‘Come on, this way.’ She gestures first with her head, then makes her way across the square.
I follow dutifully, trailing a few steps behind at first before mustering up the courage to walk alongside her. She greets me with a smile, waiting for me to catch up, before reaching out her hands at the new greenery around us.
‘Pretty, isn’t it? You missed the cherry blossoms, but the green is still fun and bright. People get so sad when the blossoms fall,but I look forward to it. It’s a reminder that spring’s over to make way for summer. What’s your favourite season?’
She’s chatty. Chattier than me, anyway. It wouldn’t be that noticeable if she didn’t make me so bashful.
‘You don’t talk much, do you? Is it my English?’ she asks without shame or doubt.
‘No, your English is great,’ I quickly assure her. ‘Better than my Czech.’
‘So what is it, then? Are you still out of breath? Here.’
She unhooks a bottle from her carabiner and shoves the water towards me, and while I don’t mean to look at it like a vial of poison, the flummoxed side-eye is most certainly there. It doesn’t unnerve her – only makes her smile wider as she opens it, takes a dramatic sip for herself and offers it again. I still can’t seem to speak. I don’t know if it’s the lack of breath or the dazzling, hypnotic look in her eye.
I take the bottle from her, silently sipping as she watches me just as intensely. My eyes don’t leave hers. Not even as hers not-so-subtly flick down to my lips, pursed around the bottle top. I keep sipping, glugging, even. I’m drinking all her water. I didn’t realise how thirsty I was until I started. It’s almost finished – I should stop, it isn’t even mine! But I can’t. I’m in too deep. My body begs me to continue.
Eventually I pause for air, handing the bottle back and hoping she doesn’t notice the pathetic dribble left inside, but it’s too late. Her eyebrows raise at the new lightness of the bottle, igniting shock before it melts into something far more amused.
‘You were thirsty,’ she says.
I nod. She giggles again, this time whipping out her phone.
‘Forget the shortcut – I’ll order a car. Let’s go get you something to drink.’
. . .a juicy truth
Mala and I are each already three extortionately priced juices down by the time the rest of the group make it to the juice bar, and I am definitely experiencing some sort of natural sugar high. We greet the other runners with bright, beaming and highly ecstatic faces, and they greet us with the kind of confusion that scrunches your face up into a tight ball. They murmur between them as they sit, trying to get to the bottom of how the girl at the back of the pack got here first.
‘So, you’ve had fun,’ Noah says, beaming.
I whisked him away to the counter the second he showed up. I told Mala it was because he’d have no clue what to pick, but, really, I wanted to make sure we were cool after my small blow-up earlier. He brushed it off instantly, offering to buy my next juice and then moving on as if nothing ever happened. It made me feel like more of a cow for overreacting, but I moved on with him nonetheless.
I nod. ‘Yeah, she’s cute. And athletic. And incredibly chatty, which is good because the more I do this the more I’m running out of things to say.’
‘Hence why you ran to me.’
I scoff. ‘Ihardlyran.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘You practically leapt from your seat and dragged me away to the bar.’
Though notentirelywrong, his retelling is wildly askew. The leap was a mere offshoot of my juice-induced energy.
‘Well, excuse me for wanting to see my friend,’ I huff.
He pauses for a moment, the corners of his mouth twisting up at my use of the word ‘friend’.
‘Missed you too, bubs.’
‘Bubs?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘I’m trying something new.’
They call our juices – apple, pear and ginger for him, and raspberry and mango for me.
‘You’re right – this is good.’ He takes another sip. I smile, satisfied.
‘Been working my way around the menu.’
