Black is the color of a strangled rainbow.
He’s not sure what to make of her, of her small glances and her nervous smile. He’s not sure what to think about her sudden and then more frequent presence. She seems nervous; perhaps as nervous as he. When they see each other suddenly, there seems to be a sudden shift in her: an eruption of italics about her face. Another tiny smile. He’s not sure what to make of her or their small, thrilling game which, of course, must surely be in his imagination.
She’s taller than he is and he’s not sure what to make of that either.
