“So.  You declared yet?”

“Is that all anyone can ask these days?” Jon sighs, leaning his chair back on two legs and almost knocking heads with the girl at the table behind him.  “I mean, do you really care what my major is, or are you just fishing for something to say?”

Sarah isn’t exactly sure how to respond.  “It’s just a question,” she says with a bit of an edge in her voice.  “You’re a sophomore, I thought maybe you would’ve recently declared a major or be considering one right now.  It’s just sort of a common topic this time of year.”

“A boring topic.  And I don’t have an answer, my major is Undecided.  What’s yours?” he adds out of conversational duty.

“Physics.”

Jon puts down his coffee in surprise.  “Physics?  You’re kidding.”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Because you look like an art history major or women’s studies or something pointless like that.  No offense, or anything,” he says quickly as Sarah opens her mouth to speak.  “I just meant, I’ve never met a physics major with pink nails and purple eyelids.”

“I like science, I hate blood, and I’m good at math.  Physics seemed like the way to go.”  A silence falls between them for a moment.  Sarah speaks again, needing to break it.  “So.  You’ve got three months left to pick a major.  Surely you must have some idea what it will be.”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you leaving it kind of late?”

“Probably.”

“I just mean, I don’t know anything about you.  What do you like?”

Jon looks at her very seriously for a moment, then he speaks.  “I like weathervanes, and crossword puzzles (the Times, not the Chicago), and those little plastic swords they sometimes stick in sandwiches, and I like the kind of mailboxes that have a red flag you can put up when there’s mail, and I like warning labels on children’s cough medicine that tell you not to operate heavy machinery when taking it.”  He smiles and sips his espresso.  “So.  What do you like?  Besides math and purple eye shadow.”

Sarah is still processing his answer and doesn’t realize that she has been asked a question until several seconds have passed.  With a note of what may be admiration, she says to him, “You may be the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, but you’re going to have to do something impressive to get the same compliment from me.  You want another?” Jon asks, pointing to Sarah’s nearly finished cappuccino.

“What?  Yeah, please,” Sarah replies, and Jon waves to the waitress.  “What do you mean, something impressive?”

“I’ll admit it, I don’t usually date girls who wear three-inch-high-pointy-death-shoes with jeans and purple eye shadow.  I usually go for the ones who can sing all of ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ and have actually seen ‘H.R. Pufnstuf.’  But I figured, a prep school girl who cherishes an ugly Elmo T-shirt sounds like an interesting person, so I thought I’d ask you out.  But so far, the only thing you’ve told me is that you like science and hate blood.  I want more Elmo shirts.”

Something about the way he says this makes Sarah wonder if she should be insulted or flattered.  She raises a penciled eyebrow.  “Okay Jon, clear this up for me,” she says, folding her arms.  “Are you telling me I’m not measuring up to your undoubtedly high standards, or that you’re interested in me?”

“I’m saying that I like you when you’re not reading from a small talk script.  Your major is boring.  You are not.”  He smiles again and looks at her expectantly.

Sarah pauses for a minute, then speaks again.  “I like Boston accents,” she murmurs.

“Wicked,” Jon replies with an appreciative nod.

Sarah smiles.  “And, um…”  She looks around the coffee house for inspiration, her gaze landing on a flower arrangement.  “I like those little glass beads they put in the bottom of flower vases.”

“No prompts,” Jon says, following Sarah’s gaze to the flower arrangement.

Just then the waitress brings Sarah’s cappuccino.  Sarah sips the foam, then puts it down and rolls her eyes.  “She forgot the cinnamon,” she mutters.  She grabs her purse from under the table, reaches into the side pocket, and pulls out a little shaker of cinnamon.  Jon looks at her in disbelief.

“You carry cinnamon in your purse?”

“It’s my favorite sweetener,” Sarah says, a little defensively.  “Some people carry Sweet’N Low, I carry cinnamon.  I put it on everything.  Coffee, tea, chicken, squash, potatoes, tomato soup—”

“Sarah,” Jon begins.  “You may be the weirdest girl I’ve ever met.”