High School Lover

by Rose Croft

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “God, no. I like it.”

  He looked down at my notebook. “Can I read another one?”

  Feeling more confident, and loving the notion of having someone appreciate something so close to my heart, I said, “Sure, but I get to pick what you read.” I leaned over him and thumbed through the pages to find another piece that I thought was good.

  As I sat back, I watched him stare intently at my work, reading and inhaling my words. I knew when he finished because he had a big smile on his face and shook his head. “Fuck. How do you do it?”

  I looked down at my lap and ran my hands over my thighs, not knowing how to respond. His words were making me feel significant, as though I could be a legit writer.

  “This is great writing. I can’t even come close to writing something like this.” Then he leaned in and said in a low voice, his warm breath tickling my cheek, “It’s like I want to pick your brain or something.” He wrapped his large hands around my head, jokingly closed his eyes, and acted as though he were telepathically trying to read my mind.

  At first, I laughed at his antics, and he smiled with eyes closed. I’d turned my body to his and my legs were touching his, and his fingers were at my temples. There was warmth and some strange electricity developing. I felt it deep in my chest. He sensed it, too, because his eyes opened and there was that profound stare that comes before two people decide they want to kiss.

  Maybe I was imagining things, reading too much into this situation. Andrew wasn’t actually making a move to kiss me; so yeah, I was being overimaginative. We were friends. That’s all. And I was caught up in the moment because he liked my poetry. Besides, I liked Bryan, right? Even though I didn’t know where I stood with him, either. I laughed. “Um, as soon as we get back to writing that paper, you’ll want to get a refund on my brain.”

  He snickered, but there was no amusement in his eyes and he released my head. “You’re probably right.” He patted my shoulders and stood up. “Time to give your brain a test drive. Let’s go.”

  We went back to work and either the break or Andrew’s kind words of encouragement helped me fight through the barriers of my paper. And finally, after a few more hours, we had finished the work. Our banter back and forth had been good-natured and easy, but I still felt a tension in the air that was straddling the border between friendship and sexual attraction. Why did my convoluted brain think like this? There was nothing going on. Why was I thinking of him in this way? He complimented me, and I immediately thought he wanted something more. We were friends. That’s it. Why did I need to keep telling myself this?

  “See, your brain does work.” Andrew tousled my hair with his hand.

  “Hey!” I knocked his hand away and stood up, mussing his hair with both hands. “Only because you jumpstarted it with your brain.”

  We laughed, and I realized my hands were buried in his hair and my chest was in his face, and his hands had landed on my hips.

  “Uh, you know what they say…two heads are better than one.” His voice seemed to be slower, deeper, and he was staring at my boobs.

  I could feel my body heating up and my nipples getting hard—which I’m sure he noticed because I was wearing a thin cotton tank top with a light lace bra underneath. His hair was soft, silky as I threaded my fingers through the dark strands, and his hands seemed to be burning holes through my shorts. The heat permeated my skin, making me want things I’d never felt before, never knew I wanted. I could say there was nothing more than friendly teasing going on between us, but even I knew that sounded like a lie at this point.

  “What’s going on in here?” My mother stood with hands on her hips as she glared at both of us from the doorway. To be more specific, she glared at me but had an especially hateful look for Andrew like he was a murderer on death row.

  I pushed away from Andrew and faced her, as my body flooded with guilt. “We were finishing our paper.”

  “Finished is right.” She gave her meanest, most threatening look to Andrew, the look she reserved only for people she detested. “You need to leave.”

  His jaw clenched and a vein in his neck bulged, but he jerked his chin in acknowledgement.

  He didn’t deserve this treatment; we didn’t do anything wrong. My mouth opened to plead his case. “Nothing’s going on, Mom. Andrew was helping me write this paper. We were joking around.”

  Mom stood firm in her stance. “Loren, we’ll talk later. Andrew, please get your things and leave.”

