| Lighthouse | William Beckett, 002

"It's funny, how people won't believe something is true, even when it's been proven. Like ghosts. There's plenty of proof out there, yet so many people reject the idea. It's crazy." He shakes his head of orange-blonde hair and takes a sip of coffee.

I don't have an opinion on the matter really, so I just nod as well. This boy's name is Patrick. He's worn a hat every time I've seen him, and he wears big, brown glasses that disguise a pair of barely-visible big, brown eyes. He's been spitting out philosophical thoughts at random, although I guess it's okay because this is philosophy class. Unlike the other students surrounding us, Patrick's attention seems to be fully centered on his work. He hangs on every word the professor says, and his eyes never go astray, and his eyelids never fall. I feel a little foolish for watching him so closely, the majority of my attention wrapped up in him, but there was something mysterious about him. But, every person here is a mystery to me.

The professor dismisses the class, and I feel as if I've wasted half an hour. I learned nothing about philosophy and nothing about Patrick.

I shuffle through the people, not really in any rush, but they seem to be. I'm beginning to catch the vibe of these people of Quail's Peak, tucked away in their own little world, sewed under a few crevices that the earth deemed worthy enough for a town like this. It seems as if they would be slow, calm, and easy-going. But it's as if they all have somewhere to be, and it's never where they already are.

Highbrowed Patrick glides past me with his stack of books piled in his weary hands. He's not even close to skin and bones, but I can tell his bones have been through more than I'll probably find out.

I exit the psychology building and am greeted by one ray of sun; the rest of the sky is a cold, stone gray. I instantly feel depressed as I compare such weather to the people, the buildings. It's all the same.

I look around at all the busy people, in search of a familiar face, or maybe a new one to try and figure out. Patrick was too hard. I look around at the stone-floored streets of Quail's Peak. Its population is small in number but big in something else. I still haven't figured out what.

After much searching of nothing particular, I give up, and I retreat to the coffee shop, the one Gabe hastily introduced me to the other day. It's cozy, quaint, and quiet. Everyone is either studying on laptops or sipping coffee alone, or with others, but they don't talk to each other. I order a tea, and I sit down in a chair far away from everyone, not wanting to disturb a soul. There's something so intimidating about them, or maybe it's just me. I've been told I can be pretty intimidating myself.

One head of brown hair, in particular, sets off a feeling of familiarity to me. She's tall with long, dark brown hair, dazzled by cheekbones to reach the sky. Her eyes are a distant honey brown. Her attire is the definition of "little black dress." And finally, I recognize her as the girl in the picture with Gabe, the one taped to the mirror in our room. The way she sits at the countertop, one leg crossed over the other in perfect posture, as if a ruler was down her back, she doesn't seem the same as she did in the photo. But who knows how many years ago that photo was taken, and who knows what could've happened to her today.

I try to keep that in mind. Anybody can be having the worst day of their life, so never say "Cheer up, baby" without knowing why. At least for me, that makes me feel worse.

I sip at the white rim of the tea cup, and in the exact moment I set it back down on the small round table, the door opens with the quiet ring of a bell above it. This man I can't help but recognize because it's Gabe. He hurries over to where the inscrutable yet familiar girl sits, rubbing his hands together after putting his gloves in the pocket of his wool coat. She gracefully throws her chin over her shoulder to look at him, both her elbows still on the countertop, the rim of her coffee cup still an inch away from her lips. He says a few words to her, then he looks around, and we lock eyes. I smile at him.

He points at me, then helps the girl up off her stool, and I feel an introduction coming on. "Hey, Bill, what's up?" he says, his hands in his pockets again, not making an ounce of physical contact with the girl.

"Nothing," I shrug and smile.

He turns to the girl. "Audrey, this is William, my roommate. William, this is Audrey... An old friend."

Her mood completely did a back flip when her eyes found Gabe. What I found as a lonely girl in a coffee shop turned into somebody's friend, somebody that needs someone.

"Nice to meet you," I say as politely as I can.

"You too." Her voice is surprisingly small, I mean, coming from eyes that are so big.

"Enjoy class today?" Gabe asks me, though I'd bet money he didn't go to class at all himself.

"Oh yes. I met a guy named Patrick..."

Gabe's eyes light up. "Oh, Pat's a good guy. Very strange, but he grows on you in a way you'll never be able to forget." He looks at the watch on his wrist, then he takes a whole foot's step away from Audrey after accidentally nudging her with his elbow in the process. "Well... we gotta go, but maybe we can chill tonight?"

I barely get to nod before he rushes out, signaling with a wave of his hand for Audrey to follow him. I wave goodbye to her and him, then I finish my tea. I can expect tonight to be very quiet.
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