Oranges: A Short Story

Part I

Oranges: A short story

There she was again. Alex felt like she was following him. Not that he minded, of course, but it also made it seem like he was following her. And his grandma wouldn't be happy about that.

Alex swished his straw around in its cup. Anastasia was across the street at the bank. He didn't know what need she would have for borrowing money, but he didn't care. As long as he had a clear shot of her from the park the circumstances wouldn't matter.

As usual, no one was sitting at the park bench with him. Not many people his age, or anyone's age for the matter, lived in Apetvet, the small town he'd lived by his whole life.

His parents died when he was just a child, and that's when he was shipped off to live with his grandmother, a grim and sensible woman. Sometimes he wanted to track down whatever relative sent him off and make them live with his grandma for a day.

Alex got the feeling someone was watching him. Glancing across the street, he saw Anastasia's eyes staring into his. Even from the distance, he could tell what color they were. Blue.

His face burning, he looked down. What would Anastasia think if she knew he was watching her the whole time?

"Alex?" The voice wasn't hers. It was old and brittle. His grandmother.

"Gran!" Yelped Alex, spilling his drink all over his lap. Dang it, he thought as the sticky substance flowed over him.

"My goodness, child," his grandmother scolded. "You really should attend a cotillion or something along those lines. Your manners are absolutely preposterous!"

Looking down at the ground and praying Anastasia didn't see his accident, Alex muttered an apology. The dark coloring of the soda on his legs made it look like he had peed his pants. For the first time he was grateful not many people lived in his town.

"We must be going home. I am done picking up my things from the Pharmacy," his grandmother told him, looking as if she was embarrassed.

Alex nodded obediently. If there was one thing he'd learned in his life, if it was to always listen to gran. Only a fool wouldn't.

. . .

Alex and his grandmother lived in a home that barely touched the edge of the country. It used to be a veterinary office, his grandma had told him.

"It's a nice day," she said, placing her bag of medicines on the counter. "You really should go outside with your friends."

"I don't have any friends," Alex told her, leaning on the frame of the doorway to the kitchen, which used to be the waiting room. "And I have soda on my pants, remember?"

Not glancing at him, she said, "Well then you should put them in the wash. And why don't you take a shower? You probably spilled some of that pop into your veins too."

Alex rolled his eyes. She was always telling him to stop drinking soda and to start eating fruit more often. He also had a theory that she reminded him that he had no friends on purpose. It was hard to have friends in a place that had close to no other teenagers. Anastasia was one of the only people his age.

Without saying another word, he left to his bathroom, where he took as long as he could to take a shower.

When he was finished, his grandmother was already laying out dinner in the dining room. It was some kind of casserole, and Alex knew which the second he got close enough to smell it. It was orange casserole, again. Alex knew that his gran knew that he hated oranges. It was half the reason he didn't like fruit. If he ate fruit, gran would put oranges along with it.

"Hey, gran," he said, sitting down at the table. The dining room was dimly lit, as usual. They had a low ceiling, unlike most houses. This was probably because this wasn't originally a house."Hello, Alex," said his grandmother, taking a seat next to him. "It's supposed to rain tonight, so I suppose you wasted your chance to spend some time outside."

"You told me to take a shower," Alex mumbled, stabbing a piece of casserole.

"Oh, come off it, boy! Exercise some independence!"

"Yes, mam," said Alex as he took a bite of dinner, the slippery food like poison to his mouth. The taste was sour and messed up his entire sense of smell.

"And don't mumble," scolded gran.

. . .

"You look nice," said Anastasia, lazily tracing Alex's arm.The sky was dark and speckled with stars above their heads. No one, as usual, was about town, so they were given privacy by the entire world.

"It's all for you, of course," Alex told her. She giggled, causing his insides to twist. They were leaning against the brick wall of the pharmacy, the rough rock texture digging into their backs.

It took him a while to notice, but suddenly, Anastasia was holding his hand. He squeezed it tightly, as if it was going to run away, if hands possessed the ability.

The light reflected off her auburn hair, it made Alex want to run his fingers through it. The suddenly, he found himself doing that with his free hand.

Smiling slyly, Anastasia asked what he was going.

"I'm not going to deny myself of beautiful things," he told her.

Her eyes were locked on his, and he knew they were about to kiss. It was what he'd been waiting for his entire life. She wanted to kiss him, and no one else.

"Alex," she whispered, her breath hitching.

"Anastasia."

His eyes blinked open. Where was he? Glancing around, he didn't see Anastasia's face, but his grandmother's, staring down at him. He was in his room.

It had been a dream.