This morning marked the first day of school following up to spring break. The dread specter of school had haunted her last two days of vacation; while she was over at Jess's house watching late-night TV shows riddled with the walking corpses of ex-celebrities, she'd been thinking of school and what a zombie she would be on Monday.

She was half-asleep on her feet at the bus stop on this dreary funeral date for her vacation, watching idly for her own bus, when she caught sight of Him. Even in her thoughts, she emphasized that - emphasized Him - watching Him with a shy smile as he tripped off the bus. He was long and lean, laden with lanky, leggy grace that made her want to spout poetry to Him. He wasn't even embarrassed about his fall as he tripped his way over to the other side of the streetlamp she was flanking, but he was looking straight through her eyes. He wasn't embarrassed; under his surgical focus and canine-flashing, off-kilter quirk of a smile, she definitely was. At least the blood rushing to her head and crowding her cheeks had awakened her.

He was still looking at her - through her. Although she'd taken pains with her appearance today, He must be able to see that her hair was more mousse and hairspray than it was natural, her eyes more mascara than gray. However, He looked messy and uncontrolled; He looked dangerous, His hair windswept, like a patch of weeds on his suntanned head. Nothing about Him was unnatural, except that He was confined by clothes and saddled with a heavy backpack when He should have run free. Free of what, she wasn't sure. He just looked wild and unbridled, untamed, sharp eyes roving over her, sizing her up.

"That was talented of me earlier, huh?" He asked out of nowhere.

She nodded shyly, looking down to let her hair fall across her forehead – a shield. She couldn't meet His eyes and be turned into a quivering, blushing, stammering mass; although He was still studying her, she paid all her attention to cleaning her already-immaculate fingernails.

"They're clean." He leaned in and peered at her nails along with her, carrying a light whiff of something heady, musky, that invaded and conquered her senses without a fight. She blushed like no zombie ever could, wondering if she should step away from the intimidating shroud of His presence, wondering what to say. As much as she wanted to give her all but atrophied vocal cords some strenuous exercise, all she could wring from herself was a smile broader than any she'd previously summoned. He caught it, even though she refused to look directly at Him, and His pronounced canine teeth caught the early morning light again, glinting.

He was smiling at her.

Emboldened, she managed to say, "If I'd tripped like that, I'd still be on my face over there." She pointed vaguely at the spot where the bus had been - His bus. Then, all the blood in her body flooding into her cheeks and instigating mob rule, she had to resume cleaning her nails.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw His smile widen to nearly predatory proportions. "Nah, you wouldn't. I'd've helped you up," He said.

She steeled herself, as if for a deadly stunt, and dared to meet His eyes. They were a surprisingly soft brown, nothing predatory about them, only a lupine rakishness and vulpine cleverness, perhaps a tinge of canine friendliness that hid behind his flashing teeth and wildman bearing. She had never felt any particular bond to dogs; suddenly, if it meant a chance of Him liking her more, she was willing to concede her long-standing preference for cats.

"What's your name?" He asked. She could easily picture a lolling tongue, as long and flexible as the rest of Him, peeping out from between His teeth. That was her poetry to Him: ode to His doglike, winning smile.

"Lena," she answered. Then, before she could stop herself, "W-Well, it's short for Helena. But no one calls me that."

"Then I won't."

She observed him through the short, protective fringe of her bangs. He was still smiling. "Aren't you gonna tell me, um, y-your name?" she asked. Her voice sounded like a squeak, that of a mouse frightened awake by the noisy thunder of dog paws outside her hole.

As he replied, "It's Kevin," a real growl of thunder took its cue. And as He added, "You going to MLK, too?" the lightning replied angrily, flashing across the distant part of the sky piled high with spring storm clouds. He scratched at His ear, closing the corresponding eye, so blithe.

She couldn't help it; she giggled at Him and nodded her answer to His question all in one. To her, the chance for laughter felt like a rare gift, a souvenir to mark their meeting. "Nice to meet you," she wanted to say, but the giggle had spoken for itself.

He knew that, too. He said, "Cool. I'll hunt you down in the halls, 'kay?"

She nodded for the third time just as the bus - their bus - pulled up to the stop with a squeal of brakes that curtailed and brave stab at saying, "I'd like that." Really, she would love it if she had someone to look for and wave at, like others did. She would love it all the more if that someone was Him, if He smiled at her, said hi, perhaps fell into step with her on the way to class. Not even Jess did that.

He tripped up the steps to the bus, glancing back at her with that smile, now colored with approval-seeking. She followed, laughing softly at Him behind the palm of her hand while she showed the bus driver her school ID. Sitting down beside Him at the very back, where He sprawled his legs out like a lazy, stretching pet, she upped her dose of courage and said, "Good boy."

Simple laughing, much like simple smiling, didn't appear to be a part of His vocabulary. He guffawed, or rather, He barked and yipped out His amusement. Where she would have turned catatonic and undead with embarrassment at laughing so carefreely, He exclaimed, "That's what my mom says! Oh, man, I like you." He didn't mind that people had turned to see what was so riotously funny. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah," she said, and He didn't give her the odd, arch look that she expected, or so much as blink at her; He smiled and laid his arms out along the tops of the seats. It was so innocuous, but she felt that He was playing the guard dog. She felt enveloped by a sense of safety stronger than His heady scent surrounding her. All she could do was offer Him a smile and glee that He returned it.