  I heard the sharp breath that came from him as he turned to gather his books from the table. His movements were stiff, but I noticed his broad shoulders were slumped, and a protective urge ran through me to the point that I thought I might do physical harm to my mother. I’d never felt anything like that before.

  But, I would never do that. I was the good girl, the daughter who wanted to please her mom lest, God forbid, I stray from the beaten path and do something unexpected, liberating.

  “See you in class, Loren,” Andrew said as he clenched his books in one hand and strode away, not failing to say a curt good night to my mother.

  I rushed after him. My mother grabbed my wrist, stopping me. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, my God, Mom. Can’t I at least say goodbye to him? You just made him feel like a convicted criminal, and all he did was help me with a paper that I otherwise would’ve failed.”

  She pursed her lips together as if she’d just sucked on something bitter. “You have five minutes, then we need to talk.” I couldn’t believe she allowed me that, but I didn’t stop to think about it as I sprinted through the house.

  He was outside, crossing the driveway to his truck. “Andrew!” I dashed up to him…hoping…for what? To make him feel better? Appease him? I was embarrassed about what had happened.

  He turned around. He was upset, reasonably so. I could see it as his chest bowed, and his breathing seemed uneven. His nostrils flared. I cautiously ran my hand over his arm, wanting to soothe him, wanting to bring him back to where he was at before my mother showed up and destroyed the moment like the damn ticking time bomb she was. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why? It’s not your fault.”

  “My mother is…different.” I didn’t know how else to say it without calling her a bitch, which I would never do.

  “It’s okay.” He seemed calmer and gave a little smile, as if reassuring me that our friendship was still good. I wanted everything to be good between us. “Hey, thank you for showing me your work. I know it’s very personal, and it means a lot that you trusted me to show it. And it’s really good, so keep going with it.”

  My whole body seemed to smile. “Your encouragement really validates me.” I paused. “You know, lately I really hadn’t written much because I felt like it was stupid.”

  “What? Don’t say shit like that, ever. You’re a good writer. Don’t let anything stop you.”

  His words of encouragement seeped into me like the perfect potion to make me feel I have the world in my hands. My fingers still traced absently over his bicep, up and down, enjoying the contour of his lean muscles that curved and dipped. I enjoyed this connection, whether it was friendship or more. It was cozy and made me feel like we’d known each other forever. However, I knew our time was limited. My mother was probably in there counting down the minutes. “I have to go inside.” I reluctantly dragged my hand away.

  “I know.” He moved closer and enveloped me in a hug. My body surged again, cocooned in an Andrew blanket, where I felt…safe. “Loren, please keep writing, and I would love to read your work if you ever want to show it to someone.”

  I felt even more secure as his words trickled through me. “I would love to show you more of my work.”

  My mom was waiting in my room, sitting on my bed with her hands together as I came through my door. “I don’t want Andrew over here anymore.”

  I sighed and ran my hand over my forehead. “Mom, we were working on a paper. That’s it. We�
�re just friends.”

  “It didn’t look like you were acting as just friends. I know about him, Loren. I heard about what he did to Steve Jennings. That boy should’ve been arrested and charged with assault. He’s lucky he was a minor.”

  Assault? What the hell was she talking about? I knew there was an altercation. “Where did you hear this? What are you talking about?”

  “Helen told me how Andrew waited out in the driveway for Steve one night when he was alone. He jumped him from behind, knocking him to the ground and kicking his face until his nose was busted and his left cheekbone cracked. All because Andrew was jealous over a girl.” Helen was another busybody gossip who had nothing better to do than get together with other moms and feed on rumors.

  “How would Helen know what happened? She wasn’t there.” I do remember seeing Steve’s face at school, and I had to admit, it did look bad. However, I had trouble believing Andrew was a monster who would lose all sense of control and attack someone without a good reason. And, I knew firsthand, Steve was an asshole, so maybe he pushed Andrew to that point.

