Gabriel Falk's Story

The light started shining through my apartment window. I buried my head under the pillow. That didn't stop the light from becoming brighter with each passing minute.

"Stupid east facing window," I mumbled. I looked at my alarm clock. "Monday; 5:30 a.m." I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I stood in front of my closet trying to choose my outfit for the day. The weather channel had said it was going to be hot today. I mean, I already knew what I was going to wear. I grabbed my multi-colored hoodie, a plain white t-shirt and light denim capri pants that were splattered with a bit of yellow paint. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag, an apple and walked out the door.

By the time I reached Main St. it was 6:30. There were hardly people on the street and just the occasional car. I walked across the street to Starbucks. Thankfully it was open 24/7. There were a few people sitting here and there on their laptops or phones or attempting to catch five more minutes of sleep. I ordered my usual (venti iced mocha frapucino w/ whip cream and chocolate drizzle) and then took my usual seat in the corner of the shop and pulled out my sketch book. It was a bit worn but was still surviving. It would probably be about half an hour or so till he walked in.

I didn't mind waiting. I was working on this piece, sketching this guy that worked here. It was turning out pretty good. "I hope he doesn't have a day off today," I mumbled, taking a sip of coffee. The sweet chocolaty caffeine reached my lips and I smiled contently.

He was very attractive and at first had surprised me when I found out he was a guy. He had a very feminine looking face. He was tall, with a very slender build. His eyes were sort of a gray-blue eyes with short, fair eyelashes, and surprisingly dark eyebrows. Honestly, his eyebrows had really surprised me. I still hadn't gotten the courage to ask him his name. He was never there when I got there; he always came after.

It wasn't that I was interested in him. Well, I was, but not in that sense. In an artistic sense. I took another sip of my coffee and put in my headphones. It would probably be a while till he got to work and I didn't have to be at work today.

I opened my eyes and looked around. More people had accumulated into the show. I noticed a couple was looking at me. I had seen them before, but it wasn't anything that worried me. The girl was beautiful and I had meant to draw her but because of my forever waiting on him I didn't want to start a new drawing of someone from real life. She was pregnant and had a wonderful glowing look to her. Even the guy was pretty good looking.

I looked at my watch. '7:15 a.m. Would he ever show up? I sighed, taking a sip of my coffee. By now it had gotten a bit weird tasting and all the ingredients were just sitting at the bottom. I shook it around a bit. That's when she walked in.

She was about a year younger than me. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. American girl, no doubt. She was beautiful. I was straight, but that girl, she made me feel weird. I just needed to know her name. My way of explaining the weird feelings was that I just had to draw her. She had one of those faces that if you drew her and messed up one thing it would throw off everything.

I noticed her looking at me. I put my head down. 'I should probably get out of here. I guess he isn't coming.' I put my sketch book in my bag and got up from my seat. I guess the park was the next best place to go.

I made sure my headphones were still in and put my head down. I knew how to get to the park without even looking. I walked down the street and entered the park. I couldn't hear any of the street performers but I knew they were there. I probably should have looked up because the next thing I knew I was bumping into a guy... A gorgeous guy.

Gabriel Falk

I didn't need the frantic beeping of my alarm clock to make something clear to me: I was late. Very, very late. I lurched out of bed, the old frame creaking, the blankets tangling around my legs. Of course, of all days, today my blankets decided to stay on my bed rather than jumping off into some random area of my room. People have told me I'm a restless sleeper, but my personal opinion is that blankets have legs, or, at least, my blanket does. 

I run into the bathroom, which luckily isn't a particularly far distance to run since my apartment only has three rooms. The nice thing about being as poor as dirt is that there is never, ever the chance of you getting lost in your own house. 

Jumping into the shower, I make the genius move of grabbing the toothbrush and toothpaste beforehand. Or, at least, it seemed genius until shampoo drips out of my hair and onto the toothbrush, where it becomes indistinguishable from the toothpaste. Note to self: Don't try that again, I decide as I set down the  toothbrush, trying not to gag. While rose scented shampoo may have smelled nice, it certainly didn't taste particularly good. 

