He saw her but didn't let on. First from the corner of his eye, then shamelessly. He imagined how she might be, holding his hand, traveling the rails, then late at night in a motel with red marquee light playing along the side of her face, her body in light and shadow.
She turned. It was the boy from chemistry class, the dreamer who mostly looked out the window. Their gaze connected, lingered. Suddenly, she felt skittish, a racehorse in the starting gate, her heart bursting, ready to run reckless.