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.
