I walked into the common area of the Boy’s Dormitory in an attempt to find solace from the heat that had overtaken my dorm room. It was the last week in August and the first week that I had moved into the boarding school. I opened my laptop and started to login to my facebook account when he entered the room. He was wearing a blue tee-shirt with yellow sleeves, a pair of navy shorts, and ratty tennis shoes. His shoulder length brown hair was wet and he looked a little surprised to find me in the room.

“Hi,” he said nervously
“Hi,” I replied.
“Is this your free period too?” He asked.
“Yep,” I replied, pleased to find out we had the same one. He was cute in a way. Not in the classic sense, but in the slightly nerdy and awkward way one might associate with someone who plays dungeons and dragons.
“I just took a shower.”
“And how was that?”
“Nice, the cold water feels really good in this weather.”
“Well what are you doing now?” I asked him, a plan forming in my head.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you beat me at foosball yesterday, how about a rematch?”
“Sure,” he said and with that we found ourselves walking towards the main building.

We made our way across the grassy pathway silently. The campus was seemingly empty because most students did not have a free period at this time. Our freshmen year schedules must have been different from others somehow. My dyed red hair was plastered to my forehead from the sweat that was rolling down my face. We entered the game room.
“Do you want to be yellow or black?” I asked, indicating the teams on the foosball table.
“Black.”
I crossed so that I could stand in front of the black pieces. He looked disappointed as he took his spot in front of the yellow team. I waited a second to see if he would get that I was kidding, but he didn’t.
“I’m just messing around,” I said and I crossed to where he was standing, taking a hold of the handles to the yellow team. They were slippery with sweat.
“Oh, ok,” he said, his whole face lightening up as he grabbed ahold of the black handles.
“Have you played foosball a lot?” I asked him as I dug around in my goal for the ball.
“My brothers played a lot and so they taught me some tricks when I was growing up,” he said.
“Really, that explains why you are so good,” I said before popping the ball into the starting hole.
After a heated ten seconds the ball rolled past my goalie into the goal. He grinned at me. I put the ball back into play and about fifteen seconds later was pulling it out of my goal again.
“Ok, so I know a good magician never reveals his secrets, but can you show me one of these tricks so these games last a little bit longer?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You want to use the branch with the five guys on it. I usually keep the ball with the one on the far right.”
I nodded, watching carefully.
“Then you cross it over to the one right next to him and angle it so it goes into the left corner of your opponents goal.”
He took the shot and it went straight into the goal.
“Genius.”
He went back over to his side.
“So, tell my a little bit more about yourself,” I asked before putting the ball back into play.
“Ok, what do you want to know?”
The ball rolled around the table for a moment before I was able to get it in the placement he had taught me. I crossed the ball over and shot it straight into the left hand corner of his goal.
“Well, are you religious?” I asked him.
“Not really, I consider myself an atheist, you?” He asked, before starting the next point.
“Me too,” I said blocking a goal and shooting one right into his goalie.
“What political party do you consider yourself?” I asked as he shot a goal right past me.
“I’m a democrat I think,” he said.
I took the ball out of my goal and shot it right into his, catching him off guard.
“Thank God, we might actually be able to be friends then,” I said smiling.
“Are you a democrat then?” He asked.
We had one of the longest points to date, lasting about 2 minutes before it finally went into my goal. The score was then him 4 me 2.
“Yes, I am a huge Hillary Clinton fan.”
“Who?”
I used the trick he taught me to score another on him before looking up at him incredulously.
“Hillary Clinton. Secretary of State, Former First Lady, Presidential Hopeful, you have to have heard of her.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’ll give you my whole spiel on her later, we have to finish this game before lunch starts.”
I put the ball in and he managed to get it past me with a quick shot down the middle, winning the game. A few seconds after his victory the lunch bell rang.
“Hey, I was wondering, do you maybe want to sit next to me at lunch,” he asked, obviously still nervous.
“I don’t know. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I can sit next to someone who didn’t know who Hillary Clinton was,” I said.
“Oh, ok,” he replied disappointedly.
“Wow, you really don’t know when I’m kidding, do you? I would love to sit next to you at lunch. Also, I hope you know we are having a foosball rematch afterwards,” I responded.
“Game on,” he said and we took our seats at the table.

