I thought she was so cool.
The first time I met her, we were in this little cafe on campus, in the basement of the humanities building. It was finals week, June, and sweltering hot outside, but nice and cool down here, so it was crowded and proving to be a popular study spot.
She wore a pair of ripped jeans and a white undershirt, what some call a wifebeater, with a black tank top under it. She had an undercut in her hair, and what hair remained on top was an improbable color of pinky-orange.
I watched her walk in, and it was like the light followed her in. She slipped behind the counter to pour herself a white ceramic mug of coffee and slap the ass of the girl at the register before looking around for a place to sit. All the tables were taken, one person at most of them avoiding eye contact, but I was already looking at her, so. She smiled, came over, and asked, “May I sit here?” I couldn’t say anything, but I gestured assent.
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