Ten minutes later, I was finally ready, my hair having taken ages to wash. That was the one main problem with my hair: I had to wash it everyday unless I wanted it to look nasty, and it always seemed to take until the next century to actually get clean. But, hey, if that was what was necessary to do to have gorgeous, long hair, I'm fine with it.

I wrap a towel around my hair, and then a second one around my waist. I press my hand against my hip, holding the towel there. Despite being over twenty years old, I still haven't mastered the art of tying a towel around my waist and having it actually stay there. They're probably plotting with my blanket, in order to make me as late and embarrassed as possible. 

Once in my room, I quickly pull on my clothes, thanking my past self for having had the foresight to lay them out the night before. as I struggled to pull on my skinny jeans, I did that awkward little hopping dance sort of thing that comes from trying to squish your feet into the tiny holes at the end of the legs of skinny jeans. I could have sat down, but, hey, sitting was for wimps. 

I grab a hairband off my desk. Hair bands usually lived in my bathroom, but a few were roaming on the surface of my desk. They were probably breeding in the drawers. I'd have to look into that later, when I had time. For now, I quickly put my hair into a French braid. It was a style I usually reserved for formal occassions, but, since I didn't have time to dry my hair today, it would keep everything looking nice and neat. 

Quickly, I pack my violin. It had also been sitting on my desk, which confused me slightly. I usually didn't leave my violin laying around; after all, it was worth a few thousand dollars, and was something I would probably never be able to replace. Usually, I treated it like it was a god, but, I suppose I had been a bit tired last night. 

I gathered up all of my music, a towering stack about four inches high - I had quite a bit of music, ok? - and stuffed it in a bag where my folded music stand was already resting. I must say, I was rather glad to not have to fold up my music stand. I hated doing that, purely because it was so old that it would take forever to fold.

I sling the bag over my shoulder, grabbing my violing in one hand. Upon walking past the mirror, I adjust the neck of my white mandarin style blouse - one of my favourite shirts, one that I had bought from an online store, Retroscole Fashions, a while ago, when I still had the money to spare on eighty dollar shirts - and notice I bad forgotten shoes. Setting down my bag and violin, I dash back into my room. Where had my shoes gone?

Finally, I discover them lying underneath my bed. I pull the knee high black Converse boots over my black skinny jeans, lacing them up with practiced ease. Thankfully, I had been wearing these boots for a few years now - not the same pair, obviously - so I was well practised in tying them.

Finally ready, I pick up my bag and violin once again, grab my car keys off the hook, and dash out of the apartment. I think my neighbors were probably thinking I was trying to learn how to fly as I took the stairs in great leaps and bounds. Finally, I made it to the downstairs lobby, dashing outside. 

My car sat in its usual spot in front of the apartment. It was a lovely old creature, a '67 chevy impala. I wasn't a car sort of guy, but even I had to admit that my car was absolutely lovely. My parents had gotten it for me as a present a few years earlier, and I am rather thankful they did.

More than a few speed limits were broken on the way to Starbucks, I'm pretty sure, but that was ok. Nobody saw me, and I didn't hurt anyone, so I was fine. Besides, it meant that I arrived only a couple minutes too late. I pulled my car into one of the open employee parking spots, and then dashed inside, making sure to lock my car. I left my violin and music in the car, not wanting to risk any of my colleges accidentally destroying it. My violin would be hellishly out of tune by the time I got to the park, but, oh well. I could always retune it.

Walking into the store through the employee's entrance, I nodded a hello to my fellow colleges - most of which being quite a few years younger than me - and pulled on my apron that labeled me as an employee. I was rather thankful that I had worn black and white today; the colour of the apron would have clashed horridly with any of my other clothes.

Making sure my name tag was pinned to my chest - I found that customers liked to look at this, probably to make sure that I wasn't joking about my name or as a confirmation that I was actually male, since they always seemed so surprised at hearing my deep voice - I walked out front to take my position at the register. Luckily, there wasn't much of a line, although Melissa, the girl working at the register next to mine, gave me a rather annoyed glare. 

Max and Matt; Matthew POV

“Alright,” Max gave in, giving me an exasperated look, “We’ll wait, but I swear Matthew, the instant a teacher comes by here, we are ditching this place.”

