Circumvent

She couldn’t see him, he was sure, standing where he was, just inside the tree line, where the shadows sighed between the fluttering leaves, shivering and shaking in the chilled morning breezes, trembling, as he was now.

Mouth dry. Stomach in a knot. Fists cold and sweating. Heart doing that strange pinching-twisting thing it did only when he was alone in her presence.

His gaze traced the lines of her long limbs, freckled from exposure to the sun, working long hours on the garden behind the house so they’d have something decent to eat, instead of the rock-hard, mystery-meat-filled sandwiches that Casey brought from the gas station down the road. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Didn’t want to.

He wasn’t spying. He wouldn’t do that. He was out here early checking the snares, they’d gotten two rabbits, much to his joy; when heading back, he spotted her doing yoga on a mat in the dappled rosy glow of a sunrise that had only just emerged.

He was stuck. He couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back.

As it had been since he heard Donatello’s exhaled breath of amazement when they’d first seen her. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of seeing, and worse, she was funny and smart and witty and down-to-earth.

But she wasn’t his.

Shoulders slumping, he emerged from the tree line, out into the blinding glare of the sun, squinting and making a bee-line for the porch, hoping to avoid her notice.

“Hey, Raph,” she called. “Good morning!”

He froze, the rabbits dangling from one fist. Staring at the house, he said, “Got some actual meat for dinner tonight.” And cringed at how rough he sounded, how uneducated, how minor, how ill-suited to even be speaking to anyone as amazing as April O’Neil. It infuriated him, his ineptitude at even just greeting her.

Without waiting for a response, he stormed forward, climbed the steps and nearly plowed a half-asleep Casey Jones over. He chucked the bodies at Casey who dropped his hand from rubbing his eyes to catch them against his chest.

“Uh, morning- ugh. . . what is – EW! ” Blinking, Casey stared from the rabbits to April who had climbed the steps following Raph, a slightly bemused look on her face as she stared at the screen door where he’d vanished into.

She took the rabbits from Casey, who happily turned them over. “I guess I’m cleaning these for dinner.” She looked them over. It was a great catch, Leo could use the protein. They all could.

Casey gaped. “You-You know how to do that?”

“Nothing to it.” She shrugged. “My great-aunt taught me. Want to learn?”

Casey shook himself. “God, no.”

April sighed.

“Not that I’m afraid,” Casey said suddenly, straightening up, standing in his lop-sided camouflage pajama bottoms and black tee, hands on his hips, hair mussed and sticking up in random directions. “’Cuz I’m not, you know. Afraid. It’s just, uh, gross.”

“Well, then we’ll have the delicious, healthy stew for dinner tonight and you can eat another one of those rubber sandwiches from that old vending machine.”

Casey screwed up his nose. “You drive a hard bargain, O’Neil.”

“Maybe I could get Raph to help,” she said, looking again at the screen door.

“Naw,” Casey said around an enormous yawn. “You should ask Don. He’ll do it all for ya, if you wanted.”

Her face fell. “I know.”

Casey stared at her for a minute then shook himself again, making a loud obnoxious sound with his lips as he did, then he straightened up and posed in a fighting stance. “Ready when you are, Red.”

“It’s cooking, not a battle.”

“Says you.”

Casey followed her inside. Neither caught the shadow as it retreated from the kitchen and raced away, up the stairs, to the bedrooms. Distantly, a door slammed and music thumped, making April pause, wondering if that had been Raphael, tempted to call for him, to invite him down to join them, but the thought lingered only for a moment, before she went back to instructing her friend on some basic cooking. There was so much to do and the day had only just begun.