Spring aroma's slid across Cleo's nose as she trudged along the abandoned road. She could distinctively make out the footprints she made just yesterday. Her hands dug deeper in her pocket and she hung her head lower as a loan car drove by, coming to a slow roll at the sight of her and then finally speeding up.
She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and sighed when the bridge finally loomed before her. Cars whizzed by on top of it, unaware that a sixteen year old girl was just below. She quickened her pace until the shadow of the thick cement hovered over her.
"Cleo girl?! Good to see you!" a rugged voice called up ahead. Cleo darted up the smooth incline of the bridge, used to it after all these years. She stopped by her tent to drop of her torn school bag and strolled on over to Murphy's tent.
There were exactly eleven tents lined up on the incline of the bridge. They all belonged to the homeless like Cleo and Murphy. The thought of Murphy made a smile quiver unto Cleo's face. He was a scruffy old man that practically raised her. He taught her right from, showed her the ropes in this crazy world. Then one day Cleo just knew, she knew she'd probably never be able to live without him.
"Hey Murph," she chirped, letting the nickname she had given him years ago reverberate off of the bridge walls.
"How was school Leo?" Murphy asked, using the nickname he dubbed upon her and offering her some of the cold ravioli he was eating, right out of the can.
"Ok, I guess."
Cleo sometimes worried about Murphy. He was getting to be an old softy. His aged and unruly beard grew in tangles, the beanie cap on his head hardly blocking him from the elements with its many holes.
"You guess!?" Murphy mused, chuckling to himself, "You better not guess Little Leo, you better know! School's what's going to get you a house and home, away from this stinky old bridge and away from stinky old me."
The thought of leaving Murphy made Cleo cringe and she rapped a small hand around his wrist.
"I'm never leaving you Murphy. You here me? For now this bridge is my home." And as she said it Cleo actually believed herself. She was raised and loved under that bridge, a simple man-made thing that had dominated so much of her life.
Murphy gave her a sad and reassuring smile, "You'll keep saying that Cleo but one day your feelings won't be the same." Cleo wanted to protest but let the old man talk as he stood to a groaning stand. "You're going to want a better life, friends at school who will accept you and a real home. A real family."
Cleo shook her head all the while, strands of honey glazed hair licking her cheek. "I don't want those things."
Murphy laughed to himself again, flem filled raspy coughs taking over his chuckles, "You keep saying that Cleo. Just know that I won't interfere with what makes you happy." Murphy's caring brown eyes stared down at her for only second before he started to make his way into his tattered and torn tent.
"Don't go yet Murphy," Cleo begged, her hazel almost yellow eyes boring into him, "Let's talk for a while."
Murphy shook his head sadly, ruffling the disappointed girl's hair, "I just can't little Leo, not today, just too tired. Too tired is all." He gave her two more loving pats before scuttling inside.
Cleo shook the worry out of her head and rose to a stand, her torn cheap leather boots pinching her toes in the process. "It's ok Murph, I have an early shift at the book store anyways," she called into him, only to hear snores as his answer.
Leaping over to her tent, Cleo grabbed her satchel that held her writing pad, pencil and a book from the library. She slid down the steep bank and waved to her dozing, restless and tired homeless friends. They weren't much, but they were like family.
~*~
"Good afternoon Naomi!" Cleo called, stepping into the book store and letting the bell chime above her as she breathed in deeply. The smell of books in the afternoon always calmed her nerves.
"Back here!" Naomi called, her backside hanging out of the doorway behind the check-out counter. Cleo rushed over to see what Naomi was doing, she desperately hoped they were new books. "Are they here? Is that them?!" she asked eagerly, trying to see past the tall thirty year old women. Naomi rose up to a slow stand and swiveled around quickly, rushing to the counter so that she could set the heavy box down.
"That's right bookworm, just got delivered this morning. Told the mail man to place them in this here closet but what I really should have told him was to put them here," Naomi babbled, still mumbling to herself as she pried open the box.
Cleo always admired Naomi. She had blond almost platinum curly hair that she always kept in a pony tail, crystal blue eyes and a smile that could kill. Sometimes she would secretly pretend Naomi was her mother, almost filling the void in her heart. Her cheeks still turned embarrassingly red whenever she remembered the day she almost called Naomi "Mom."
"Are there any R.L Stine? Stephenie Meyer? Ann M. Martin? Cornelia Funke?" she asked hopefully, flinging herself at the box. Naomi stopped the over excited girl with a swift hand to the shoulder.
"Not yet bookworm," she said warmly, placing the box under the counter.
"But-"
"Not yet, and if you can't wait then no book for you."
Cleo sighed with slumped shoulders. "Fine, I can wait."
Naomi and Cleo had made a deal a long time ago that whenever a new shipment came in, the eager teenage girl was aloud one pick from the pile to keep as her own. It really did help with Cleo's everyday hunger for books. She couldn't just go out and by one instead of getting food for her and Murphy.
