By any means. Kurt Ellis

I have an exam on Monday. I need to wake up early tomorrow and do some revision. I told you I had to leave early before we even came out tonight.” Amia was not smiling any more.

      “I know, I’m sorry, but what else can we do? You can’t walk home alone.”

      Before Amia could answer, and in a second of insane bravery, Kyle chipped in. “I can walk you home … if you like.”

      Amia laughed. “But I hardly know you. You could be some kind of a serial killer.”

      “Only on weekdays. I take the weekends off. So you’re safe with me,” Kyle smiled. “But seriously: you can’t walk home by yourself, and I would be happy to … escort you.”

      Amia gave Paula a questioning look. Paula nodded and turned to Kyle. “You’re Captain’s cousin, right?”

      Kyle nodded. “Yup.”

      “If you kidnap my friend, I will fuck you up.”

      “And what if your friend kidnaps me?”

      “Yeah, right. You wish you were that lucky.”

      11

      Kyle and Amia said their goodbyes to Paula and began their walk to Sherwood. Amia was spending the weekend at her friend’s home in the leafy neighbouring suburb. As they strolled, he joked and she laughed. They chatted about anything and everything. The topic somehow turned to books and reading.

      “I love to read,” Kyle said.

      “Don’t lie,” she sniggered. “Coloured guys don’t read.”

      “I’m serious. I love books.”

      “Which ones?”

      “I read all kinds, like Jeffery Deaver, Stephen King … Paulo Coelho is great too. But the truth is, I love the old English writers, like Shakespeare and Marlowe.”

      Amia laughed out loud. “You like Shakespeare?”

      “Of course I do. I think the way he wrote is absolutely beautiful. They don’t write like that any more. I wish people would talk like that now.”

      Amia smiled. The streets of Sherwood were quiet, and the large trees that lined their route cast dark shadows over them.

      “Me too,” she finally said. “I must admit, I thought Romeo and Juliet was particularly romantic. Especially that part about lips doing what pilgrims’ hands do … or something like that.”

      Kyle stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape. “Are you serious?” He laughed. “How do you know that line?”

      Amia laughed too. “We studied it last year. I actually really liked it. I just wish you guys could be that poetic. Instead, you’ll come with throw-up lines, like ‘Your father is a thief, because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes.’” She giggled. “Or ‘There’s a phone call for you, it’s your boyfriend.’”

      Kyle blushed and his mind raced. Should I do it? he wondered. I could, and it might impress her … Or she might think it’s corny and I’m just a nerd. Could I be so bold?

      You miss a hundred per cent of the shots you don’t take …

      He reached out and gently took her by the arm, turning her to face him. He stared into those beautiful, smoky brown eyes of hers. With a deep breath, and in the clearest voice he could manage, he quoted: “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear – Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, and, touching hers” – Kyle gently slid his fingers down from her forearm and took her hand in his – “make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight; for I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

      They stood there in silence and Kyle thought that this would be the perfect moment to taste her lips. That is exactly what a smooth guy would do, but his courage had abandoned him. Instead he gazed at the astonishment in her eyes, until she smiled and cocked her head slightly to the side, the way she always did when she smiled that intoxicating smile of hers.

      “Are you trying to charm me, Mr Kyle Shakespeare?”

      “Depends.” He smiled. “Is it working?”

      “Maybe.”

      Maybe. They continued their walk.

      “I must say, that was beautiful. And you memorised it?”

      Kyle shrugged, but he could see she was blushing slightly as she swept another curling strand of black hair from her face.

      “I told you I like that stuff. I even write that kind of stuff. Or at least I try to.”

      “You write?”

      “Again, I try.” Kyle blushed. “If soccer doesn’t pan out for me, I hope to be a writer one day. Maybe revive the classic Petrarchan love tradition.”

      “The what?”

      Kyle smiled, and explained that his grandfather had many Shakespearean works and study guides that Kyle had claimed as his own. That is how he had learnt the term.

      “Well, I think it’s beautiful,” she said. “And you can speak like that to me any time you like.”

      They stopped outside the large grey gate that opened into Paula’s yard. With nervous smiles, they said their goodbyes. And with fear and hope wrestling in his throat, Kyle took his shot. “Do you think I could give you a call tomorrow?”

      She smiled a sly little smile. “You can try, but it may be tough, considering you don’t have my number.”

      Kyle grinned nervously. Was she telling him that she was interested or that she wasn’t going to give him her phone number?

      A heavy silence hung in the air, casting shadows on his bravado bigger than those of the yellowwood trees around them. Finally she asked, “Do you have your phone with you?”

      He almost coughed with relief. “I do.” He pulled it from his pocket. To his horror, the battery of the thing, which he’d bought secondhand, had died. “That’s okay,” he said. “I guarantee you, I’ll remember it.”

      She smiled. “Okay. We’ll see. 2-0-8-0-1-8-9. That’s Paula’s number. And if you can remember it, then call me tomorrow.”

      She gave him a hug and his knees trembled at feeling her body touching his. He watched her disappear into the house, then turned and sprinted down the road. His body was humming with bliss.

      “2-0-8-0-1-8-9!” he sang the number out loud.