Blossom Boy

My arm stretches up into the empty air but my fingertips just can’t reach the pink bubbly bloom. Instead, another hand reaches for it and takes it before I can.

“You wanted this,” he says slowly while handing me the flower. I stare up at him with suspicious eyes. I’ve never trusted this boy. He’s your classic class clown and he always has some weird grin on his face, but this is the first time I’ve seen him without that goofy grin. I quickly grab the bloom and say, “I could’ve gotten that on my own.”

“I was just trying to help. Don’t get all defensive,” he says slumping his shoulders and taking two steps back. When my suspicions face doesn’t leave he puts his hands up suddenly.

“I’m not gonna do anything! I swear.” He takes two more steps back.

“I’ll just go,” he says turning away and heading towards the entrance gate.

The next morning I gather up my courage to thank him in front of all his friends. They wonder why I’d need to thank him, but he never gives them the answer. Everyone at school wonders why I call him Blossom Boy, too. People are nosy.