Burnt Orange

      She was tiny, as though she were a little pixie or an elf; her skinny jeans were baggy on the tops of her thighs and ankles and her Paramore tee loose on the arms and waist. Summer sun bounced of the studs of her heavy belt and Vans (somehow more battered than the deck under her arm), both burning orange, as were the cute freckles mapping her face and arms. I smiled, I couldn't help it; she was like a stolen portion of sunshine, bright and bold, cute but not girly. The little sun had a hard attitude in her aura.


      She turned, spying me staring, and I ducked. The traffic was flowing so she wouldn't be able to cross anytime soon: I was safe for the minute and I took the opportunity to check out her new hair. It added to the badass image she projected: a wicked crop of flames, fringe shot with shades more red and some other more yellow. The red played through the flicks on her crown too, like real fire. I guess the badass thing was – well not spoiled, but contrasted by her canary aviators, those slotted ones that wouldn’t look out of place at an 80’s tribute night, and fluffy orange Skullcandies round her neck. No-one else could’ve pulled off the whole collaboration off. Hell, no-one could’ve pulled off that much orange in one shot.

      The girl pushed her glasses onto her head and darted across the road.

 ‘Hey,’ she chirruped, grinning. ‘I’ve not seen you in ages, Jack, you okay?’

‘You get more like your sister every day, Ginger. How’s life?’

‘Life’s good, man, life’s good. Conway and Joey are at the skate park, I’m with them. I was just gonna get some lunch.’ She tugged at the rucksack strap on her shoulder.

‘Life’s about to get better, Ginge – mine this weekend? Tell your Rachel too, and tell her if she wants anything I want the cash by Thursday, same goes for you, kid.’ I ruffled her feathers and she stuck her tongue out at me. ‘I’ll give it you now, man, and then I best get myself fed.’ She pulled a twenty out of her back pocket.

      ‘Oy, dude, what have I told you about keeping money in your back pockets? Not safe, get it in your bag.’ I took the rest out of her pocket and shoved it into her bag. ‘It’s in the inside pocket, be careful with it. Anyways, what do you want?’

‘The usual. As usual.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll get off then, Jack. I suppose you’re meeting Conway and Joey?’

‘I was, but you’re just too lovely to leave.’ I winked. ‘Let me treat you for lunch.’ I held my arm out in a mock gentlemanly way and she took it, laughing at me.

       ‘Always the charmer, Mr. Jack. What would Rachel say if she could see this?’

‘Um... something along the lines of “I swear to God, if you hurt my sister, I will tear every limb from your body, cook them, and eat them in front of you”. That’s what it says on the text I got this morning, anyway.’ I grimaced. ‘Sounds painful, right?’

‘Rachy doesn’t mean it, she’ll always be your mate.’ She reassured me.

‘I’m not so sure.’

She hung her deck through the straps of her bag and ran her now free hand through her hair. ‘Yeah, yeah; I know you’re scared of my sister. Come on.’

She tugged at my arm and I followed her; an irresistible burning orange sunshine.


- Tawny

The End

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