The Hunt.

Upstairs in the study hall betwixt and between classes:

A perky young lady in a shag haircut and enough make-up to mark her as very young chirped to her friend a little loudly, but she was so happy and radiant it didn't bother me at all. I took a break from reading to eavesdrop. (If you're loud, you've given me carte blanche.)

The sandy blond who sat down across from me was from Germany -- Berlin specifically. I almost tried out my half-remembered Deutsch on him, but I realized that I'd be interrupting as he leaned towards her, chatting with that special terrified eagerness guys get. Flirt, flirt, back and forth. He was doing well.

He slid down in his chair, surreptitiously admiring her. Oh, he wanted her. I'm no longer innocent about guys: they do think of sex first. I was very amused and pretended to read. But who can focus on philosophy with this going on?

All seemed to be going well when a stud-muffin Hispanic guy in a muscle t-shirt interrupted the conversation, puffing his chest out and dropping cues that he and the perky girl knew each other from another class. Clear "buzz off" language. Tried to monopolize the conversation. The German fellow looked distressed, almost forlorn, and that's when I decided I liked him.

Perky-girl was polite but annoyed with the interruption. Her words were cheerful but her body language said "go away." So Mr. Macho was exposed as someone who'd waited too long to make his move and was trying a desperate save. And she did not like his pissing her territory.

Unfortunately the German guy didn't seem to read her. His shoulders slumped, a clear "oh no, maybe she's taken" written all over his face.

But the sun shone again when she got rid of Mr. Macho and turned her attention back to the German. The two left together.

It's great when the good guy wins.