"Looks fun," the clown said. His voice, rather than being high–pitched and grating, was deep—melodic. He squatted down next to me and rolled up his sleeves to reveal a quotation tattoo on one strong forearm. He pulled his rainbow afro wig off to rake fingers through his damp blond hair and raised one scribbled–on eyebrow at me.

I slammed the cover of my notebook closed and could feel myself burn in a full–body blush.

"The notebook, I mean," he said. "Crocodile?"

I could feel my blush receding. He hadn't been able to read that fast. I nodded. "Yeah. Faux. My friend, Laura, gave the cover to me one Christmas. My sister has one, too. Hers in blue." Mine was hot pink.

Derek rested his hands on the tops of his thighs and met my eyes. "So, you come here often?" he asked, repeating his question from the first time we'd met.

I cringed, and then laughed. "Yeah, I guess I do. It doesn't always seem planned, though." I scrambled to shove all the literature back into the portfolio in my bag upon realizing it was all laying out with titles apparent. I didn't really want to talk about it.

"So, you're a clown?" I asked, fearing my raised eyebrows expressed disdain more than curiosity.

"Would it be better if I said I am an actor?"

I pondered that, but didn't really have any personal experience in that domain. I shrugged.

"Or a lawyer?"

Definitely not. The idea of having someone argue with me on everything was unattractive and, given my propensity to stutter like a motorboat when drawn into debate, probably not a good relationship fit.

"I'm a student."

Philosophy. I was willing to stake my next paycheck on him being a philosophy geek. They do make the best slackers, after all. Well, that's not true. Marcia had been a philosophy minor, but she did it to balance all the physics courses she was taking.

"This is where you ask, ‘Oh! What do you study?'" he said in a falsetto, mocking my would–be question voice.

"What do you study?" I asked too late and lacking sufficient enthusiasm. I think I saw a smile curl on his lips, but he looked around the tree I was leaning against, smiled, and pulled his wig back on. When I twisted around to see what the new cacophony of sound was, I quickly located a fresh group of moms with toddlers who'd all arrived simultaneously. I watched the back of Derek's drooping polka–dotted pants as he shuffled away from me in floppy shoes.