I nodded complacently, smug with my victory over her. I could understand why she was so anxious. Max wasn’t a cutter, but I was. I was used to seeing teachers walk by me, rolling their eyes in my direction, or throwing a “where were you today Mr. Bernard” question in my face. Max wasn’t. What was worse was that the park was only a few blocks distance from our school. A lot of people adored walking through here in the early rays of the morning sunlight, before school started, and teachers were no exception.

“Hey,” I began, about to suggest a probably escape route, should any of our astute instructors pass by.

“Hm?” Just as the bland answer slipped from her mouth, something soft bumped into my back. I blinked for a moment, slow and deliberate, trying to process weather or not to turn around. For all I knew, it was just an accident. But, as human nature dictates, my head eventually turned to meet the eyes…no the top of the head of the person that’d bumped into me.

Looking down, I was greeted by a pair of shy looking eyes. Well, almost greeted. The person who’d bumped into me was a girl, with a cute kind of roundish face and a pair of headphones glued into her ears.

The set of headphones that she’d stuck in ears looked familiar, like one of the many pairs I owned (neatly hanged up in a special casing in my room at our Malibu house) and so I couldn’t help myself when I said, “I have pair of headphones exactly like those. Oh, and nice sweater.”

It was the first time I’d noticed her clothes. Her pants seemed to be sprayed with paint, which gave her an overall artistic look that struck me as familiar. Where had I seen this face before?

Ah. School. Of course.

I had a few classes with the girl, whose name I failed to remember, but had barely gotten to know her due to my constant cutting streak. From what I knew, the few times I’d seen her, she always had a sketch book with her, and was pretty artsy. I’d glimpsed some of her drawing and thought they were amazing, but had never thought to actually talk to her.

I guess it comes with the ranking. This girl was quite keep to herself type of girl, where as I was the outgoing hang with the bad-boys type of guy. Of course, due to social cliques that developed in school, I’d never talked to her much. In fact, I don’t remember having ever talked to her.

“I’m Matthew,” I said casually, trying to look friendly, “We go to the same school together. Same grade. Same classes too. At least some of em’. I’m not sure I caught your name though. If you haven’t notice,” I gave her a sheepish grin, “I don’t show up often.”

Behind me, I could almost feel Max’s eyes putting holes through my back. There was no doubt in mind that she had laser vision. Jeez.

Alex and Mishka; Mishka POV

“Al,” I said, causing my sweet husband to pry his eyes from the paper.

“Hm.”

“Sweetie you’re going to be late for practice,” I was eyeing the gold antique looking clock that this particular Starbucks had hung upon the bars of it entering doorway.

“Shoot,” he said, whistling at the end as he doubled checked with his own wrist watch. I was going to with Alex for his soccer practice today. He’d jokingly suggested that the coach took it a lot easier on the whole team when I was around, and I’d figured that he’d literally meant it.

“Want anything sweet before we leave?” He asked, slipping me the keys so I could go start up the car.

“Uh-huh. Get me some cookies,” I said, shuffling my heavy set of art papers together, and heading out to the car.

Alex POV

I nodded before Mish disappeared from my line of sight. My coach would typically have my head for being late. But Mishka totally softened him up. I guess it had to do with the fact that none of his grandkids were old enough to have kids yet, and since he treated the whole team like we were his sons, he had a soft spot for our families too. Besides, he’d been on a low note for the past couple of days, and I thought having Mishka around to talk with him would help him unwind a bit. The team and I were pretty sure his youngest daughter had dropped the bomb that she wanted to get married, but none of us mentioned it to his face. He’d tell us when he was ready.

I bit my bottom lip. By the time I’d gotten on line, I’d ended up with a blonde cashier. The blonde male cashier. I, like many of the men who walked in here, had at first thought he was a woman. Boy, was I wrong. Fortunately, I hadn’t made the mistake of going up and flirting with him, since I’d already been madly in love and married to my wife. It was a bit disconcerting to see just how feminine he was, but personally I had nothing against homosexuality, or bisexuality, or any other sexuality. The reason I’d found it so uncomfortable was because I’d literally thought he was a women, and hadn’t been sure if, to him, that was a compliment or an insult.

