High School Lover

by Rose Croft

  Finally, the bell rang, ending class, and I hastily grabbed my stuff as I saw Andrew jetting for the door. I quickly tagged behind him into the hallway.

  “Andrew.”

  He whipped around and scowled at me as his jaw ticked like I was holding him up from something important.

  “Th-thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Your compliment the other night. I’m sorry that I ended our conversation on that note.” I smiled and dipped my head. “I don’t know how to handle compliments.”

  His face softened, and his tense body relaxed. He lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “It’s all good.”

  We’d just read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and had to write a rhetorical analysis. I was lost and needed help. “Do you think we could get together this week and work on our papers?”

  He shrugged. “Okay, when?”

  “Tomorrow night? My house?”

  “I think it will be all right. I’ll check my schedule at work. Why don’t you give me your number?” He pulled out his cellphone, and I typed it in. “I’ll call or text you to let you know.”

  “Sure.”

  We both hastily headed off to our next class. Since we had only five minutes between classes, it was almost impossible to get anywhere on time, especially if we stopped to chat with anyone.

  At lunch, I spotted Jamie and sat down beside her with my tray. She was sitting with the usual crowd.

  “Hey, ladies.” Bryan and Steve plopped down across from us. Miley was on the other side of Jamie, and she and Steve began playfully bantering back and forth. I guess all was right in the world again. I told Jamie about Steve going off with another girl the other night, and she didn’t act all that surprised. Maybe that wasn’t the first time? I didn’t care much, honestly. Steve and Miley seemed to deserve each other.

  Bryan was recounting a funny story that happened in his class that morning, making us all laugh. He looked at my tray. “You want those fries?”

  “No, go for it,” I said. At least all this gross food wouldn’t go to waste. It seemed like this group of girls never ate much. Maybe I would lose some weight in this deal.

  With his mouth full of French fries, Bryan said, “Hey, we got another game tomorrow night at six. You gonna come? I think you all were my good luck charm last time.”

  Jamie eyed me. “Wanna go?”

  “Sure.” My voice was level, but my stomach was doing flips because Bryan had invited me again.

  “Cool.” Bryan flashed his teeth in an I’m-a-god-walking-among-mere-mortals smile, and I’m surprised I didn’t melt into liquid.

  Later that afternoon, I was still feeling elated from the inclusion into the popular group. I was in my room listening to music and thinking about what I would wear to the game the following night, when I heard my cell signal a text.

  “I changed my schedule, so I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

  Crap! It was Andrew. I had completely forgotten about our plans. Apparently, he had to rearrange his schedule to come over the next night. I felt a little guilty, but I had to go to the game. Bryan had personally invited me.

  I thought of an excuse and started texting.

  “I’m sorry. We can’t meet tomorrow night because we have to take my grandmother out for her birthday. Can we meet Wednesday or Thursday?”

  A few minutes later, he responded.

  “No prob. Thursday night will work.”

  Although Andrew was agreeable, I felt a twinge of guilt, but it wasn’t like I was skipping out on an expensive date. I tried to rationalize my reasoning with myself.

  Tuesday night, I was sitting next to Jamie in the stands as the crowd cheered when the guys ran out of the dugout to take the field. As Bryan trotted out, he turned to the stands and waved at me.

  “Let’s go, Bryan!” I yelled. I almost regretted the words because I never acted impulsively. But his gorgeous blues crinkled as he smiled. He seemed to like me cheering for him. My heart might have fluttered. Who was I kidding? It was practically beating out of my chest.

  Jamie nudged me. “He definitely likes you.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning like an idiot.

  As the game began, I felt more confident as we talked about the game, the party, and what happened at school. I was more comfortable interacting with the girls. Even Miley responded to me today, so either she was on her happy pill or I was now becoming part of the group.

  I dug in my purse to pull out my lip balm and my phone dinged.

  “How’s dinner with Grandma?”

  I had told him in class that morning we were taking her somewhere to eat cafeteria food because that’s what she liked.

  I turned to the side and texted.

  “Okay.”

  Almost immediately, my phone buzzed.

  “Did Grandma decide she’d rather have ballpark nachos over cafeteria food?”

  I almost jumped out of my seat as I shoved my phone into my purse.

  Jamie looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I get a little nervous when someone hits a foul ball,” I responded, and she turned back to the game.

  I casually looked around the stands and didn’t see Andrew. I continued to nonchalantly scan the area and soon spotted a tall figure standing by a truck in the parking lot behind us. Our eyes met, and he appeared to be slowly shaking his head in disbelief.

  This was the last place I expected Andrew to be, and it never occurred to me that he would catch me in a lie. I felt shitty and texted him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t respond.

  When the game was over, our group hung out and waited until the players came over and talked to us. I glanced around the parking lot during the bottom of the eighth inning but didn’t see Andrew again.

  Bryan walked up to Jamie and me. “You played great,” I said enthusiastically.

