by M. F. Lorson
Remember the one about the guy who was too scared to tell the girl how much he adored her?
Too much.
...how much he liked her.
Not enough.
...how much he wanted her.
...how sorry he was.
I’m sorry, Sloane.
Perfect. Mom always said there was nothing as powerful as a sincere apology...and nothing as meaningless as an empty one. If I was going to make this up to Sloane, it had to be good. I couldn’t expect her to believe I had changed without proving to her how wrong I was.
She wanted a grand gesture, so that’s what she was going to get.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the car door and stepped out. Once I reached our Media Studies classroom, I started to get nervous when I didn’t see her. What if she missed school today? I couldn’t play this if she wasn’t here.
I spotted Becca sitting at a table with Parker, both of them laughing over something on his computer. Then I watched as he put an arm behind her back, and she actually leaned into it. They both went a little wide-eyed when they noticed me watching, and I gave them a casual wave as I headed straight for Ms. Mitchell’s desk. Considering what I was about to broadcast to the whole school, I had absolutely no right to stand in the way of Becca and Parker.
“Ready to upload your segment?” Ms. Mitchell asked with a smile as I approached.
We walked together to the classroom computer connected to the broadcast system, and my hands shook as I signed in. She seemed to notice and patted me on the back.
“Nervous?” she asked.
In order to get my segment broadcast to the whole school, Ms. Mitchell had to proof it first. That was her non-negotiable, and I tried to get out of it. I even considered making a fake file that she could approve before uploading the real thing. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to send this video to my teacher, but she was the gatekeeper, and it was her classroom.
“It’s a great video, Gabe, and no matter what happens, you should be proud.”
“Thanks, Ms. Mitchell,” I said, holding my chin up a little higher.
“You’re going to be a great filmmaker one day,” she said while she continued setting up the system. “The next John Hughes.”
She said it so nonchalantly, but my cheeks grew hot as I stared at her. “Thank you,” I stammered.
“Kids these days don’t even know who that is anymore, do they?”
“I do.”
The tardy bell rang, and students rushed in, but there was still no sign of Sloane. While the anthem played over the intercom, I felt like I would be sick.
Across the room, Becca and Parker started the announcements with their usual good morning greetings.
“Good morning, Groundhogs! For today’s announcements, we have a special video segment from our own Gabe Maxwell. Enjoy!”
Just as Ms. Mitchell pressed play, sending my video over the airwaves, I took a deep breath. The door to the classroom opened and just as my video appeared on the screen, I locked eyes with Sloane as she walked in.
Sloane
Gabe did not text me back last night. The result? Sloane, walking zombie version. According to Dad it was only slightly scarier than ‘world’s worst ninja’ Sloane. So that was comforting. I had managed to put on makeup and shower, so when I opened the doors to Media Studies and immediately locked eyes with Gabe, my first thought was, oh how I have missed looking at that boy—and not, turn, run, you’ll burn his retinas!
Ms. Mitchell motioned for me to sit down so I tore my eyes from Gabe and cast them up to see what everyone else was looking at. A snort escaped my nose when I saw what was causing everyone to grin. There on the big screen, standing in his Dad’s fancy marble shower stood a shirtless Gabe with his hair spiked into a shampoo mohawk. Judging by the shaky camera work and near nakedness he had enlisted Landon’s help filming the missing pieces of our segment. Or at least I hoped he had.
“I’m not European,” he said, looking directly into the camera. “I just spent a few years in Europe. That still doesn’t change the fact that I know what life at Grover High is really like.” There were snickers all around the classroom, and I wondered how many kids here had actually seen Ferris Bueller enough times to know he was recreating the opening monologue and how many just thought half-naked Gabe was funny. Either way, the segment was off to a killer start.
The next scene entailed Gabe pretending to drive his father’s convertible while Landon sat on the lip of the backseat. How he had managed to talk him into wearing a hideous bandana and peewee hockey jersey I’ll never know, but he was a perfect Cameron pretending to enjoy the sun on his face, while Gabe reminded the student body that Grover was special because we didn’t all stick to the cliques and stereotypes pop culture expected of us.
“For example,” he said. “Who would have thought a girl like this,” the scene changed to a shot of Harper tagging the camera with a bottle of hot pink spray paint, “would be best friends with a girl like this?” I smiled as Reagan looked up from her excessive stack of library books and gave the camera a nervous wave. It would not have been easy to get those two to cooperate, not after what happened at that party which made me wonder how many more tricks Gabe had up his sleeve.
“Or how about the fact that a completely normal, albeit wildly good looking guy, can be related to a major film nerd like this?” said Landon leaning over Gabe’s shoulder so that he fit into the frame. “I blame Europe,” he said before leaning back out of view again.
The next shot I recognized. It was Gabe in front of Cassandra Moyer’s house, and he was gearing the audience up to learn about the long, hard journey from average girl to spelling bee champion, though really he was preparing to let Cassandra remind us that sometimes the judgemental types aren’t the ones you expect them to be.
I felt his eyes wander in my direction when the scene ended and my laugh rang out in the background. He could have cut that part, should have probably, but he didn’t, and when the next scene began, I knew why.