Usually, I tried to avoid getting him as my cashier due to the awkwardice of the situation, but this time, seeing as it was inevitable, I put on my most pleasant face.

“Good morning,” I said, eyes idly passing over the cookies as I tried to decide what to get for Mish. It never failed to surprise people at how deep my voice was, or how tall I was for a person of Hispanic descent, and I caught the women at the next register give me a passing glance, before reaching a delicate hand out to me.

I looked up at her, raising my eyebrows in the “what’s your question way.”

“You model. For Armani Exchange. You play soccer. Alexander Romero, was it?” she stated matter-of-factually. I nodded, flashing a brief dazzling model smile (like they’d taught us), and she looked thrilled about the fact that she’d met an Armani Exchange male model.

Turning back to the blonde cashier, I shook my head giving a sheepish smile before saying, “Sorry about that. Um, can I have three of those huge chocolate chip cookies.” They were about the size of my hand, and no doubt enough to curb Mishy’s sugar urge, “and a bottle of water.”

Today too, there were many familiar faces at the park. Most of them were around my age, like the blond guy with skateboard, he would usually give me a few bucks. And the girl who always holds a sketchbook; I would see her sometimes drawing in the park too. I saw a couple of her drawings once when she dropped them and I helped her pick them up, it was around the time when I first came here. And I have to say she have got an amazing talent. And there was that girl too, who always sat a bit further from me with a cup of coffee in her hands and always in thoughts…Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep I would wander how would it be like if I went to school with them. Would we be friends? I don’t think so. I was called a weirdo in my old school, so if I went here it would probably be the same.
I tuned the guitar and started playing the acoustic version of Guns N' Roses’ song Sweet Child O’ Mine. It was one of my favorite songs to perform in the mornings.



I didn’t like to sing too much, since I was a guitar player and not a singer, but I guess I don’t have that bad voice since nobody threw tomatoes at me, yet.
I played a few more songs then packed up; It was time for me go to work. I gave guitar lessons to the kids from the orphanage. The money I’ve earned that way was barely enough for me to pay the rent. In one of these days I’m gonna have to look for one more job.




When I arrived back to my apartment I took a quick shower. I got dressed into black skinny jeans, a white tee, put on my boots and grabbed a leather jacket along with the bag with my cameras. I was searching for my keys when my phone started ringing.
”Yo. ” I heard my friend voice.
”I’m on my way. ” I said while locking the door with one hand.
”You don’t have to hurry. The prof said that he’ll be late. ” I sat in my car and started the engine.
”Then I’m gonna stop by Starbucks for a coffee. Do you need anything? ” I could hear him talk to others.
” One Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino, two Peppermint Mocha Frappuccinos and one black coffee. ” I sighed.
” I've got it. See you in a few minutes.”
I drove to the Starbuck and parked across the street. There wasn’t a big line in front of a long haired blond guy so I went to him to place my order.
” One Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino, two Peppermint Mocha Frappuccinos and two black coffees. ”
As I waited for my order I wondered if the guy was working as a model too. He was very tall and had the model kind of a face.
He gave me the coffees and after paying him I got back to my car and drove to college.

Gabriel Falk
I must say, my job was rather boring. I mean, there could be worse jobs, but this one was fairly bad. Especially on morning shifts. Everyone was always either exhausted and unwilling to hold a conversation, or they were really crabby and rude. I mean, not that I didn't encounter crabby and rude people during my other shifts - there always were crabby and rude people - but they were the worst during the morning shifts. It's not like they didn't have a reason - after all, nobody, myself included, liked getting up early in the morning - but, still. They could at least try to be nice.

Feeling the urge to yawn, I quickly put my hand in front of my mouth. It would do for people to think that employees at Starbucks, people like me, were rude and didn't know proper rules of etiquette. Not to mention, I would be quite the hypocrite if I had bad manners, considering my general dislike of rude people. Besides, my teeth brushing had been pathetic at most this morning, so certainly nobody wanted to see the inside of my mouth.

I glance up upon seeing my next customer, a man who is almost too handsome to be considered human, and acted so much like a model that it was practically written on his shirt. In fact, it was about as close as possible to being written on his shirt when Melissa confirmed my suspicions: He was a model. For Armani, in fact. I may not have been interested in fashion, but even I knew Armani. You'd have to be a blind three year old to not know Armani.

