Angel in the Food Court

Sipping on his 7up and considering just one more waffle fry Den looked up and saw her, an angel descended upon the Holdens Mall food court. Her cherubic face bespoke a distinct inner peace. Golden hair with artful highlights bounced gaily and tantalizingly above her shoulders. Her name was April, and she had third period English with him.

By careful observation he couldn’t help but notice the worry strike across her face as she rummaged through her tiny purse there in front of the Orange Julius. Her eyes went back and forth from the savory citrus beverages to her unhelpful purse. There was a longing in those eyes.

Den’s mind raced. April was a sweet girl, and they’d even spoken on a few occasions. He wouldn’t call them friends, so how could he dare? They were on good terms certainly, but he wasn’t in her clique. He wasn’t in any clique. He didn’t like cliques, not since the incident last year.

Somehow he found himself standing beside her, his waffle fries abandoned, “Can I buy you a drink?”

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