"Now if you want to earn your five dollars an hour I advice you to get your tushy to that shelf over there. They need to be alphabetized," Naomi instructed, picking up a clipboard and scribbling some incoherent writing down. Cleo nodded in reply and hung her satchel on a hook in the closet before heading past Naomi's counter. She was about to get down to business before a surprise customer startled her.
A tall lanky boy with a serious expression etched unto his face strolled in. He clutched a grey book in his hand and a old notebook in the other. Cleo eyed him as he took a seat on one of the couches way in the back, not saying a word to neither her nor Naomi.
Naomi noticed Cleo's suspicious expression and lightly patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry about him kiddo. Comes here every day."
Cleo stared up into Naomi's icy blue eyes in surprise. "How come I never see him?"
"He comes before you start your usual shift. The kid only stays for fifteen minutes max. Always comes in at the same time everyday, snuffing out his cigarette at the door and stepping inside," Naomi had an amused expression on her face as she gazed at the young boy, "Girl I remember the first time he came here he tried to bring that cigarette in here and I said 'No no mister. This is a no smoking area.'"
Naomi laughed to herself and Cleo fixated her eyes back on the mysterious boy. His wavy dark hair fell into his ears, hitting the nape of his neck and his blue infused with green eyes never met hers. He had a piercing over his right eyebrow that crept Cleo out but other than that he seemed fairly normal. His thick black eyebrows sat in a straight line over eyes that were trained on the open grey book.
Cleo decided that staring at him all day wouldn't get her work done so she headed down to the back shelf that happened to have a clear view of the strange boy. She gave a great sigh and started alphabetizing books, every now and then staring around the corner to see what he was doing.
He was like an intriguing exhibit at some museum; You know you want to keep walking but you can't help sticking around.
Cleo happened to glance at him again, just as she was organizing all of the C's, when the boy's penetrating eyes fell on her curious gaze. She let out a surprise squeak and the book in her hand clattered to the floor. Scrapping it up, Cleo noticed he was still looking at her.
Then he began to talk, and his voice head a rough yet smooth talking edge to it, "Did you really think I didn't notice you watching me that whole time?"
Cleo felt a slow heat scraping at her cheeks and fumbled as the book slipped out of her hand again.
"You can look but don't stare," he continued, eyeing her, "Or maybe even say something?"
Cleo's eyes darted from him to a busy Naomi and then down at the book that lay at her feet. She rung her hands nervously and looked back up at him, "Cleo, my name's Cleo."
It was the only thing she knew to say at the time. The boy nodded slowly, realizing that was all he'd probably get from her, closed his book and started to draw in the notebook he brought. Cleo slowly picked up the book splayed out on the floor and lazily placed it on the shelf. She eyed the boy's notebook while he drew in it, slowly creeping closer to him. "What's yours?", she asked timidly, "Name, I mean?"
The elusive boy looked up from his complicated drawing for only a second, "Anthony, Anthony Muchette."
Cleo nodded her head slowly in response but he didn't see as he went back to his drawing. The late afternoon sun sent a glow around the small space as she tried to find the right words to start a normal conversation. She decided she liked the sound of his voice. It was a cross between an Italian New Yorker and a regular teen boy.
"So, Anthony, doesn't sound like much of a tough name to me."
Anthony looked up from the pencil that he was etching across the paper and gave Cleo one of the hardest stares she would ever come across. She wondered if she said something wrong, averting her eyes from him and taking the last couple of steps forward. She took a seat with out asking if he minded and clasped her hands together.
"So, what are you drawing?" she asked instead, trying to change the subject.
Anthony leaned forward, pulling up the sleeves of his thin black sweater and held up the notebook for Cleo to see, the rustic rings on his finger gleaming in the light.
Cleo leaned forward and noticed that it was a pair of eyes. No bodily shape or form to go with them, just eyes. She looked up from the notebook, warily at Anthony, and then touched a small finger to her own eyes. "Are you- Are those my eyes?"
Anthony smirked, probably the only thing close enough to a smile that he would show, and went back to etching his pencil across the page. She leaned further over the small love seat she was sitting on, stretching her neck to see more, when suddenly Anthony slammed his notebook shut. She looked up at him in surprise as he rose to a tall stand.
"I'm leaving now," he said awkwardly, knowing he at least owed the curious girl that. He began to walk away but jumped when Cleo suddenly grabbed his forearm.
"Will I see you again? What school do you go to?" she asked, flinching her hand away from his arm quickly as she realized what she had down.
Anthony stared down at his arm and then back up at the strange girl he didn't expect meeting today, "I go to Mullby High."
A smile pulled at the corners of Cleo's mouth as she stared up at him, "Me too."
Anthony turned to leave again but instead of reaching out, Cleo stopped him with questions. "Why do you come here? Why do you leave so early?"
The girl always loved questions. She believed they would lead to the answers of life. They helped her become smarter and learn more than most tenth graders can learn in a life time. Anthony leisurely turned around to face Cleo, he walked backwards, talking all the while.
"I come because it's quiet, well at least it used to be," Cleo looked away, realizing he was talking about her, "And I leave because it's as long as I can last without a smoke."