Sally Witherspoon was an unemotional young girl. But she didn't think so; in fact, at ten, she considered herself to be a sophisticated young woman with terrific manners and courteous behaviour. Her mother and father agreed; they raised and ingrained in her a love of excellent etiquette and correct conduct. Sally was logical and impersonal. In her attempts to be mature, she didn't view things in terms of moral absolutes, instead adopted a Stoic philosophy: if something made her happy, it wasn't wicked. If somebody wounded her emotions, she would just try not to let them bother her any longer. It was straightforward; a kind of self-preservation. But this meant that when Oliver entered her life, he stunned her; shook her to her core.
"Hm." That's what she concluded after first seeing him. For the average individual such a reaction may give away feelings of contempt or annoyance, but for Sally, such a noise meant quite the opposite. She was transfixed by his presence. His beautiful face was captivating, and she couldn't help but stare at him as he walked down the street. As he passed by, she found herself unable to avert her eyes from his large, blue ones.
The next day, Oliver Bates came to her school, his first day of classes. He was nervous and stuttered during his introduction speech. She listened intently, trying to understand how a child could be so frightened about speaking in front of people. But she failed miserably at doing so. The more she observed Oliver's mannerisms, the more impressed she became. Something about him—his facial features, his voice, perhaps even his body language—was different than that of other children. Not only did he seem to be older, but also much wiser and more mature. Even though she knew it was silly, she felt like she was being drawn to him.
"Okay, Oliver. It's time for you to choose where you want to sit!" The teacher's request made Sally look around for any free desks in proximity he could pick. She was in luck, to her left was an empty desk—the kid who previously sat there had moved to another class. She looked up to find that the new student was staring back at her, and their eyes met.
She blushed, feeling embarrassed for some reason. She turned away and began counting in her head; a strategy she picked up from watching television.
Oliver himself looked over the same space, seemingly decided, and paced over to the vacated desk, placing his school supplies neatly in order. Then he noticed her gaze and smiled at her. She averted her eyes as quickly as possible, but it was too late; Oliver already knew she was looking at him.
"H-Hello." He spoke softly, with a slight stutter. "I-I'm Oliver B-Bates." Sally didn't reply, simply kept her gaze fixed on the floor. Her heart was beating faster than usual. She had never been so excited to see someone before. She didn't know why, but it scared her a little.
"Hello." Her voice was as dispassionate as ever.
Oliver continued, unperturbed by her dull tones. "P-Please, don't be afraid of me."
Sally gave a tiny nod—it was all she allowed herself to do in fear of messing up. "I'm not afraid of you." That wasn't entirely true, but she didn't know what else to say.
He seemed relieved, furrowed brows relaxing. "T-That's good. I was worried that maybe I being a-awkward." Sally nodded again, still not saying anything. "So, uh, do you have a name?"
That caught her by surprise, even though it shouldn't have. "Yes."
"What is it? Please, tell me. It's important to me."
Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Of course she needed to divulge her name, that was basic social etiquette. What was this boy doing to her? "My name is Sally Witherspoon. You can call me whatever you like, Oliver—I won't mind."
His smile widened. "Oh! Thank you. I'll be sure to remember. And thank you, Sally. That means a lot to me."
Thus began their unconventional friendship;