Atticus

“Do you know anything
about silent films?”
“Sure,” I said. “The first ones were developed in the late
nineteenth century and sometimes had live musical
accompaniment, though it wasn’t until the 1920s that sound
become truly incorporated into films, eventually making
silent ones obsolete in cinema.”
Bryan gaped, as though that was more than he’d been
expecting. “Oh. Okay. Well, um, there’s a silent film festival
downtown next week. Do you think you’d want to go?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I respect it as an
art form but really don’t get much out of watching them.”
“Huh. Okay.” He smoothed his hair back again, and I
could almost see him groping for thoughts. Why on earth
was he asking me about silent films? “What about Starship
30? It opens Friday. Do you want to see that?”
“I don’t really like sci-fi either,” I said. It was true, I found it
completely implausible.
Bryan looked ready to rip that shaggy hair out. “Is there
any movie out there you want to see?”
I ran through a mental list of current entertainment. “No.
Not really.” The bell rang, and with a shake of his head,
Bryan slunk back to his desk. “That was weird,” I muttered.
“He has bad taste in movies.” Glancing beside me, I was
startled to see Julia with her head down on her desk while
she shook with silent laughter. “What?”
“That,” she gasped. “That was hilarious.”
“What?” I said again. “Why?”
“Sydney, he was asking you out!”
I replayed the conversation. “No, he wasn’t. He was
asking me about cinema.”
She was laughing so hard that she had to wipe away a
tear. “So he could find out what you wanted to see and take
you out!”
“Well, why didn’t he just say that?”
“You are so adorably oblivious,” she said. “I hope I’m
around the day you actually notice someone is interested in
you.” I continued to be mystified, and she spent the rest of
class bursting out with spontaneous giggles.”
― Richelle Mead, Bloodlines

“Education: the path from cocky ignorance to miserable uncertainty.”
― Mark Twain

“It begins with a character, usually, and once he stands up on his feet and begins to move, all I can do is trot along behind him with a paper and pencil trying to keep up long enough to put down what he says and does.”
― William Faulkner