"'Morning," I replied, a pleasant half-smile on my face; a smile that was just a curl of the corners of my lips, nothing more. This was the smile I used for greeting people, the smile that said 'Oh, it's nice to meet you, but it's highly unlikely we'll ever talk again, so let's just try to be friendly now and leave each other on good terms'. Well, maybe it didn't say exactly that. But it conveyed something similar, and made me look slightly friendlier, so that was good, at least.

I nod in response to his order, turning slightly to the cooler behind me to get out the water bottle. "That'll be four dollars and thirty cents. If you're willing to wait a minute or two, there will be a freshly baked batch of cookies fresh out of the oven quite soon. Of course, if you're in the rush, there are still some cookies from the last batch," I say to him. I'm not quite sure why I was saying this. Most of the other cashiers working here would have given him the cookies from the older batch without a word said.

Well, most people liked freshly baked, warm cookies that just came out of the oven, so there was no harm done in offering. Besides, there was nothing like an unexpected surprise to brighten one's day, and if there was one thing I liked to do, it was making people happy. Especially if the person in question happened to be as gorgeous as this guy. It wasn't like I was interested in him or anything - for all I knew, he probably was married or had a girlfriend or something - but, hey, I was allowed to appreciate beauty, wasn't I?

Matthew POV

I stared down at the girl for a while, scrutinizing her reaction. Well, scrutinizing whatever reaction there was to scrutinize. At first, she was real still, not much movement, just kind of….shocked, I guess.

Her eyes traveled up to mine, and for a while we had a bit of staring contest, eye-to-eye. My bright green eyes (so similar to my sister’s) were one of those outstanding features that just stood out on my face. I’d gotten a good deal of compliments about them, if I do say so myself, and I carried them proudly. She seemed to spare a passing glance for my chest, though if she thought anything about it, I wouldn’t have known. In fact, besides the silence, she didn’t really seem unnerved, nor really confident, and I had to assume she was only glorifying her eyes in the presence that was me. She gave me a shy smile, and the corner of my lips upturned.

Then came the words. Her voice was shy and quiet, and I found myself straining to hear her name. I figured I should have anticipated this much. From whatever I remembered of the girl, she’d always been quiet. Not much of a talker, and not one to speak up for herself.

I was still in the process of comprehending her name when she said, "I could draw you, if you want."

It was a prompt, almost premeditated thought, that made her intentions seem illusive and almost out of place.

Nah, I’m just joking. Actually, the offer seemed pretty innocent to me. I’d already had prior knowledge on her artistic ability, and in contrast to her bulged out, almost regretful looking eyes (which implied that she may have been having a few misgivings about asking me), I thought it was a totally cool idea.

Taken aback by her own words, she offered up her name again, as if trying to erase her previous comments from my memory.

“Sam. I’m Sam.”

“Oh,” I replied coolly, “Okay. Cool. So, Sam, maybe we could hang out some time and you could do that drawing of me? Usually, I’m down by the beach, but it gets kind of cold there, so if you have another place in mind…?”

I threw her a dazzling smile; one that I could only hope would be persuasive enough to get me a much desired drawing. Maybe, something of me in the water, or around the dolphins that claimed their home by the beach where I lived.

“And, we could hang out together. Like really hang out, not just for the drawing,” I attached to my offer tactically, waiting for her response.

Max POV

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

There he was, in all his glorifying six feet of awkwardly sewn together limbs, and old, saggy, stained skin. The glazed look in his eyes was one of those ‘fear factor’ elements that gave this morbid man his tedious and strict reputation, and students were quick to duck out of his way before he grumbled morose lectures at them about “pants being too low” or “too short”.

He was my Pre-Cal Teacher. And he was heading this way.

I spared a glance at Matthew before realizing: He didn’t effing care!

“I’m going to hide!” I hissed in his ear, to which he briefly nodded concentrating on his conversation with the home schooled artsy girl. Not that he’d even remembered that she’d dropped out to be home schooled. That’s right lady killer. You just stand there and wait for a teacher to catch your sorry ass. Not that Matthew would care, but whatever.

