by M. F. Lorson
And considering we’ve technically known each other since elementary school, that was a fact I wasn’t proud of. We were separated by individual boundaries put in place by the laws of high school hierarchy. It’s what gave me the right to barge in on their lunch uninvited. I was higher up on the food chain. Things could never happen the other way around.
“So, what are you planning?” I said as I reached back to my booth to grab my soda.
“Planning?” She was still staring at me like I was speaking another language.
“For your segment. I’m willing to bet you’ve been planning something for months now. Maybe even years.” I flashed her a wide smile and watched as her cheeks blushed.
“Try three years,” the blonde said across the table.
“Bingo.” I leaned toward Sloane. “Okay, let’s hear it.” This wasn’t flirting, I reminded myself. I’ve been watching this girl in Media Studies, and I could tell her heart was in it, unlike most of the other easy-A students in there. And if I was being honest, I missed being around people who were serious about this kind of stuff. I wanted to share ideas and get inspired. If I had to sit through one more conversation about homecoming or football, I’d lose my mind.
“Here?” she asked, glancing around her like she was about to get busted for talking to me.
“Sure, why not?” I asked.
“Because we don’t want to be bored to tears by your lame news show projects.” The RBF stared at me over the top of her milkshake. “Why don’t you guys have study sessions like everyone else? You’re both clearly crazy about this media junk.”
Sloane stared daggers at her friends.
“That’s a great idea,” I added before Sloane could shoot it down. “I won’t steal your ideas, I promise—but if we work on this together, I bet we could come up with something amazing.
“Sloane has great ideas,” the brunette said, but then glanced down like she regretted speaking at all.
“Yeah, maybe she could give you some pointers on the morning show too,” the other girl said, biting her lip to hide her laugh.
“Harper!” Sloane wailed as she kicked her under the table.
I let out a howling laugh. It looked like my lame performance plan was working out so far.
“Sure. I’m open to suggestions there too,” I said, looking at the red head next to me.
She was biting her lip, clearly deliberating. “What about Becca?”
My smile was wiped clean off my face. Of course she would think about my girlfriend. Shouldn’t I have been thinking about my girlfriend?
“Becca’s not really into this stuff. She likes being the anchor, but she doesn’t care about writing segments,” I answered, which was the truth. I shouldn’t feel bad about working with someone else on this. She’d probably be glad I wouldn’t be boring her to death with this stuff.
“She won’t be mad that you’re working with another girl?” she asked.
“Let me worry about Becca,” I answered. “She’ll be busy enough planning something for Homecoming anyway.”
Sloane chewed her lip a little more and glanced at her two friends as if they could help her decide. Finally, she let out a big sigh and nodded, holding back a smile. “Okay,” she said. “We can work together on our segments.”
“Awesome.”
“I’m free tonight if you want to…”
Tonight. I had plans tonight, didn’t I? I glanced down at my phone to see it was just past 5:00, and I told Becca I’d pick her up for our date...at what time? I opened my texts to check what time I was supposed to get her only to find that I was currently fifteen minutes late.
Worst. Boyfriend. Ever.
“Oh shoot! I’m sorry, Sloane. I can’t tonight. I gotta run.” In a rush, I dropped a five on the table behind me and grabbed my bag.
“It’s okay,” she said casually, but I could tell I surprised her, and I felt terrible about it. Worse than I felt about forgetting about Becca.
“5:30 at the Hanks River Trail.”
“Tomorrow night?” Her eyebrows were creased with confusion.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “A.M.”
Her eyes widened at that answer.
“It’ll be good. Get the blood flowing. That’s when I get my best ideas.”
With a sheepish smile, she finally nodded. “Fine. See you bright and early.”
“Awesome. See you tomorrow,” I said nearly knocking over a waitress as I waved goodbye to the girls and headed out of the diner.
Sloane
What does one wear to an early morning hike? Furthermore could Hank’s River Trail be considered a hike? These questions would be easier to answer if I were the type to casually venture into nature. As it was, my pasty white skin remained indoors as much as possible, lest I forget to wear sunblock and end up watching my freckles multiply like bunnies in heat.
Grimacing at the thought, I enlisted Dad’s help.
“Dad!” I called from the landing of our staircase. It was 5:00 am. He didn’t exactly hide the surprise on his face when he rounded the corner, coffee cup in hand, to find me standing in jogging pants and matching jacket.
One eyebrow quirked up. “Have you taken up running?”
“Ew, of course not.”
Dad nodded, waiting for more.
“I’m going hiking.” I tried to say it with confidence, like it wasn’t a super weird thing for me to do before school.
“In Grover?”
“Hanks River Trail,” I said matter-of-factly.
Dad chuckled. “Aw, hiking,” he replied, holding his fingers up in little air quotations.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dad took a sip of his coffee, then scanned my outfit from head to toe. “My dear sunlight-fearing child, Hank’s River Trail is completely flat. Hanks River Trail is where senior citizen’s go for light exercise, Hank’s River Trail is…”
“Stop saying Hank’s River Trail!” I barked.