Instead of Gabe speaking to the camera, it was me, that day in my basement. I looked nice for someone who only hours earlier was drafting her last will and testament. On camera I rambled about school, movies I loved, who I liked to spend my time with. I was starting to wonder how it tied in with the rest of the segment when the shot transitioned to just Gabe standing in front of the entrance to the Grover High Gym.
“You see that girl? That girl is student life. Or she is for me anyway.”
My cheeks flooding with warmth as a half-dozen heads turned to look at me. Maybe they thought I was in on it. But I was as clueless as they were when it came to where Gabe was going with all of this.
“When I got back from Europe, I couldn’t seem to find my place here. She saw that, and she helped me figure out that the Harpers, Reagans, Beccas, and Parkers...” Gabe winked at the screen. “They don’t have to make sense. They just have to work.” Three rows ahead of me I watched as Parker slipped his hand into Becca’s. I had been so focused on my feelings for Gabe that I hadn’t noticed Parker and Becca growing closer. Now that it was right there in front of me, it felt obvious.
The scene cut back to me in the basement.
“Boys are never like they are in movies,” I said. “and I guess my standards are too high. It’s just that I want the real deal. The guy who fights for you. Sticks up for you. Stands outside your window with Peter Gabriel blaring. The big stuff. It’s not that I don’t like relationships. It’s just...the guys around here... don’t get it.”
I searched the room for Gabe. I wanted to tell him that I understood. That he was telling me, he got it. But he wasn’t where he had been just a moment earlier. In fact he wasn’t anywhere, except of course on the big screen.
“My point is Grover High, you don’t always know the moment you go from being opposites to needing one another. Sometimes, it happens at girl scout camp.” A shot of Harper and Reagan in pigtails and green vests filled the screen. “Sometimes it happens over onion
rings,” Landon shooed the camera away with one hand while Gabe attempted to get him to smile. “And sometimes it happens in line for your student ID.” A couple of giggles sprung up in the classroom as two student ID photos popped up on the big screen. One a megawatt Maxwell smile, and the other...mine.
The screen faded to black and the class broke into applause. That was a grand gesture, if ever a grand gesture existed, but now that Gabe had disappeared I didn’t quite know what to do with it. How was I supposed to kiss the leading man when he was MIA?
Gabe
I had to dodge Sloane for the rest of the day. I didn’t want this to be some grand gesture where she was under pressure from everyone watching. Whether she accepted my friendship...or you know, something more, I wanted it to be after she had some time to think it through. So, I made sure to dip out of class before the video ended.
Everywhere I went on campus, I received nothing but constant praise from the whole school. They crowded me before lunch, and I had no choice but to move the whole crowd with me when I noticed her approaching. She must have thought I was either a super jerk for stealing the attention of our group project or she was so confused as to why I would confess my adoration and then ghost her.
“I just needed to get through the next two classes,” I mumbled to myself as I ate my granola bar alone behind the cafeteria. I let Landon absorb the attention, which really wasn’t asking much. Because he had to help film it and made a small cameo, he was suddenly the biggest celebrity Grover High had ever seen.
Finally, it was the last period of the day, and this was where things made me nervous. All I knew was that I had to beat Sloane home. I just had to. And in order to do that, I would have to beat the mad traffic that built up everyday in the parking lot after school. Unfortunately, I had English last, and my English teacher was known for being a real warden about letting us out on time.
I considered ditching the class, but my grade in English was already a mess since I didn’t read any of The Grapes of Wrath like I was supposed to. So I enlisted the help of a certain rule-following literary lover who also happened to be Sloane’s best friend and the biggest cheerleader of our possible blooming relationship. Her plan was genius.
Reagan and I knew that our teacher, Mr. Roth, loved when the class joined in discussion on the novel. We also knew that if we sat there silent, letting Reagan do all the talking while we stared at him like we were all too stoned to comprehend basic English, he would punish us with a lecture that usually ran at least five minutes after the last bell.
That could not happen today.
I watched as the clock ticked closer and closer to 3:15, and I felt the sweat start to bead across my forehead.
As soon as Mr. Roth took his usual place in front of the room, posing a question about Steinbeck’s use of man’s immoral nature toward man, I glanced nervously at Reagan. She gave me a reassuring smile, and when my hand popped up, Mr. Roth couldn’t have looked more surprised.
My detailed and elaborate answer to his question was perfect. Well it should have been since I spent the last two days memorizing it. And boy did he eat it up. Reagan answered too, and together we created the back and forth class discussion English teachers only dream about. We came up with original ideas, feeding each other new lines and deep, thought-provoking questions.
It was so good, in fact, Mr. Roth sat back on his desk with a heavy sigh like he was the one who did all the work. At exactly 3:12, he looked at his watch and my pulse pounded.
Three minutes early? This must be a new record.
“Great discussion today. I’m glad to see you’re all enjoying Steinbeck’s classic depression era literature. Let’s call it a day.”
He said something about reading chapter nineteen for homework, but I was already halfway out the door, slapping Reagan’s hand as I bolted past.