  “Thanks.” He was usually cocky when given a compliment, but this time he seemed almost self-conscious or shy, which seemed absurd. The guy never lacked confidence. He turned to Jamie. “What did you think?”

  “You sucked, dude.” She scrunched her nose, and he playfully grabbed her and put her in a headlock.

  She laughed. “Stop!” He let up, and she knocked his cap off his head. Then a chase ensued. This continued for a few more minutes as I awkwardly stood watching, saying nothing, with an uncomfortable smile on my face.

  Finally spent, Bryan put his arm around Jamie. “Let’s go grab something to eat.”

  He tipped his head. “You coming, Loren?”

  I shook my head because I had a ton of work to do, and I felt like a third wheel. “I gotta get home and finish some homework.” This was the second time I wondered whether Bryan was actually interested in Jamie or me.

  Bryan glanced at my friend. “Let’s go. I’m starving.” He paused as if he forgot something and took a step toward me. He seemed puzzled. “You sure you don’t wanna go, Loren?”

  Again, why was he sending me mixed signals? And why did it seem like Jamie had some interest in him? I was confused, but I would never flat out ask Bryan if he liked me or question Jamie’s motives. Maybe this was normal behavior among this group, and I was overreacting. Unfortunately, I did have a lot of homework. “I wish I could, but I have to get home. Another time?”

  “Yeah, sure. See you around.” I saw the little pout on his lips before he turned away.

  “See you in the morning.” Jamie waved as she fell into step with Bryan.

  As I walked back to my car feeling like my Cinderella moment was over, I opened my purse to fish out my keys. I looked at my phone to check the time and saw that I had a message.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  He did respond—an hour later.

  I called him. He picked up on the second ring. “Hey.”

  “Hello,” I said, unsure of his mood. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

  “I know. You already texted me that.”

  The line went
silent for a moment. I guess he was waiting for me to go into my explanation. “Um, I really don’t know what to say. Bryan invited Jamie and me to his game, and I totally forgot about our plans.”

  After a long pause, he said, “Okay. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I felt guilty because you had to rearrange your work schedule, and I panicked.”

  “You should feel guilty.” Even though his words were harsh, there was a hint of mischief in his voice.

  “So, you’re not mad at me?”

  “Not really. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. I just don’t tolerate bullshit well. And I actually enjoyed having some extra time on my hands.”

  “Why were you at the game tonight?”

  “My dumbass brother left his glove at the house, so I had to bring it to the game.”

  “Can you come over Thursday?”

  “Yeah, as long as there aren’t any more birthday dinners that you’ve planned.”

  I smiled. “There aren’t. Goodnight, Andrew.”

  “’Night, Scout.”

  Thursday night we were again at my house working on our assignment. I had always excelled at writing papers about stories we’d read in class. After all, English was my favorite subject.

  I was at a loss for how to write an analysis about a piece I didn’t even understand. Andrew, my hero, was trying to help me decipher this piece. He was sitting next to me, our heads together, as I read another line that I didn’t comprehend. Unfortunately, my lecture notes offered no explanation.

  “Wait, let me see what I wrote down.” He grabbed his notebook from on top of his book.

  As he flipped through the pages of his spiral notebook, my eyes were drawn to the, for lack of a better word, disturbing pictures on his book cover. Yes, his drawings were always on the dark side. And now, as I examined his work closely, some of the pictures did seem satanic in nature.

  One drawing depicted a pale, frightening person with holes where his eyes should have been, as though his soul had been sucked out of his body. Another image showed a part-human part-beast figure, androgynous, and eerie. And also, a character burning in the flames of what looked like Hell, his mouth open, as he appeared to be screaming.

  “Do you worship the devil?” I blurted out before I could think.

  “What the fuck, Loren?” He glared at me. “Who told you that? Your awesome friends who judge and label everyone and decide who’s cool or not?”

  “No. I was looking at your book cover.”

  “These are drawings from some of the artwork of bands I listen to. Okay, I get it. Some of my art is not to everyone’s taste. I find it interesting, and I’m a big fan of Salvador Dali’s work, too, but I’m not some psycho in a cult who wants to perform sacrifices or drink blood. Who even does that? You’ve seen some of my drawings in class and never said anything negative. This idea must be coming from Jamie, right?”

  He was staring into my eyes, looking for the truth, and I looked away.

  “I knew it,” he said and shook his head, swiping his hand over his face in frustration. “God, I can’t wait to get out of this small-minded town.” He paused and raised his eyes to mine. “Do I really look like I belong in a satanic cult?”

  Mesmerized by his beautiful though pained green eyes, I slowly shook my head. I felt stupid asking that question in the first place. I didn’t believe in that type of thing. I guess I had gotten caught up in what Jamie had told me. I don’t know why, maybe because she seemed so convinced that she had Andrew pegged as a bad guy.

  Andrew was different from any of the other guys I had been around in high school. He was full of contradictions; one minute he was sarcastic and the next sensitive, or he was surly and then nice. He could be a smart-ass, but then at the party he had been there to make sure I was okay. He went out of his way to help me when I’d ask. He also took care of his brother even though he acted like it bugged the crap out of him.