Forgetting about my carefree, happy-go-lucky, unicorn brother, I did one of those “think fast” moments, where I practically ripped my sweater off my body, leaving me bare in my printed Victoria Secret bikini, and draped it over the top of my head like an overgrown hood.

I saw one cute guy throw me “the look”, but I didn’t have time to respond to his antics, and so I simply blew him over, acting as though I hadn’t seen him. There would be time to reprimand my brash, pass-up-the-hottie decision later. Right now, my only thoughts were to hide from old, mean, and saggy over there.

Scoping out the area, my eyes landed on the most unorthodox escape route/hiding place ever.

I would make a bee-line for the fountain.

Without a second thought, I put those gymnastic legs of mine to work, shooting out to the fountain, just in time for Mr. Doom-and-Gloom to past me straight.

The thing was, I would have totally celebrated my success at evading my teacher. Only problem was that I was heading straight on for the fountain at an almost uncontrollable speed.

Giving myself a good leap, I ended up splashing in the fountain (still standing upright, might I add; gymnastics is a useful thing), and spraying water all over the shirt of some blonde (ha ha, not that I wasn’t some blonde myself) girl with a cup of Starbucks coffee clutched tightly in her hands.

“Jeez,” I said, blinking slowly, and grazing my eyes over her soaking wet shirt, and now rip-able looking cup of coffee.

Think fast Max. What would someone, and by someone I mean myself, do in this situation. Oh, I know.

Peeling my sweater, which had remarkably remained unscathed by the water (once again, thank you gymnastics), off of the top of my head, I offered it up to her, trying to throw in the innocent looking Bambi type eyes that didn’t match with my scantily clad body, but usually worked with the guys. Maybe she’d have pity on me and for my sake, accept the Bambi eyes and forgive the sloppy mess that I’d caused her.

“Sorry, sorry,” I drawled on, thinking up a million excuses, “Take my sweater. You can keep it. It’s brand new, I think a Hollister? Mom bought it just yesterday? It smells pretty perfume-y. Yeah, I think it’s a Hollister,” I fumbled around with the sweater as I blabbered on, checking the label to confirm the brand. I was pretty sure my mother had only picked it up yesterday, so it hadn’t gotten much wear and tear. In fact, upon closer inspection, there was a hidden tag stuck somewhere in the sleeve, and I quickly tore it off, crumpling it, and doing a basketball shot to the nearest garbage can. Score one for Max. Score zero for park patrol.

“Anyway, you can have it. I don’t really need it.” Who was I kidding? I was going to be walking around almost buck naked through the park. I was probably going to end up in Juvi for illegal exposure of too much skin in a public non-beach place. Oh well. I looked at the girl, waiting for her answer, and firmly holding out the sweater to her.

Alexander

"That'll be four dollars and thirty cents. If you're willing to wait a minute or two, there will be a freshly baked batch of cookies fresh out of the oven quite soon. Of course, if you're in the rush, there are still some cookies from the last batch."

Surprise, surprise. I raised my eyebrows, glancing over what would have been the obvious, old, and probably now stiff, remainders of the previous batch, festering underneath the counter glass. If it had been Melissa (the female cashier working next my present cashier) she would have batted her eyelashes at me and tried to flirt it up a bit, but not give a damn about whether I wanted them fresh or straight from the display shelf.

I pursed my lips for a moment, wondering what Mish would’ve liked.

Fresh, definitely.

I dug out my wallet, grabbing a five dollar bill, and handing it over, “Don’t bother with change,” I muttered, stuffing the wallet back into my pocket.

Flashing a smile at the guy, and moving aside so he could tend to the next customer, I said, “I think I’ll have to take you up on those freshly baked cookies. Besides, I think I have time to wait…Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”

I knew very well Melissa’s name. She’d totally flaunted it out for me the first time we’d met till she learned that I had a wife. But, if you’ll notice, I’ve been referring to this guy as the cashier for the most part. And maybe, I felt a teensy bit bad, that, weather the guy noticed it or not, I’d avoided him on my many Starbucks mornings.

