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Description
Maeve fidgeted and turned a page in her book. The cafeteria table she sat at was empty aside from her lunch bag and her novel. That was usually the case, and she was content that way.

"Hey, weirdo," said a voice, startling her. She looked up from the page at the three unruly boys who had approached her table. They were well-known mischief makers. She shook her messy bangs out of her rich brown eyes.

When she didn't respond, one of them said, "Why don't you ever talk? Jesus, what a freak."

"I don't like to talk," she said quietly.

"What?" asked another one, leaning forward mockingly. "I can't hear you."

"Major freak," one agreed. "She reads all these friggin' weird books. And she doesn't even have a cell phone."

Maeve sank into her chair and said nothing. They opened their mouths to taunt her further when there was an interruption from behind her. "Lay off." She turned her head to see another boy approaching. Foster, his name was. She'd never spoken to him before.

The boys scoffed. "Whatcha gonna do, Superman?"

Foster glowered at them from under his shaggy black hair. "Lay off it, or I will wipe those smirks right off your ugly faces."

"Ooooh!" the troublemakers cried, waving their hands and pretending to be frightened. "Wow, I'm scared. Looks like Superman has a crush!" They laughed and started to walk off. "Losers."

Maeve looked back at Foster through her thick brown hair, eyes wide. Foster stood awkwardly behind her: hands jammed deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, clear blue eyes following the bullies until they were at a safe distance. Then his gaze flicked toward her and his expression softened. He scuffed the toe of one beaten-up old Converse against the floor. "Hey."

"Thank you," she murmured. He stepped toward the chair next to her and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, and he sat down.

"'S okay. Sometimes we outcasts need to stick up for each other. No offence," he added, nodding to her respectfully. She shook her head, communicating, none taken. There was an awkward pause, and he fiddled with the cuffs of his black sweater. She stared at the graffiti-coated table. "You're Maeve, right?"

She nodded. "But, um..." She bit her lip. "you can call me Mauve, if you want. It's my favourite colour and some people have kinda nicknamed me that."

He smiled. "Mauve. Okay. I'm Foster."

"I know," she answered, reddening.

Foster watched her for a moment, then followed her gaze down to the table. "You're going to bore holes in it at this rate."

Flustered and embarrassed, she looked back up at him. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, sending his messy black mop in all directions. "Nothing to apologize for." Another long, hesitant pause. "You're so quiet."

Mauve scrunched her fingers into fists in her lap, hunching her back and dipping her head low in front of her shoulders. She was staring at the table again. "I'm sorry. I'm just... shy."

He chuckled. "Mauve, you need to stop apologizing."

"Sorry."

"Mauve."

"Yeah. S—"

"Mauve."

"Yeah."

Foster smiled lightly. "Anyway, you have a better excuse for being a loner than I do. I'm just no good with people."

"You seem to be doing fine just now," Mauve informed him.

He didn't answer right away, and Mauve wondered if perhaps she had said something wrong. She glanced up as he responded, "Yeah, I am. I guess you're just lucky." He gave a good-natured smile, but she saw a flash of something in his eyes that didn't match. Confusion, maybe. Or wonder.

/

Yesterday would never amount to anything. It was just one of those weird things that happens one day and never happens again. This is what Foster thought until, come lunch hour, the chair on Mauve's left slid away from the table and he sat in it.

"Is this okay?" he asked her, possibly just to mask his own surprise.

She nodded. Apparently independent of her control, a huge - but still shy - smile spread across her face. Oh, wow, he thought. Her whole face lit up when she smiled that way. It was amazing.

That was probably the moment that he resolved to make her smile like that every single day.

/

Mauve had never been so happy in all her life. Foster had come to sit with her every lunch since the incident with the three bullies. No one had ever made her smile as much as he did.

They discovered their similar reading taste and shared love of cinema. Foster taught her about tae kwon do, which was his favourite hobby. And she found herself confiding in him something she had never told anyone about: her passion for scriptwriting.

"Come on," he begged, tugging on her notebook. She kept a firm hold. "You're killing me here. I want to read it!"

Neither was very strong, but he was bigger and eventually won out. As he opened the cover, she flushed and turned away. No one had ever read her writing before.

She could hear him turning pages, and found herself anxious to know what he thought. She surprised herself when she realized that she had never wanted to please someone so much as she wanted to please Foster.

"This is fantastic, Mauve." Foster reached out and lightly yanked on part of her dark brown hair, prompting her to turn and look at him again. "You're really talented, you know."

Her blush only deepened. "Thank you," she said softly, biting back a grin.

/

Inevitably their friendship inspired plenty of rumours around the school. They ignored all of them until, one afternoon, a girl walked up to them and asked them bluntly, "So, are you guys like, dating now?"

Mauve turned very red. Foster, annoyed, snapped, "Even if we were, would it be any of your business?"

The girl frowned. "Jeez! I was just asking!" She stalked off.

