Travis and Dominique aren't really alike. At all. But sometimes something as simple as a Phil Collins CD and a bowl of Fruitloops can bring people together.
"For one so small,"sang Dominique Desperaux quietly to herself, swirling her spoon around in her bowl of rainbow-colored cereal,"you seem so strong." She shoveled a mouthful of Fruitloops into her mouth and chewed slowly, still humming her tune.
It was a sunny day in Honolulu, or at least a day that was a bit sunnier than usual. The Starbucks that Dominique had positioned herself outside of was filled to bursting with tourists looking to get out of the blistering heat, but Dominique was perfectly content where she was, obnoxiously large headphones forced over her unruly black hair. She was used to the heat, and so had dressed accordingly in a light blue sundress, that rustled gently against her bare legs in the slight breeze.
Dominique wasn't really sure why she ever went to Starbucks other than because it was close to her apartment - she didn't like coffee, couldn't be bothered to eat a scone or anything like it, and usually brought her own food - but she would later be glad that on that one particular sunny day she'd decided to go with her senseless routine.
As Dominique broke into the next verse ofYou Will Be in My Heart,there was a muffled curse from behind her, and someone went tumbling into the empty chair opposite her. The someone happened to be a boy, a boy with an out-of-control case of freckles and a tousled mop of painfully bright orange hair. He was clutching the leash to some monstrous hairy thing that might have at one point resembled an English Sheepdog, and one of his shoes had been flung unceremoniously away from him, and lay dangerously close to the nearby road.
"Ow," he said intelligently. Then, as if scolding, "Cameron Frye."
As if it wasn't odd enough for a strange boy to tumble into the seat across from Dominique, he had to go spouting confusing nonsense.
The redhead seemed to notice for the first time that there was a girl sitting across from him, and straightened, smoothing out his Enya tee. His shaggy dog whined impatiently, slobber dribbling from his mouth all over the sidewalk. "Hel-lo," said the redhead slowly, peering at her over the box of Fruitloops that had effectively hidden her thus far.
"Greetings," said Dominique stiffly, tugging her earphones off down around her neck. "That was quite the graceful landing."
"I'm naturally talented," he said. "Never took any classes or anything."
Dominique quirked an eyebrow. "Really? No ballet?"
The redhead smiled smugly, as if taking her comment seriously. "Nope," he enunciated, popping thep.
Dominique nodded quietly to herself. "I'm Dom," she said at last, in a weak effort to keep the so-called conversation going.
"Travis," said the redhead shortly. His dog's whine rose to an agonizing pitch, and then it barked. Travis started and turned, "Oh, and this is Cameron Frye."
Dominique said nothing, shoveling another bite of Fruitloops into her mouth. She let Travis watch her for a long, awkward minute as she chewed, swallowing loudly. The tourist traffic inside the Starbucks had lessened, slowly trickling down to a last wimpy few as the rest squared their shoulders and decided to face the heat. When Dominique was done her mouthful of cereal she nudged the box across the table, towards Travis, who didn't seem as if he were going to be moving any time in the near future.
He accepted it silently, maintaining the easy hush that they'd fallen into for some reason or another, and took out a great handful with one hand, looping Cameron Frye's leash around the arm of his chair with the other. He munched silently, his jaw moving in a circular motion that was much like a cow's, reclining comfortably in his seat. Cameron Frye was chewing on Travis' shoe, which he'd retrieved from the roadside, his great tail sweeping over the ground like some sort of glorified broom.
Dominique, bored by the silence, went to reach for her headphones, slipping one side of them back up over her ear. Travis saw the action, and gestured interestedly. "Whatchya listening to?"
Dominique pushed her hair out of her eyes frustratedly, wanting to look him in the eyes as she answered. "Phil Collins."
The Fruitloops that had survived from Travis' original handful fell to the sidewalk, crushed to crumbs. "You like Phil Collins."
"I said 'don't judge'."
"I'm not," Travis sat forward, knocking over the colorful box of Fruitloops. "Phil Collins is pretty much the awesomest thing since sliced bread."