Gabriel Falk
I take the bill, rather surprised by this act of generosity. Most people wouldn't have given me a tip, even if I had offered them freshly baked cookies. I had thought that courtesy had died out a while ago. It was rather nice, I must say. Not only did it mean I would probably get paid a little extra - and, when you were as broke as I was, a little went a long way - but it also saved me the hassle of having to count out change. A bit of a selfish view, I know, but it's a pain to have to count out a ton of small coins. "Thank you," I quickly say in response, putting the bill in the cash register.

It was rather shocking, I must say, when he asked my name. People rarely asked me that, most of them tending to either find it out from my name tag, and the rest of them purely not caring whether they knew my name or not. "I'm Gabriel," I say, mentally cringing at my pronunciation. Despite having lived here for most of my life, I still pronounced my name the Danish-slash-German way: Pronouncing the beginning more along the lines of 'Gah' rather than 'Gey', as the people here were so fond of doing. "Gabriel Falk."

"Your name is Alexander Romero, correct?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. Thankfully, there were no other customers currently, allowing me a chance to have a conversation. "I hope you won't be insulted when I say I have absolutely no clue who you are. I mean, I know you're a model - or at least, I presume that - but that's only because of Miss Melissa's reaction." Now, why on earth was I using random titles? I mean, I used them all the time in daily life, and would rarely refer to people who I didn't know very well without using them, but only now did I realise how stupid and old fashioned that sounded. I must say, I was completely awkward in social situations. Despite the fact that I loved them, I absolutely sucked at taking part in conversations.

"Fashion isn't really my thing," I apologise quickly. "One second, let me just go see whether the cookies are finished." Quickly excusing myself, I back out into the backroom of the store, where everything was being cooked. Luckily, the cookies were already finished baking, saving me from any further social embarrassment. Note to self: Learn how to actually hold a conversation without feeling like you are digging yourself into a grave. I carry the tray out front, setting it onto the shelf where all the baked goods were displayed. "Three cookies, right?" I ask for confirmation, glancing at the guy.

(I can’t include Max in this post since I have to wait for shrubvera to post. I don’t know where she (I’m assuming she’s a she) is though :/ )

Matthew

“Beach!” she replied quickly, a bit louder than the last time, taking me by surprise that for the first time since we’d met, I’d heard her talk loud and clear.

“Beach good. I mean,” she cleared her throat, a soft, barely audible noise, “the beach is fine. Here, let me give you my number so you can let me know when. My schedule is pretty flexible.”

I waited patiently as she grabbed a pen from her pack, scribbling her number on a piece of paper for me.

557-0005. It was an easy number to remember, and I doubted the idea that I would actually need the paper. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

”You have really nice eyes,” she said, out of the blue, pointedly looking away from me and at the ground. Cute.

Giving her a lopsided smile (which she wouldn’t see until she turned her head up) I said, “Thanks. I get that a lot.”

I know, I know. I didn’t go off giving her a special comment about herself. But, as far as I could tell, Sam was a pretty plain person, and I didn’t know her well enough to compliment her on something outstanding about herself. I mean, she had a cute face and everything, but I just didn’t feel comfortable going off and telling her something about her was straight out beautiful. I dunno what it is, but most guys are like that. It’s real easy for girls to get all romantic, and mushy, and complimentary, but us guys are more of pervs than anything else. We don’t comment on real beauty unless we really love someone. Usually, when it comes to flirting, we’re just big time goofballs that love to make funny, quirky, and disgusting comments that some girls seem to revel in.

Sam didn’t seem like one of ‘those’ girls, what with her being a lot more modest and reserved, and so I didn’t feel the urge to tell her anything “teenagerish”. It was a bit different with this girl. She wasn’t an all out flirt, and wasn’t seeking some kind of sexual attention, and so I myself had to change to suit her. Simple as that.

“Well, Sam,” I said carefully, judging my words and hoping that my unenthusiastic response to her comment didn’t hurt her too much, “I’ll be seeing you soon then. To be honest, just a heads up, Saturday would be an amazing day for us to hang out. We’d have all 24 hours to ourselves, and practically my entire house, since my parents are going off on a business trip. Only thing is you might have to interact with my sister. But don’t worry, she doesn’t bite. Mostly,” I said, chuckling and hoping Sam would get my sense of humor.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. We come from completely different worlds.

