On an Edge of Glass

bottom lip some more and when he glances over at me again I just know that he is going to come talk to me. 
    I’ m not sure how I feel about this.  On the one hand, this boy is completely intriguing.  The problem is that I do not need to be dealing with any distractions now—just when my life is about to get serious. 
    I ta ke a deep breath and pretend to still be working on my paper.  In reality I’m trying to hold my head at an angle that I think shows off my long neck and angular cheekbones. 
    Fou r seconds.  Five.  Six.  I can sense someone beside me.  Someone tall.  Someone male. 
    He clears his throat , and I raise my head, and bat my eyelashes, and… 
    “What is that face for? ”  My best friend Mark scrunches his nose.  He adjusts the strap of his leather messenger. 
    My mouth is slack.  I know that I must look like an idiot.
    With a huff, Mark slips into a purple chair opposite me.  He grabs my coffee cup off the table between us, and without further question, helps himself to a long sip. 
    Squaring his shoulders, he settles back and glares at me.  “Do I have spinach in my teeth or something?”
    Before I can answer , Mark holds up his hand dramatically and closes his eyes.  Long lashes dust his cheeks. “No.  Never mind Ellie-bear.  I don’t even want to know if I do.”  He shakes his head slightly.  “I have had the worst day ever, and if I find out that the entire time I was talking to Hal Shepherd I had green goo stuck between my teeth, I will kill myself.” 
    “Your teeth are fine,” I say, hurriedly pushing the words out of my mouth and twisting to the side to look around the coffeehouse for my mystery man.  The last place I saw him was by the cream and sugar counter, but now there’s just a bunch of girls there. My eyes move to the corner and then the door. 
    “Damn it,” I murmur.  The guy is nowhere to be seen.  Gone—just like that. 
    “Seriously chica, what are we looking for?”  Mark cranes his neck to follow my gaze.
    I look down, trying to conceal the disappointment that’s threatening to take over my face.  Swallowing against the sour taste that’s building in my mouth I mumble, “Never mind.” 
    “You look upset.”  Mark’s voice is laced with skepticism.
    That’s because I am upset.  Upset and insanely disappointed. 
    I take a deep breath and remind myself how absurd I’m acting.  I haven’t missed out on anything because nothing actually happened.  He was just some random guy that I exchanged a few dozen words with.  The encounter was nothing more.  Nothing.  
    “It’ s honestly nothing,” I say tersely, adjusting my laptop and scooting back in my chair.  “I just thought that I saw someone from class.”
    Mark downs the last of my coffee.  Dropping the cup to the table, he scoots back in his chair and frowns.  “Whatever.  Like I said, I’ve had the worst day.  Starting with the fact that Greenly gave me hell about that paper I turned in last week.  He said some crap about having to redefine my source material.  As if I even know what that means.”  He pushes a stray blond curl away from his forehead and sighs, loud and breathy.  “Before I forget—Ainsley called my phone looking for you.”
    I pitch my head to the side.  “What did she want?” 
    Mark moves his bag from his knee to the floor and begins sifting through the contents looking for something.  Probably the latest in that romance series he’s been obsessing over lately. 
    “She sa id something about you forgetting your phone at home and gave me a teary diatribe about a momentous thing occurring at your house, and blah, blah… and more blah.”  He twirls his hand in the air.  Mark Temple is a hand-talker.  “Honestly, I wasn’t really listening, but I did catch that your ass needs to get home as soon as possible.”
    “Ooooh scary.”  I force a smile.  “Knowing how Ainsley is, I probably forgot to put my cereal bowl in the dishwasher and she wants us to have a heart to heart so that she can express her feelings on the matter.” 
    My roommate , Ainsley, tends to be a bit on the sensitive side.  She means well, but occasionally I feel like I’m living through an extended episode of Dr. Phil .
    Shaking my head, I stand to pack up my laptop and books. 
    As I gi ve Mark a hug, I swear to myself that I’m not looking over his shoulder for my savior.  I. Am. Not. Looking. 
    Not even when I deliberately circle the coffee