"Oh, sorry." Tadashi turns, letting the girl squeeze past him and grab a sandwich. Her right arm is swaddled in a cast, but she moves agilely otherwise, grabbing a bag of chips between two fingers. "What happened to you?" Tadashi blurts without thinking.
She stops, a purple streak of hair falling messily across her eyes as she tilts her head and pulls a face. “Fell off my bike.” Her gaze flickers to his bundled hand. “You?”
"Burned myself," Tadashi says, raising his bandaged hand in salute. "Pretty badly, so they tell me."
"Huh," grunts the girl, resuming her journey to the cash register. Meanwhile, Tadashi’s gaze sweeps over the hospital cafeteria—the TV playing faintly in the background, the blinds open slightly, the sterile gray tables.
Aunt Cass and Hiro aren’t due to visit for another hour, and, as much as Tadashi tries to pretend otherwise, he feels the slightest bit lonely, especially when he stares at the small carton of orange juice in his hand, the condensation sliding coolly against his palm.
"Hey—um," he starts, hesitantly, and girl-who-fell-off-her-bike turns, "would you, uh, like to keep me company? For lunch?"
There’s a heavy pause and Tadashi is thinking, sardonically, On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your creepiness? but then the arm in the cast pulls higher as the girl shrugs and says, “Sure, why not?”