Almost Nothing

Matthew recognised the shoeless girl on the bridge by her hair. Yesterday in maths, sunlight had teased out the gold in Linda’s auburn strands while Mr Finnegan waffled on about saddle points. Now the rain had dulled it to brown.

Linda flinched when he stopped right next to her. His eyes flashed to her feet: her big toe poked through a hole in her mud-slick sock. 

He propped his elbows on the railing and squinted at the shallow riverbed. ‘If you fell down there, you’d probably break something.’

‘You’d die,’ she said after a pause long enough that he thought she wouldn't answer.

‘Nah. Not high enough.’ He yawned and glanced at her. She worried her lip; her eyes stayed fixed on the stones below. 

‘Go away, Matthew.’ 

He swallowed and swung one leg over the railing. 

Linda grabbed the rail. ‘Seriously?’ 

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘Classic. Always seeking attention.’ 

‘Looks quite high from here,’ he said, lifting his other leg. ‘You’ll call an ambulance, right?’ 

Their eyes met. Her breath came quick. His thigh cramped, but he stayed where he was. 

Linda’s hand edged towards him. ‘Don’t.’ 

He nodded and swung back onto the bridge. 

A wet strand clung to her cheek. Matthew wanted to brush it out of her face, but his hands were shaking too much. He shoved them into his pockets. Pulled them out. Did it anyway.

She sniffed and looked at her feet. ‘This changes nothing, idiot.’

‘Can we get out of the rain, please?’ He thought it already had.

Her socks squelched funny as they walked to the bus shelter. Shoulder to shoulder, he listened to the rain drumming on the tin roof. It sounded pretty.

Her little finger brushed his. He almost didn’t feel it.