  “Helen is good friends with Steve’s mom, Lana, who told her.” She pushed off from the bed and stood before me. “It bothers me that you’ve befriended him. He sounds like an unstable person who has anger issues. And I know he smokes. I could smell it on him as he passed by. Is this the kind of person you want to be associated with?”

  “Mom, stop. Just stop. You’re making all these assumptions based on rumors. You don’t know him.”

  “I don’t want to know him, and I hope you won’t hang around him anymore. Why can’t you spend time with someone like Bryan?”

  I shook my head. Why did I need to give Mom a play-by-play of everything that was going on in my life? I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. It bothered me immensely that she obviously disliked Andrew, and whatever I said wasn’t going to change her mind. It was depressing actually because, tonight, something about our relationship had changed. I felt a deeper connection with him like we’d pushed past the boundaries of a surface friendship, and deepened our bond. Maybe it was because I shared my poetry, something so personal to me that I thought I would never share, but he seemed to get it…get me.

  Eight Years Ago

  The following week seemed to pass slowly. The mixed emotions of wanting to be out of school while yet dreading the end-of-year exams were challenging. The only good that came from exam week was that classes were on an early release schedule.

  Our English exam was on Friday, so Mike, Andrew, and I met in the library on Thursday after school to touch base on the material we had covered in class. I promised my mom that I would not invite Andrew to our house again, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t see him somewhere else. Mrs. Wright said that our exam would consist of essay questions. She assured us that if we had done well on our assignments and fully participated in class discussions, we would do great on the test.

  “Wow, that’s really vague and generic information she gave us for test prep,” I said, as we began to recount what our past assignments had been.

  “Here’s a list of all the assignments we did this semester.” Andrew had jotted them down. He passed them to me.

  I glanced over the list. “I think I’m good if there aren’t a lot of questions about our last assignment.” Andrew and I shared a conspiratorial moment. I saw Mike out of the corner of my eye looking miffed as he watched us. Then, he shrugged and started rummaging through his backpack.

  “Do I need to jumpstart your brain again?” Andrew’s eyes traveled down to my chest.

  I shook my head in disbelief, grabbed my pen, and wrote on the bottom of his list. “You need to seek help—maybe like an exorcism!”

  I shoved the paper over. One side of his mouth lifted as he read. Then he scribbled something and slid the paper back. “Only if you perform it.”

  Damn, I seriously needed help if my body was feeling warm talking about exorcisms. I snickered.

  “Hey, are we studying or what?” Mike zipped his backpack shut with a look of annoyance.

  “Sure.” I glanced over the paper. “So, we have the list of assignments.” I read them off to Mike. “Did you keep all of your work?”

  Mike nodded. “I can look at my papers later.”

  “Now let’s talk about class discussions.” We all began reviewing our notes.

  “Uh, I didn’t take a lot of notes, so you guys are going to have to fill me in,” Mike said, as though that was to be expected.

  I ran my hand over my brow as I studied him in fascination. “How are you even passing this class?”

  “Because he’s a master bullshitter, and the teachers love him. Don’t they?” Andrew was leaned over the table, his chin propped in his hand as his mouth curled into a sardonic smile, daring Mike to explain.

  “Aww, fuck you, man!” Mike laughed. Some of the other students around us lifted their heads, perturbed.

  I glared at Mike. “We’re going to get kicked out of here. Keep it down.”

  “Yeah, Mike, we don’t want to upset Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

  I ignored Andrew’s comment and scooted closer to Mike with my notes. “Here, I’ll help you.”

  Andrew was right about Mike. The teachers loved him because he was universally friendly to all of them, in and out of class, while most students spoke only for class purposes. Mike had a way of giving his undivided attention when someone spoke to him, which was odd because he certainly couldn’t stay focused on a class lecture. Regardless, his friendliness was as real and natural as his breathing.

