As the other two began to shift their conversation away from Nate, she continued working. The piece was nearing completion, each sharp line stretched by a slight blurring into shade and depth of lighting. Nate wasn't a major proponent of pencil work, since pens were cleaner and charcoal made shading much easier, but it was occasionally useful as a mixture of both.
Oh, had she finished her pastry? The croissant had been nice, a warm and flaky baked good with a sweet, mild cheesy filling. She'd eaten it without realizing, it seemed, since it wasn't on the table anymore and she definitely remembered biting into it.
She picked up her coffee, but it was gone, too. When had she finished it? It occurred to Nate how silly it was to forget to eat so often that you didn't even notice when you were eating. She really needed to get out of that habit.
Gathering up her implements of creativity (a lofty phrase for pencils and paper) and sliding her sketchpad into her bookbag, Nate quietly rose from her seat, slid lightly past the two cohorts, who had been polite enough to let her finish, before moving out of the coffee shop with a faint smile on her face, pleased with the product of her excursion. She did not say a word to Sebastian or Simon in the process.
((Nate Chauncey continued in Sawyer, You're Going out a Youngster