“Go get her!” she shouted as I dashed down the hall, which was gloriously empty.
Just before I reached the parking lot, I skidded to a stop when I spotted Sloane standing with a flock of girls by the track. I couldn’t believe I forgot that Sloane had P.E. last period, and they were almost always outside this time of year. I couldn’t let her see me running to my car. Not only would it blow the surprise of it all, but it would totally look like I was actively avoiding her, make that running from her.
I needed a detour. I looked down at my watch. 3:13.
Spinning on my heels, I ran toward the back of the cafeteria where I could pass through the baseball diamond and circle round to the parking lot. I’m sure I looked like a crazy person sprinting through campus and across an empty field, but I managed to reach my car, gasping for breath at exactly 3:15.
The bell rang just as I slid into my sensible sedan, saying a little hallelujah and racing for the parking lot exit before even one other car was there to beat me. I kept it under the speed limit on the way home, but I was very careful about taking the road with less lights even though it meant going a little out of the way. I managed to change my black polo into the red plaid button up at the one long street light I got stuck at.
My eyes kept jumping to the clock on my dashboard. Sloane would be coming straight home from school today. No Burger Barn because the girls were still not talking, and I knew she went to the cemetery yesterday so she wouldn’t be going today.
I also had an unexpected ally who assured me that Sloane would receive a text as soon as school let out asking her to come straight home after school so he could check something on her car. It turns out when you tell a girl’s dad that you’re planning a grand gesture in order to apologize to his daughter, he could be pretty on board about it. He also said something about eating too much lasagna lately, which made absolutely no sense to me, but who was I to question it?
Once I pulled the car up to her house, my nerves evaporated. All day, I couldn’t kick the feeling in my gut that I was royally messing everything up worse, but now that she was on her way here and I was about to surprise her, it just felt right. I should have done this a long time ago.
I should have told her how I felt, especially since she was the only person I was comfortable enough to talk to.
I only had a few minutes to spare, so I grabbed the corny vest out of the paper bag that Landon was kind enough to sift out of Dad’s closet. I put it on over my button-up and pulled the single pink cupcake Harper and her dad baked for this very occasion.
Moments before I detected her car pulling up the street, I assumed the position. Ankles crossed, leaning against what used to be a very cool car, with a single cupcake in my hand.
If Sloane wanted a Jake Ryan, I could be her Jake Ryan.
Sloane
Gabe’s moment of cinematic glory was destined to be recounted at every Grover High School reunion from this day forward. No one would remember he was prom king, or that his Dad used to make more money than God. They would, however, remember that Gabe Maxwell, told Sloane Miller that he thought she was pretty great and that everybody had a good laugh in the process.
I should have been floating over the moon, but I wasn’t because even though Gabe’s video was pretty clear, his actions afterwards were not. What was I supposed to think when I saw him sprinting, literally sprinting, to his car to get away from me?
All day long people had been patting me on the shoulder and telling me how great it was that Gabe and I were getting together, but I was starting to worry that we weren’t and tomorrow morning I would be trying to explain to everyone how the video was actually more of an interpretive sort of project. Mostly I was worried Gabe would keep fleeing the scene every time I turned a corner.
I considered calling Harper and Reagan and issuing an apology in exchange for some seriously needed advice, but a cryptic text from Dad required that I come home immediately after school. Did I really believe that Dad’s text—Something is wrong with one of the parts that makes your car go—was legit? Absolutely not, but considering I still didn’t know if I was going to get credit for the special segment or not, I
wasn’t going to argue with him for asking me to come home.
When I turned the Gremlin onto my street (running perfectly fine mind you) I saw the real reason I had to be home the moment school got out.
Standing in my driveway, with his back up against the door of his car, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding a silly pink cupcake, was my very own next generation Jake Ryan.
Now I have seen and swooned over the ending of Sixteen Candles any number of times. I’ve even been known to hit pause and leer at the screen for a while, but this was better than the movies.
“Hi,” I said, pulling the car door shut behind me.
“Hi,” he answered back.
And then the two of us stood there in silence until neither of us could take it anymore and we both exploded into laughter.
“Your vest,” I cried, taking in the hideous sweater vest he had layered over his flannel button down.
“My vest,” laughed Gabe. “I think you are ignoring my pants.”
I took a step back to fully appreciate the effort Gabe had put into his grand romantic gesture.
“Are those?”
“My Dad’s old jeans? Why yes they are. I must have watched the end of Sixteen Candles like fifteen times to prepare for this and every time I thought to myself, what does Sloane see in a guy who wears ill-fitting jeans?”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed Gabe by the crook of the arm. “It’s not about the outfit.”
“Maybe you would like to screen the film for me and explain what it is about, then.”
“Maybe,” I said, steering him toward the front door. “After you meet my Dad and explain to him how you hijacked our segment, and sunk my Media Studies grade to the bottom of the abyss.”
“Or” he said, twisting the knob and pushing through to the foyer, “I could tell him how I prearranged the segment with Ms. Mitchell, told her you helped with most of the filming and the overall concept and sort of saved your grade, despite your willingness to sacrifice it entirely just to stay mad at me.”