  I was relating my notes to him, and Andrew occasionally added more explanation, too, when needed. This lasted for about five minutes before Mike dropped his pen. “Hey, Loren, maybe it would be better if I just photocopy your notes.” I glanced at Mike’s notebook, and I had to say it was close to bare, with only a few phrases. Then, I noticed he had written down several of his favorite basketball players’ names—Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Chris Paul—including every basketball stat he could think of.

  “No. You need to write this down and try at least to internalize some of this information. If you spent half the time paying attention to lectures as you do memorizing basketball stats, you would be killing it in this class. Seriously, Mike, you’re like a walking encyclopedia on basketball information.”

  He beamed. “I like following stats. They’re something concrete, tangible.” He pointed at our books. “This shit is over my head, and who the fuck cares about stories that were written in medieval times. It’s so boring.”

  Andrew snorted, and I wanted to correct Mike about the time period of our novels, but he probably wouldn’t care. “I know, but you can do this, Mike, if you try. You’re not a quitter.” I knew if I challenged his tenacity, he would step it up.

  “Okay, Loren, I’ll do this for you. You know I’d do anything for you.” He gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “You’re always there for me.”

  “And I always will be.” Mike and I shared a familiar and comforting smile. As he went back to work listening and taking notes, I glanced up and caught Andrew watching me, studying me.

  A cozy feeling slowly spread through my chest. Why was it lately that, every time our eyes met, my body had some kind of reaction? Why was he looking at me like that? What was going through his mind? I wanted to know more about Andrew. I wanted to know what made him tick. I’d shared my most private thoughts with him by showing him my poetry, and I felt like I knew so little about him. He always smirked, as though he had some secret no one else shared.

  “Loren, Loren?” Mike snapped his fingers in my face.

  I broke out of my daze and turned to Mike.

  “I had a question about your notes.” He paused and suspiciously looked at both of us. “What’s going on between you two?” Maybe Mike was more observant than I had thought.

  Andrew and I both made a defensive face, and I answered quickly, “Nothing. What did you need to know about the notes?”

  After I g
ot Mike squared away, he gathered his things. “Well, guys, I’m gonna act like a tree and leave.”

  I laughed and waved. “Okay, Mike. See you tomorrow.”

  Andrew stood up, and he and Mike talked about getting together that weekend.

  I closed my notebook and stacked my books together. Andrew dropped down in the chair Mike had vacated next to me. I could smell his signature scent that made my senses go a little crazy. His knee bumped mine, and I almost shot out of my seat. His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t tease me about it. “You ready for the test?”

  “I think so. You?”

  “Yeah.” He draped an arm over the back of my chair and leaned forward. “How are things with you and your mom? She seemed really pissed the other night.”

  That was an understatement. “We’re good.”

  “She doesn’t like me.” I wanted to give some kind of polite response, try to explain that my mom was going through a midlife crisis or something, but Andrew would see through the lies. “I know she doesn’t want you to hang around me anymore.” He didn’t sound angry when he said it, more like it was old news. His comment laced with his flat tone made my heart drop, and that feeling of wanting to protect him overtook me again.

  Before I could make a reply, I heard a girl’s voice behind me. “Hi, Loren.” Andrew’s arm dropped from behind me, and I turned around and saw Miley with gleeful bitch face. “What are you doing?”

  “Studying for exams,” I said and saw Steve standing beside her, glaring at Andrew.

  “Why are you hanging around this loser, Loren?” Steve spoke calmly, but his eyes were shooting death lasers at Andrew.

  Andrew stood, almost knocking his chair to the ground. “Fuck you, Steve! You’re the biggest piece of shit there is.” He was taller than Steve, but Steve was stockier.

  People were starting to stare as Andrew stepped in closer. Worried, I jumped up and stood in front of him, not wanting him to get expelled for fighting.

  Obviously, Miley felt the same way. She grabbed Steve’s arm. “Steve, don’t do this. You guys are in the playoffs. It’s not worth risking getting kicked off the team.”