Riding High

Gabrielle was mesmerized.

I watched him snake his way toward the front door of the bus, admiring the long line of his back, the firm muscles of his upper arms. All the boys I knew at school were so different – jocks or eggheads. I had never met a boy who looked like an athlete, was street wise and could recite reams of poetry by heart.

Angelo was fascinated.

She was the most adorable girl I had ever seen. There was a light dusting of freckles across her nose – cinnamon sprinkled on whipped cream. Idiotically, I pictured myself leaning over and licking the tip of her perfectly carved nose.

How would they ever tell each other?