One way or another As hard as she might try (she mightn’t), she wouldn’t be able

One way or another As hard as she might try (she mightn’t), she wouldn’t be able to turn any heads with her smile. It wasn’t the sort for it; there was no dazzle, no sparkle. Her teeth didn’t gleam and her lips weren’t full or striking enough to catch the attention. She had a different kind of pretty, instead of being a klaxon she was a snare.  Her smile merely immobilised. A slowly gliding eye would find itself suddenly glued, fixated on that slight flicker at the corners of her mouth, the suggestion that perhaps, a few moments from now, the smile would fade away as thought it had never be. It was the idea of impermanence, something to be savoured for now, and not taken for granted.  It attracted a certain kind of man, those that explored, sought her without knowing that they were looking, and those that just accidentally stumbled, blessed with a cosmic luck in these things. Tripped into romance, with a nonchalant smile and a happy appreciation for their own good fortune.  She naturally slid towards the edges of parties, hovered around the periphery. Happy to drink and chat and unassume. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to observe so much as just exist, be one amongst many, lose herself in the school, the flock, the herd. Be a part of something greater and get a little something back in turn. Excitement by osmosis, or something like that.  He came at her secluded corner like a boxer just done slugging, taking the opportunity to ice and psyche, get ready for another bout. He was out of breath, smiling, distracted.  There was something solar about the way he slowly became aware of her, and she enjoyed being witness to it. The processes careening into one another with all the grace of a pileup; him realising he wasn’t alone, him realising she was a girl, him suddenly dropping his surprise like it’s a live grenade and taking a deep breath, relaxing, coming up with an approach vector. When he did finally speak she laughed before he’d even got one syllable out. He looked surprised, but unphased. At least he had that going for him.  “Sorry.” She began, although sincerity was lacking from her tone. “It’s just I watched you come up with whatever it was you were going to say, and it was all too funny not to laugh at."  He shrugged. As he did it he relaxed back against the wall, looking out across the room again. A minute passed, and she quietly drank her drink.  "You laugh like a vandal."  She looked up at that. How could she not? "By which I mean, it seems to me you enjoyed knocking me down, metaphorically speaking. A vandal.” He chopped out the final ‘a’ of the word, made it rhyme with 'handle’. He was odd, but now she was curious. “And you’re pointing that out because?” He smiled at that question, turned away from the others in the room and looked at her. He shrugged again, but sat up this time, made sure he had her attention. “Well now it’ll serve as a nice juxtaposition when I knock you down, metaphorically or otherwise."  'Opportunistic’ wasn’t an archetype she’d had much experience with. Which, right now, only made her doubly interested.  -- source link

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