Alexander

I’d never heard the guy—or rather, Gabriel—speak much before, and it was a shocking surprise that he did speak with a certain amount eloquence, tinted with an unmistaken accent.

Something seemed to embarrass him (or maybe that’s just me reading the situation wrong), and he quickly excused himself to check up on my cookies.

“Three, yep,” I said, nodding my head as I waited for him to pack them up in a small flat Starbucks paper bag.

Contemplating for a moment, I decided to answer whatever questions I could remember him asking.

“My name is Alexander Romero,” I confirmed, chuckling as my tongue rolled off the name in a slight Spanish accent. My mother had always said it sounded better that way. To be honest, American english or Hispanic, the way it was pronounced didn’t really bother me.

“And it’s alright if you don’t know who I am. Actually, I’m relatively new to the modeling business I take part in presently, which would be Armani Express. I started up around fifteen, doing more child friendly, less explicit modeling for teen clothing, which eventually, as I got older and became…you know…bigger….and stronger, got me picked up for stuff like Armani. I get to do other shoots as well, but they’re not aimed for the general public. More for adult eyes. Actually I think my wife has a few of my magazines in the car.”

And all of a sudden there was a light, barely noticeable blush on my face (I’m kind of tan). I averted my eyes from Gabriel, attempting a go at nonchalance. I’d always suspected Gabriel of being homosexual, but in no way had ever gone out of my way to find out if he really was. His business, as far as I had been concerned, was his business and his business alone, and it was up to him whether he told people of his sexuality or not. Therefore, for the most part, I had ignored rumors of it, simply labeling them as possibilities but not conformations.

Now however, speaking of my nude-to-partially-nude shots with him was making me uncomfortable, not knowing how he’d react, or if I was offending him, and I snapped my mouth shut, basically reverting to just waiting for my cookies and avoiding his eyes. Jeez, way to go Alex.

Gabriel Falk
I grab a bag from one of the stacks hidden under the counter. Thankfully, I grabbed the right type, which was always a challenge, since since I couldn't exactly just look down under the counter and go searching for the proper sized bag. I mean, I technically could, but there were no words to describe how inexperienced that would look. Considering the fact that I've been working here for, what, three years, looking inexperienced would not be particularly good. Especially not in front of a model. I mean, he seemed like a fairly nice guy, but models tended to be fairly prissy, even if they seemed nice at first, so it was always a good idea to look professional in front of them.

"Seems like a decent job," I begin to say, only hearing the beginning part of his description of what he modeled. Sometimes, I really wish that my mind would catch up to the conversation before my mouth actually said anything. This was one of those situations. "I mean... um... The first part... Well, if you like... I mean... the second part... not really..." I felt my face heating up, and immediately knew that I was probably looking like a sunburned tomato right now. That's the main problem that comes from being as pale as I am: any blushes, sunburns, you name it, are painfully visible. And, of course, nobody can tell when you aren't feeling very good, because your skin is already so pale that it doesn't make a difference if you get paler. So, yeah, it sucked to be as pale as I was.

"Um... Well... you know what I mean..." I quickly say, trying to cover up my previous butchering of words. It was times like this when I really wished that I had a way of forcing blushes off of my face. They got rather annoying - and, not to mention, embarrassing - after a while.

How on earth did we get to this topic anyways? Oh, right, by me inquiring about his job. Still, Alexander probably could have been a bit more... vague. 'Too much information' never fit the situation more perfectly than this. Not to mention, it was rather strange that he chose to mention this, off all topics. After all, he had been here before, I was rather sure. At least, I remember seeing him here every now and then. Surely he must have heard the rumours - the very true rumours - that I was gay. Even if he didn't believe them, he probably still was rather uncomfortable talking to me. Most straight guys were, especially when it came to talking about nude shots, not that they ever managed to land on that topic. I suppose Alexander was just really confident. Really, really confident.

"Here are the cookies," I say, staring down, the floor suddenly becoming incredibly interesting. I only glance up to make sure that I'm setting the bag of cookies on the counter and not anywhere else. That would make this situation even more awkward than it currently was.