Mauve looked down at the table, embarrassed. Foster patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Just ignore them, Mauve. People will be people." Still, he couldn't help being angry. Poor Mauve was so kind and innocent, and yet people harassed and pestered her relentlessly. He wished he could make them leave her alone.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Whatever for?" Foster asked, taken aback.

"For spending all this time with you and giving people ideas." She bit her lip.

He shook his head. "Don't you dare. I started this. Besides, I don't care what they say! And on top of that - what have I told you about all these apologies? Nothing is your fault! Absolutely nothing at all!" She looked upset, and suddenly Foster felt like hitting himself. This reaction was the last thing he wanted. He squeezed her shoulder and softened his tone. "I just don't want people taking advantage of you," he said more quietly. "You don't need to take the blame for everything. Hell, you don't need to take the blame for anything. You're the most wonderful person I've ever known."

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had even thought about them, but he wouldn't have taken them back for the world: he'd never seen her smile so widely. She looked happier than a child who had just been informed that the Easter Bunny lived in her basement.

And he discovered that his heart was pounding against his ribcage so hard he thought he might burst. What a peculiar feeling.

/

Mauve was beginning to become unnerved. Something new was beginning to happen every time she saw Foster: a strange fluttering arose in her belly. She marvelled that this must be the 'butterflies in the stomach' sensation that she's seen described in her books. She'd never felt it before.

It had been only a week since the 'are you dating?' incident, and Mauve was still flustered, but she felt that this was something she should confide in Foster.

When he sat down next to her, she didn't look up from the table. "Foster, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course," he responded instantly, and from the tone of his voice she knew he was listening.

"If I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see a certain boy, what should I do?"

There was a long pause. Mauve stared determinedly at the tabletop.

"I think... that you should tell him," Foster answered slowly.

She screwed her eyes shut, hands balled in her lap. "Just did," she mumbled.

/

Foster stalled. It took him a moment to fully realize her meaning: him?

Mauve finally looked up at him, sheepish and embarrassed. He was grinning like an idiot. "Fuck. You're adorable," he told her.

She flushed, and his grin only widened. "Wh-what?" she stammered.

"You heard me," he answered.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and red. "Um. Um."

After a moment's hesitation, Foster reached over and took her hand.

/

Mauve's gaze drifted down to their hands, then back up to Foster's face. He looked at her questioningly, as if to ask, is this all right?

"I-I think I like you. A lot. A lot a lot," she managed.

Foster's grin returned full force, and he squeezed her hand lightly. "Lucky me."

Mauve bit her lip, unable to hold back her smile.

Description
Maeve fidgeted and turned a page in her book. The cafeteria table she sat at was empty aside from her lunch bag and her novel. That was usually the case, and she was content that way.

"Hey, weirdo," said a voice, startling her. She looked up from the page at the three unruly boys who had approached her table. They were well-known mischief makers. She shook her messy bangs out of her rich brown eyes.

When she didn't respond, one of them said, "Why don't you ever talk? Jesus, what a freak."

"I don't like to talk," she said quietly.

"What?" asked another one, leaning forward mockingly. "I can't hear you."

"Major freak," one agreed. "She reads all these friggin' weird books. And she doesn't even have a cell phone."

Maeve sank into her chair and said nothing. They opened their mouths to taunt her further when there was an interruption from behind her. "Lay off." She turned her head to see another boy approaching. Foster, his name was. She'd never spoken to him before.

The boys scoffed. "Whatcha gonna do, Superman?"

Foster glowered at them from under his shaggy black hair. "Lay off it, or I will wipe those smirks right off your ugly faces."

"Ooooh!" the troublemakers cried, waving their hands and pretending to be frightened. "Wow, I'm scared. Looks like Superman has a crush!" They laughed and started to walk off. "Losers."

Maeve looked back at Foster through her thick brown hair, eyes wide. Foster stood awkwardly behind her: hands jammed deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, clear blue eyes following the bullies until they were at a safe distance. Then his gaze flicked toward her and his expression softened. He scuffed the toe of one beaten-up old Converse against the floor. "Hey."

"Thank you," she murmured. He stepped toward the chair next to her and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, and he sat down.

"'S okay. Sometimes we outcasts need to stick up for each other. No offence," he added, nodding to her respectfully. She shook her head, communicating, none taken. There was an awkward pause, and he fiddled with the cuffs of his black sweater. She stared at the graffiti-coated table. "You're Maeve, right?"

She nodded. "But, um..." She bit her lip. "you can call me Mauve, if you want. It's my favourite colour and some people have kinda nicknamed me that."

He smiled. "Mauve. Okay. I'm Foster."

"I know," she answered, reddening.

Foster watched her for a moment, then followed her gaze down to the table. "You're going to bore holes in it at this rate."

Flustered and embarrassed, she looked back up at him. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, sending his messy black mop in all directions. "Nothing to apologize for." Another long, hesitant pause. "You're so quiet."

Mauve scrunched her fingers into fists in her lap, hunching her back and dipping her head low in front of her shoulders. She was staring at the table again. "I'm sorry. I'm just... shy."