  He chewed on his lip, but kept quiet.

  I felt horrible, as though I’d hurt him again. I laid my hand tentatively over his. He stiffened. I paused before I found my courage again. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not into that. I don’t even believe in that stuff. Forgive me?”

  “Yeah.” He relaxed.

  I looked down at his spiral. “Okay, so what did your notes say?” And we went back to work.

  Having Andrew as a study partner didn’t suck. I liked to watch how he twirled the pencil between his long fingers as he was in deep thought, and how patient he was with me while I felt completely lost.

  Finally, my frustration had gotten the best of me. “I don’t get this.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “No, I’m not. I feel like an idiot, and you’re having to force-feed me the words to write this paper.” I just couldn’t make a connection to this piece, which was ironic because it was considered a poem, and I liked writing poetry. Not to mention, I was at a complete loss to explain what the author was trying to convey. I had no idea and didn’t care. Frustrated, I put my head in my hands. “I still don’t get what’s going on. I’m just writing what you tell me.” I lifted my head and peered at him. “This comes easy for you, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re such a great writer. I’m kind of in awe of how easily words flow for you. I feel so inept right now. Even that day when you came up with the scene you told Mrs. Wright about was genius. I was jealous that I didn’t come up with that but the fact is I would’ve never come up with something like that.”

  He smiled, softening the sharp angles of his face. “Come on, Loren. You’re a good writer. Remember we’ve been in several English classes together. I’ve seen and heard some of your work. And I know you get better grades than I do.”

  His words were kind and comforting, and slow warmth spread through me much like when he spoke to me at the party. “Thanks.”

  He took my notebook from my hands and laid it on the desk. “Hey, let’s take a break.” We stood up, and I went to get us a couple of bottles of water.

  I handed him a bottle. “Will you show me one of your poems?” he asked.

  I laughed, holding my gut. “Andrew, I just went on a rant about my ineptitude as a writer compared to you, which makes me feel very vulnerable, by the way. Now you want me to show you probably the most personal thing I have.” I looked around and spoke to no one in particular. “Talk about ripping the bandage off.”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and bent his head so his eyes were level with mine. “Look, I’m not asking this to torture you. The reason you’re struggling to write this paper is because you aren’t interested in the work. It’s hard to feel inspired if you don’t like what you’re doing.”

  I looked down at the floor because I felt like I was drowning in his eyes, but he wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. He lifted my chin with his finger so my eyes came back to his. “You like to write poetry.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you show me one of your poems?”

  “Okay,” I said, unsure, but went off to my room to grab my notebook.

  As I was coming back, I flipped through the pages, deciding which piece was my favorite one to show him. I felt like I had to make excuses for it being crappy if he didn’t like it. “So, I wrote this a few years ago. It’s raw and probably disjointed, but it’s still a work in progress.” I handed him the notebook and walked over to the couch, sitting down while he stood in place and read. In my head, I recited the poem, which I knew like the back of my hand, while his eyes scanned the page. I imagined him reading it like I saw it, and I wondered what he was thinking.

  Introspective

  The days are endless

  While nights can be fleeting

  My weakness for the darkness repulses me

  And yet spurs my inner light

  Sometimes my mind is muddled in the daylight />
  But my thoughts grow more clear in the realm of obscurity

  My feelings, my words rumble in inner turmoil

  Pulsing to get out.

  But stepping out of the shadows

  Is a reality I’m not ready to endure

  Maybe someday I will get out

  But most likely I won’t

  My old friend blackness is like the sweetest friend

  Enveloping me, keeping me centered when others don’t.

  After five painful minutes passed in silence, he said, “Wow.” He dropped down beside me.

  I stared straight ahead, afraid to see his reaction. “Is that a ‘Wow, that’s good’ or ‘Wow, that sucked’?”

  “Loren, it’s fucking great,” he said in a voice that seemed somewhat shocked.

  “Are you being serious? Not just trying to make me feel better?”

  “Yes, I’m serious. Honestly, I did want to see a poem so I could compliment you on your work and make you feel better. I mean…I knew your writing would be good…but, believe me when I say this, it’s beyond good.” He tapped the page. “This needs to be published.”

  My body pulsed with adrenaline. “You’re not messing with me right now, are you?”

  “No. Come on, Loren, it’s awesome. You know it. Didn’t you have a good feeling about it when you wrote it?”

  “Yeah. I thought that was my best work for sure.”

  He leaned in and said under his breath, “And you are a little twisted, sister. That was some deep shit you wrote about. Doesn’t sound anything like Miss Sporty Spice who likes to hang out with jocks and cheerleaders.”

  My face turned red, and I rolled my eyes to downplay it.

  Andrew went on. “I’m serious. I feel like I just got a peek at another side of you. I mean you’re a nice person and a cool girl who has good taste in music, but seeing your work makes me look at you in a different way.”