She was the most delicate girl in town. I liked to think of her as something made out of matchsticks, and knobby joints. Her voice, it never seemed to mature, even as she stretched into a teenager, and curves set in, she would still skitter on her toes, and wring her hands, and never make eye contact.

The crush I developed on her was no not so unusual, I think the whole town was in love with her in their own way, male, female, child, animal. Girls like that aren't meant to last if you think about it. Those quiet little things always get snapped up by something cruel, whether it's a villain or sickness, the hand of a God that says an angel cannot live so long on Earth.

I thought about approaching her, asking if she wanted to give me a chance, let me take her for a soda or something. Maybe a movie? I watched her at the dance, politely refusing, serving punch, being the sweet thing she always was.

I waited a bit, nervous and sweating, my pale suit dampening in the humidity. I saw her leave the party, I imagined to avoid stifling any further, and I lingered back until I finally mustered courage to follow.

I never did talk to her. I found her around the side of the house, away from the lights, laughing and panting, legs wrapped around the waist of someone else.