Dad forced the smile off his face, coughing as he recomposed his features into an exaggerated concerned father face.
“What I meant to say was, what can I help you with?”
“Can I borrow a baseball cap?” I asked through gritted teeth.
Dad grabbed a Mariner’s hat off the coat hook at the bottom of the stairs. I bound down to grab it from him, not bothering to turn around as he mumbled, “Hank’s River Trail is completely protected by tree coverage.”
Since we apparently were not going to be breaking a sweat, and since my rear looked really uncute in sweatpants, I changed back into a normal outfit. I did wear the hat though. Full tree coverage my butt, one streak of rogue sunlight and I would be walking around school looking like rudolph.
You would think after sixteen years of raising me Dad would know that. But then again, he had left all the aggressive suncare stuff to Mom. I was lucky to have such a great dad, but more and more little things popped up that reminded me how much it sucked not to have a Mom. She would have known exactly what to wear today, and she probably would have had some advice for talking to Gabe too.
As I made my way across town to the trailhead, I wondered if it was the same for boys. Did Gabe and Landon still think about their mother every day? Did it still feel for them like she died yesterday and a hundred years ago at the same time?
Gabe stood waiting for me, his hands in the pocket of his khakis as he leaned casually on his obscenely expensive red sports car. He was fully embodying Jake Ryan right now, so much so that I stealthily snapped a picture with my phone before stepping out of the Gremlin.
“That’s quite the vehicle,” he said, casting his eyes over the green peeling paint of my pride and joy.
I smiled and patted the hood. “What she lacks in beauty she makes up for in loud clanging noises.”
Gabe grinned and lowered his eyes to the floor of the dirt parking lot. If he wasn’t a Maxwell, and he wasn’t dating the most gorgeous girl in school, I might have thought he looked a little nervous. He c
ouldn’t be though. Boys like him didn’t get nervous around girls like me.
There was a beat of awkward silence as we crossed in front of his Porsche to enter the trailhead. It didn’t take long for me to realize my Dad had been one hundred percent correct. The path was over run with little old ladies, sneakers shuffling along as they pumped their arms with vigor.
I had to say something to break the silence or we were destined to spend forty minutes quietly passing half the town’s retirees.
“I like your fancy car,” I said, immediately regretting the comment. Of course I liked his car, everyone on the planet liked that car.
Gabe cocked his head to the side. “Really? I was thinking of trading it in for something less flashy.”
I wrinkled my nose, “I can’t exactly see you driving a Gremlin,”
“I was thinking more like a sedan that gets good gas mileage,” said Gabe chuckling lightly.
“Yeah but…” I stopped myself before I could say anything stupid.
“Yeah but what?” asked Gabe. He paused and stepped to the side to let a couple in matching purple jogging suits swish passed us.
I really didn’t want to come off like I thought about him or his car at great length, but I couldn’t get out of answering now. Not when he was looking at me so intensely.
“Your family’s not exactly sedan people,” I finished.
Gabe began to walk again. “Maybe that is why I want to sell it.” His smile tightened a little at the edges. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind so much if people thought Landon and I were a little different.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. If the Maxwells weren’t the party happy, materialistic socialites they pretended to be, then maybe he and Becca weren’t what they seemed either.
Gabe
“Okay, Hughes. Let’s hear this genius plan of yours,” I said as we passed the quarter-mile marker. We had been passed by no less than twenty grandmas in velour tracksuits.
“This isn’t going to be one of those group projects,” she said with air quotes. I couldn’t hold back my laugh.
Holding my hands up, I smiled at her. “I promise. I’m not going to steal your ideas. To be honest, I just feel a little out of touch, and I’m dying to work with someone else who actually cares about this stuff.”
She regarded me with her lips twisted in a smirk. The swarm of freckles on her face looked even brighter in the early morning light. Why girls ever felt like they had to cover them with makeup was beyond me, and I found myself actually appreciating that Sloane didn’t do that.
“I mean, that class is great, but it feels like no one takes it quite serious enough.”
There was a beat of silence before she let out a loud cackle that I think might have scared away some birds. After she recovered from her dramatic laugh, she glared at me, a playful expression on her face. “That’s rich coming from Mr. Tight Pants.”
I had to turn away to hide my blush. I should have known someone would see through my little stunt.
“Yeah, you didn’t have everyone fooled yesterday. What on earth was that all about? Did you lose a bet?”
“What are you talking about? I wanted to look nice for my first day on air and that’s what I had in my closet. I’ve been in Europe for three years. Give me a break!” I could hardly keep a straight face as I lied.
Sloane saw right through it. “You know if you don’t want to be anchor, then just tell Ms. Mitchell.”
“It’s not Ms. Mitchell I have to worry about,” I said, scratching the back of my neck and avoiding Sloane’s gaze.
“Aha,” she answered. “Say no more.”
A moment of silence went by while we walked when she finally broke the quiet with a little more interrogation. “Wait, I take it back. Say more. So Becca wants you to be an anchor, and you don’t want to so your plan is...what? Just be terrible at it?”
I stopped walking and put on my most serious face. “You thought I did terrible?”
