The first time I met her was on the boardwalk.
The part of the boardwalk for bikers and joggers, before you get to all the stores and arcades and other shit. The part where the beach is right under you and the breeze isn't blocked off by ugly band-aid colored buildings.
I'd seen her around before. It was an overcast day; she still never goes out when it's too bright or too hot outside. She was sitting on the chilly metal railing tying up a pair of cherry red quad skates, the salty wind whipping her blue-white hair around her pale, mildly freckled face. Her nimble fingers worked to double-knot the thin black laces. I couldn't help but stare while I stood there, fumbling with my skateboard wheels, and pretending to wait for a friend.
When she looked up, finally done lacing up her skates, our eyes met.
"Are you staring at me?" Her voice was a raspy but still feminine. Like she used to smoke.
"Guess so," I replied in a sort of matter-of-fact way. She looked me up and down and frowned at my