‘Here you go.’ I handed Amy a fresh cup of coffee.
‘Thanks,’ she
said, sipping gratefully. I sat down on the chair opposite her and placed my
cup on the table to let it cool down a bit before drinking. I made sure that
this café didn’t have any TV screens so that Amy could carry on watching the
news. However, my instincts are telling me that particular topic of
conversation is what Amy would like to talk about so I prepared myself by
piecing together certain answers that I can only guess that she is going to
ask.
‘Wouldn’t it be
awesome if one of us managed to see that person up close, speak to him even?’
Amy asked after a minute or two of silence. She must have been trying to get
her questions in order before she asked them, but that can only be a guess. All
I know she kept quiet since she didn’t know whether she wanted to continue the
conversation on from earlier or not.
‘I don’t think it
would be that awesome,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘What makes you
say that?’ Amy said confused.
‘Well, I feel as
if he only shows when there’s something dangerous happening, like that runaway
train. So, the only way we’re going to get a glimpse of him is if we’re in the
middle of some danger or something.’ I had to really think during that sentence
to make sure that I said it with legitimacy and without giving away anything
too important that singles me out as being that person Amy is on about.
‘I guess that
makes sense,’ Amy said. She tried to hide her disappointment by taking a rather
large sip of coffee, but her actions contradicted her intentions. I pretended
that I didn’t notice and was about to change the subject when Amy asked another
question. It is hard talking about yourself in third person, I’ve discovered. Every
time I form an answer in my head, I have to flip it around. I have to replay it
in my head a couple of times just to make sure that it is the right thing to
say, but even then, when it is finally said out loud, it doesn’t sound right.
I made the right choice of saving
the day, but I am ever so slightly regretting it as I knew how the ripple
effect would play out. Despite the difficulty, I have to admit this just so
that I don’t suddenly blurt it out at any time. A very small part of me is
actually enjoying this. Knowing that I did something good is an awesome
feeling, and knowing that I am hidden so that I won’t be bundled everywhere I
go with reporters and members of the public asking questions is also nice.
Gives you a sense of freedom.
But I really don’t want that
feeling to grow any more than it is already. I know that it will go straight to
my head and the last thing I want to happen is for me to get all cocky. I will
then make a mistake that will be cataclysmic in magnitude; one that I will not
be able to come back from and that is why I have to keep my head as cool as
possible.
‘Are you
alright?’ Amy asked me, snapping me out of my train of thought.
‘Sorry,’ I said,
‘my train of thought got away from me a little bit there. What was the question
that you asked?’ I hoped she asked a question.
‘I said, how do
you reckon he is able to run at those speeds?’ She wasn’t that happy with my
zoning out so I made sure that, that didn’t happen again. From now on I’m going
to give her my utmost attention. I think I have to unleash my inner nerd.
‘Well, there
could be many reasons,’ I said, wanting to say the answer with confidence. ‘The
Flash got his super speed via a lightning bolt that had scientifically charged
particles flowing through it. I can’t remember what they’re called exactly, but
there’s no reason of that not happening in the real world. If someone is able
to imagine it, then I shouldn’t see why they couldn’t create it. Or maybe it
has nothing to do with a chemical compound in his system, but some technology
that injects some kind of force into his body that gives him the ability to run
at speeds greater than a speeding train.’ I didn’t expect to get as close to
the truth as I did there, but I don’t think that matters if I keep casual about
it.
‘You really do
have a vivid imagination,’ Amy said. ‘I like that in you.’ Oh, thank goodness
we’ve changed subjects. But, wait, hang on, is she flirting with me…
‘I like that you
like that in me in you,’ I did realise that was a rather poorly constructed
sentence. I pulled a confused expression as I tried to figure out how that
sentence made sense in my head but not out loud.
‘You really are
cute when you haven’t got a clue what to say,’ Amy said. ‘That deserves a
kiss.’ She leaned forward and pecked me on the cheeks.
‘Keep being cute
and you might just get another one on the lips,’ she smiled. She knew that it
was cheesy, but it was said and so cannot be unsaid.
‘Keep being
adorable and I might just have to kiss you first,’ I said, trying to even out
the playing field of cheesiness. I have no clue whether I’m getting better at
this flirting thing or not, but by the way Amy smiled – although I have a
feeling as if it was a smile that indicated just how corny I was being just
now.
‘Come here,’ she moved forward. It
is going to happen again. Her lips were about to touch mine when someone from
afar yelled as loud as they could, grabbing everyone’s attention at once and
then frightening the heck out of everyone.
‘EVERYONE ON THE
FLOOR NOW.’
TO BE CONTINUED…
Thanks for reading
Antony Hudson
(TonyHadNouns)
My book, Sector 22: Zoey, is now available on Amazon, eBay, and SkyCat Publications' website:
Amazon:
eBay:
SkyCat Publications:
Ask me anything at:
ahudsonpresents@live.co.uk
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