he hadn't even bothered to look for a date. Who would go with him? He was disgusting. He had these weird burns all over his face, and try as he might he was just an oddity to most people. But now? Almost in between blinks, Naomi had become everything. She wasn't just Naomi Bell, she was the perfect girl. Her hair looked as soft as silk, even with the frizz, her skin was perfect, and wouldn't you know it, Oswaldo had always liked green eyes more. Yes, her eyes, Naomi's eyes, like the forest floor after thunderstorms, so deep and dark he could lose himself inside them and never yearn for anything ever again... She was perfect. She was...

The first girl to ask me out.

Oswaldo stood abruptly, stretching. Tears were coming, and his heart was pounding. He needed to find a washroom, wait it out. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

"That will be great. Fantastic. I'd love to go to prom with you." Oswaldo repeated, beaming. "I won't even eat anything weird that day, haha!"

When I tell the guys about this... Oh god, I hope I don't cry in front of them. I need to get out of here, I really do...

...Wow.

Naomi had expected Oswaldo to be a little bit happy about it, but this was... she wasn't sure if she'd ever seen someone looking that jubilant about something. At least not in recent years. The closest thing she could compare it to was the look on her little sister's face on Christmas morning, the time when her parents had actually managed to keep the day free for family time.

She should have expected it. This would have carried a large amount of importance for someone like... for Oswaldo.

Naomi smiled back, although she simply wasn't capable of expressing the same amount of happiness. It was something that was much more difficult to fake. She tried her best, though.

"Fantastic. So, it's settled then."

He'd gotten to his feet, so Naomi supposed he was going to leave. Probably for the best, she did need to finish this school assignment. It would be easier now that she had definite plans for prom, and thus didn't have to worry about them.

"Well, then... I'll see you later, Oswaldo. I'm looking forward to it," she said, trying to inject as much interest into her voice as she could. She was somewhat looking forward to it (it was prom, after all) but it simply wasn't physically possible to sound as happy about it as Oswaldo. She could only match his beaming with a wide smile that she'd practiced for particularly happy occasions.

Oswaldo nearly did a bow. He'd seen it happen in a show once, and he'd always assumed that if he ever managed to get a girl interested in him, he'd treat her like the princess she deserved to be. But instead he did an awkward head bob, easily missed as he went for his bag, hastily packing up his things. Naomi hadn't caught it, and he was glad.

How couldn't he be glad? His hands were shaking slightly, his face stuck in a dopey grin. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that when he smiled too wide, his scares had a tendency to look grotesque, but he drowned it out. Naomi had drowned them out- she liked him! She didn't want some jock for prom, with a twenty foot long penis and muscles on his muscles, she wanted HIM. Quiet, unassuming, scar-riddled, the misunderstood and self-loathing little... thing... that he was. But despite all the names he called himself, for once nothing stuck, nothing seemed bad. All his ill thoughts fell away from him, and he smiled.

Naomi liked him.

"Okay! I uh, I guess we can facebook and figure out the exact details or, something like that... or I can text- or call, whatever you want. I uh, I guess I'll let you get back to your schoolwork."

Oswaldo slung his backpack around his arm. "I'm looking forward to it too. I uh, I know you'll look fantastic. It'll be fun."

It'll be fun? Fun? Really? You're so lame Os...

"I'll see you later Naomi."

----

Walking toward the doors, Os had to stop from breaking into a run. At least, breaking into a run in sight of Naomi. As soon as he was clear, Os broke into a dead sprint, rounding a corner and bursting past students, a blur as he ran toward the nearest washroom.

He was crying. He was crying like a baby, and people were noticing. But the grin on his face, it wouldn't come off. Os slammed the stall shut behind him, falling back on the toilet seat. He raised a sleeve, burying his face in his sweater.

Get a grip, it's no big deal. It's no big deal. It's no big deal.

But it was a big deal. Right now, it was the biggest thing in his life.

Me! Me! Naomi Bell asked for ME. Naomi Bell asked ME.

He muffled his sobs in the sleeve of his sweater, tucking in his knees. He was still trembling. To say it had blindsided him was the understatement of the year. He'd never cried at school. Well, not since Grade Ten when someone had set his shoes on fire. He'd dreamed of a moment like this, but for it to actually happen, for his dreams to come over and punch him in the gut and set his heart afire...

I don't know who to thank, but thank you.

Oswaldo breathed in deep and pulled out his phone.

Who should I text first?

SEAN, YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED...

((Oswaldo continues elsewhere...))

"Sure, we'll figure out the details later. There's plenty of time." In regards to the 'I'm sure you'll look wonderful' comment, she almost replied 'I'm sure you will, too,' but then she wasn't sure if that could be misconstrued as cruel sarcasm, and just acknowledging it with a 'thank you' would make it too obvious that she was avoiding the topic... so she just nodded and smiled. It was safest.

Naomi waved as he left. As soon as he was out of sight, her wide smile dropped and she rubbed the sides of her face. Trying to match his smile had made her face ache a little.

Well, prom night would prove to be interesting, if nothing else. At least she wouldn't be spending it with one of the boorish boys that would do nothing but talk about football and make unsubtle hints about the back seat of their car.

Naomi returned to her assignment, while vaguely wondering how she was going to explain her choice of prom dates to Mara...

((Naomi Bell continued in Cousins.))