He chuckled. "Mauve, you need to stop apologizing."

"Sorry."

"Mauve."

"Yeah. S—"

"Mauve."

"Yeah."

Foster smiled lightly. "Anyway, you have a better excuse for being a loner than I do. I'm just no good with people."

"You seem to be doing fine just now," Mauve informed him.

He didn't answer right away, and Mauve wondered if perhaps she had said something wrong. She glanced up as he responded, "Yeah, I am. I guess you're just lucky." He gave a good-natured smile, but she saw a flash of something in his eyes that didn't match. Confusion, maybe. Or wonder.

/

Yesterday would never amount to anything. It was just one of those weird things that happens one day and never happens again. This is what Foster thought until, come lunch hour, the chair on Mauve's left slid away from the table and he sat in it.

"Is this okay?" he asked her, possibly just to mask his own surprise.

She nodded. Apparently independent of her control, a huge - but still shy - smile spread across her face. Oh, wow, he thought. Her whole face lit up when she smiled that way. It was amazing.

That was probably the moment that he resolved to make her smile like that every single day.

/

Mauve had never been so happy in all her life. Foster had come to sit with her every lunch since the incident with the three bullies. No one had ever made her smile as much as he did.

They discovered their similar reading taste and shared love of cinema. Foster taught her about tae kwon do, which was his favourite hobby. And she found herself confiding in him something she had never told anyone about: her passion for scriptwriting.

"Come on," he begged, tugging on her notebook. She kept a firm hold. "You're killing me here. I want to read it!"

Neither was very strong, but he was bigger and eventually won out. As he opened the cover, she flushed and turned away. No one had ever read her writing before.

She could hear him turning pages, and found herself anxious to know what he thought. She surprised herself when she realized that she had never wanted to please someone so much as she wanted to please Foster.

"This is fantastic, Mauve." Foster reached out and lightly yanked on part of her dark brown hair, prompting her to turn and look at him again. "You're really talented, you know."

Her blush only deepened. "Thank you," she said softly, biting back a grin.

/

Inevitably their friendship inspired plenty of rumours around the school. They ignored all of them until, one afternoon, a girl walked up to them and asked them bluntly, "So, are you guys like, dating now?"

Mauve turned very red. Foster, annoyed, snapped, "Even if we were, would it be any of your business?"

The girl frowned. "Jeez! I was just asking!" She stalked off.

Mauve looked down at the table, embarrassed. Foster patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Just ignore them, Mauve. People will be people." Still, he couldn't help being angry. Poor Mauve was so kind and innocent, and yet people harassed and pestered her relentlessly. He wished he could make them leave her alone.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Whatever for?" Foster asked, taken aback.

"For spending all this time with you and giving people ideas." She bit her lip.

He shook his head. "Don't you dare. I started this. Besides, I don't care what they say! And on top of that - what have I told you about all these apologies? Nothing is your fault! Absolutely nothing at all!" She looked upset, and suddenly Foster felt like hitting himself. This reaction was the last thing he wanted. He squeezed her shoulder and softened his tone. "I just don't want people taking advantage of you," he said more quietly. "You don't need to take the blame for everything. Hell, you don't need to take the blame for anything. You're the most wonderful person I've ever known."

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he had even thought about them, but he wouldn't have taken them back for the world: he'd never seen her smile so widely. She looked happier than a child who had just been informed that the Easter Bunny lived in her basement.

And he discovered that his heart was pounding against his ribcage so hard he thought he might burst. What a peculiar feeling.

/

Mauve was beginning to become unnerved. Something new was beginning to happen every time she saw Foster: a strange fluttering arose in her belly. She marvelled that this must be the 'butterflies in the stomach' sensation that she's seen described in her books. She'd never felt it before.

It had been only a week since the 'are you dating?' incident, and Mauve was still flustered, but she felt that this was something she should confide in Foster.

When he sat down next to her, she didn't look up from the table. "Foster, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course," he responded instantly, and from the tone of his voice she knew he was listening.

"If I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see a certain boy, what should I do?"

There was a long pause. Mauve stared determinedly at the tabletop.

"I think... that you should tell him," Foster answered slowly.

She screwed her eyes shut, hands balled in her lap. "Just did," she mumbled.

/

Foster stalled. It took him a moment to fully realize her meaning: him?

Mauve finally looked up at him, sheepish and embarrassed. He was grinning like an idiot. "Fuck. You're adorable," he told her.

She flushed, and his grin only widened. "Wh-what?" she stammered.

"You heard me," he answered.

She stared at him, wide-eyed and red. "Um. Um."

After a moment's hesitation, Foster reached over and took her hand.

/

Mauve's gaze drifted down to their hands, then back up to Foster's face. He looked at her questioningly, as if to ask, is this all right?

"I-I think I like you. A lot. A lot a lot," she managed.

Foster's grin returned full force, and he squeezed her hand lightly. "Lucky me."

Mauve bit her lip, unable to hold back her smile.