Her face fell in perfect harmony with my words, but I couldn’t keep it up for long. A wide smile broke out on my face, and I jabbed her in the shoulder. “I’m kidding. I know I did terrible, and yes...that is kind of my plan. I’m aware that it’s crazy.”
“Well, I’d be worried if you weren’t,” she laughed. “But you really can’t just tell her? You’d rather humiliate yourself in front of the whole school?”
I grabbed my chest in a dramatic act of being shot. “Ouch. That bad, huh?”
“You Rick-rolled the school. Even that prank is outdated, let alone the song itself.”
“If you’re going to bad-mouth Rick Astley, this conversation is over,” I joked.
I couldn’t help but notice that things with Sloane were so comfortable and natural that I was basically spilling the beans and saying far more than I was supposed to. We came out here to talk about our project, but I found myself wanting to come clean on everything, like she was the first real friend I’d spoken to in months.
“I would never bad-mouth Rick Astley,” she said, looking offended. “I am an '80s girl, through and through.”
“That reminds me,” I said around the half-mile marker. “Let’s talk about this project.”
“Oh yeah,” she answered with a blush. “I almost forgot.” I guess I wasn’t the only one a little shocked by how easy this conversation was. I wondered briefly if she too was thinking that this was how relationships were supposed to be, natural and comforting.
“Okay, so let’s start with that namesake of yours,” I started as another pair of gray-haired ladies passed us by.
Sloane and I spent the next half-mile bouncing ideas off each other, and by the time we reached the cars, I was too excited to notice that once again, I was late to pick up Becca. Her obvious irritation yesterday still made me feel like crap, even though this was all part of the plan. Being a bad boyfriend, even when it was on purpose, didn’t make me feel like a good person.
“You really should reconsider selling that car,” Sloane said as we stood between our cars, standing in that awkward goodbye territory.
“It’s too flashy. I mean, it’s the kind of car girls take pictures of with their phones when they think no one notices.”
Her expression contorted in embarrassment as she slammed her hands over her face.
“You’re just showing your friends what a tool I am,” I teased her.
“Yeah right. More like proving to my friends you didn’t ghost me once your burger high wore off,” she answered with a laugh.
The moment became awkward while I let her comment sink in. Is that what she thought about me? That I would pretend I didn’t know her at school?
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in class,” I blurted out and waved goodbye as I got into my car. She waved back and watched me drive away.
On the whole way over to pick up Becca, I couldn’t get Sloane’s comment out of my head.
Sloane
Confession: in preparation for this morning's walk, I stayed up way past my bedtime watching Sixteen Candles. I had seen it a dozen or more times before, but this time was different. This time I was watching for research. Who was Jake Ryan? What made him tick, and more importantly, what made him turn his back on his perfect life in pursuit of Samantha?
It was a challenge not sinking into my usual routine of studying Jake’s dimples and sighing at his dreamy eyes. Instead I took note of his situation. He had the fancy car, the modelesque girlfriend, and an untouchable reputation. Everyone either wanted to be him or date him, but he was tired of being the guy hosting the party, more importantly he was tired of being the guy his girlfriend wanted him to be.
Becca was no Caroline—but hadn’t Gabe sort of hinted that she pushed him to do things he didn’t want to? Case in point serving as an anchor on Good Morning, Grover. I knew I was being ridiculous and his life wasn’t actually a John Hughes movie, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t learn a little something from the characters. Jake needed someone like Samantha to help him see that people saw value
in him even if they didn’t want the status that came from a house you could party at or a car that cost more than a year of college. Maybe I could help Gabe see the same in himself.
What I couldn’t help was Becca’s inability to read a teleprompter.
“Cut,” called Nadine for the fourth time in less than five minutes. “Maybe you should just memorize it if it’s too hard to read.”
A blush rose in Becca’s cheeks. “I can read. It’s just so tiny.”
Nadine shrugged. “It doesn’t seem to be an issue for Gabe, and it wasn’t an issue for me last year,” she mumbled as she stepped back behind the cameras for the next take.
Despite the fact that Becca was dating the boy I was seriously in crush with, I felt a primal girl code urge to tell Nadine to shut her trap. I’d seen plenty of Good Morning, Grover last year, and she wasn’t exactly going to be winning any journalism awards for her performance.
Luckily I didn’t have to dig myself a hole with Nadine because cameraman number two boldly stepped forward.
“I have an idea.”
“By all means,” said Nadine anxious to get the episode in the can before we ran out of time and ended up playing extra music videos instead of showing an actual episode.
“Last night I took the script and put it into an online presentation tool.” I noticed his ears and neck tinted with pink as he spoke. “It’s got a much clearer font than the powerpoint, and….”
“And?” prompted Nadine.
“Some people have trouble reading from colored backgrounds, so I took that gradient thing you guys were using off.”
Becca gave a half smile to the cameraman, and I swear he was bold enough to wink at her.
When I looked at Gabe though, he didn’t seem to be worried. If anything he looked oddly pleased. Maybe it was one of those, it’s nice to know people still think my girlfriend is hot things, but he didn’t seem the type.