The classroom was small. Too small to fit fourteen students comfortably, so when my biography class teacher told us we could go off to work in other areas of the boarding school, I was eager to take her up on her offer. The assignment was simple. Each member of the class was supposed to write a short story about a favorite holiday memory spent with their families. At this point I had already decided that I wanted to be a writer, so I knew this assignment would not be very difficult for me.  
As soon as the teacher had stopped speaking, the room had irrupted in a sea of chairs screeching and laptops being put back into bags. I too got up and began packing my computer. I was headed out the door when he spoke to me.
“Where are you planning on working?”
“The art building,” I replied.
“Can I join you?” he responded, his backpack already slung across one shoulder.
“I would like that,” I said. My first instinct was to correct his grammar, but I did not want him to think I was trying to belittle him. I think at this point I had already figured out I loved him; he was oblivious though, as always.
“Cool,” he said and gave me this big goofy grin that I still remember now.
I held the door for him, but as he walked out, he ran his sandal into the door frame. He tripped over his own feet and went flying face first onto the pavement.
“Oh my god, are you ok?” I asked dropping my laptop bag and leaning over him. I reached my hand out to help him up.
“I’m fine, just embarrassed,” he said grabbing my helping hand and letting me pull him back on his feet.
I looked him over to assess the damage. There was a scrape on his elbow and a single scarlet drop was rolling down his suntanned arm. As the drop trickled down, it parted ways at the single mole had had on his left arm, splitting into two separate rivers of blood.
“God, you’re bleeding!” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” he said playing cool. I could tell by his facial expression that he was wincing under his mask of masculinity.
“Come on, there’s a first aid kit in the art building,” I said, picking up my laptop bag.
He reached down to pick up his blue and grey back pack, but I beat him to it. I slung it over my shoulder and we started walking towards the building. When we got to the door, I stopped.
“Maybe you should open it this time,” I said.
“Very funny.”
The art building was always freezing due to the automatic AC that comes on every day from Noon to Five. I zipped up my blue jacket as we entered. We walked silently into the painting and arts side of the building. There were three dusty white shelves containing ancient paints. Most of them had been dried up by now after many uses by people who would forget to put the caps back on. We then walked into the small room that combines the arts side with the ceramics side.
The room was basically a hallway. The walls were a revolting shade of peach that had been splattered with various different colors over the years to create a mostly brown backdrop. The room smelled like mildew and orange room freshener. The room freshener was meant to distract from the scent of the mildew, but it did not fully work. The only piece of furniture was an old, broken down, maroon couch. 
“Have a seat,” I said and he sat down on the middle cushion. I went into the other room to grab the first aid kit. 
When I took it off the wall, a spider crawled out from the space it used to be. I was glad that it hadn’t been on there when I brought it to him. He was so afraid of spiders that he would have freaked and probably refused to use anything in the kit. I brought it back to our hallway and sat down next to him on the couch. He already had is laptop out and was about to start typing up his story.
“Hold out your arm,” I said and he did so.
“Why?”
“So I can clean your scrape.”
I opened the kit and started rifling through it.
“Did you know that this couch is called the sex couch?” He asked.
I looked at him in astonishment. “You’re kidding right. This is like the least comfortable thing that I have ever sat on,” I replied.
           A drop of his blood dropped from his elbow onto the couch.
“That’s probably not the only bodily fluid that’s on here, if you know what I mean,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
  I returned to my search of the kit and I found an antiseptic wipe. I opened it and grabbed his arm again. I really didn’t want to hurt him, but I knew that in the long run, it would be better to sterilize it. 
“This may hurt,” I said looking into his bright blue eyes.  
            I ran the wipe along the scrape and he jerked back. A drop of blood fell onto my jeans, creating a wet spot just above the knee. I tightened my grip on him and finished wiping the blood up. I then pulled a small band aid out of the kit and opened it, my hands shaking. I removed the cover strips, and gently placed it on his elbow.
“Thanks,” he said and I closed up the kit and set it on the arm of the couch.
           He began typing on his laptop once again. I got focused on my own story about how my parents used to throw me Easter egg hunts every year. Once I was finished I looked over at his screen. He had only written down a sentence. It said “My favorite holiday memory is when my dad and I went out on Christmas morning to cut down our tree.”
“Need some help?” I asked him.
“That would be great!”
“Well what do you remember about picking out the tree?”
“I remember that my dad and I got into a fight about which kind of saw to use.”
A line fell across his face, as if this was an age old fight that he still held a grudge over.
“That’s a great start.”
“Yeah, I wanted to use a chainsaw, I thought it would be faster. That pissed him off because he and his dad had this tradition where every year on Christmas morning they would go out together and cut down a tree using and old fashioned bone saw.”
“Haha, sounds like your dads a traditionalist.”
“We argued about it for a while and then he told me that I was spoiled and didn’t understand the value of hard work.”
“Wow, he said this on Christmas morning?” I asked, starting to feel bad for him.
“Yeah, I then refused to help him and sat in the car waiting for him to finish cutting it down,” he added.
“What happened after that?”
“He came back to the car an hour later and loaded the tree onto the trailer. We stopped at a gas station so he could get a beer and he came back with two. I’m always going to remember what he said to me. “Son, this is no day to be fighting with family.” He then handed me the beer and we drank together on the way home,” he finished. I swear he started to tear up near the end of it.
“That’s a really sweet story,” I said, and I brushed a leaf out of his hair.
               I sat with him as he typed his story up. He muttered under his breath as he wrote it. Every once in a while he would ask me for words that sounded better than the ones he had written. He finished typing and then said, “Would you check this over? I know you’re a good writer.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I replied and I took his computer in my hands.
             He smiled at me and then curled up, resting his head on my shoulder while I sat there, reading over his holiday story. In that moment all I wanted to do was make him happy. I wanted us to make a memory of our own on this so called “sex couch.” I wanted to protect him from any pain that might come his way. I wanted to always be there for him and I wanted him to always be there for me, but right now I could settle for just some small talk, story sharing, and laughter lying down together on the sex couch.

We had begun to grow apart. He hadn’t realized it, but it was becoming ever more obvious to me. He had made other friends, and his desperate need for companionship was quenched by them, leaving mine a barren desert. This is where the games began. I knew if I wanted to keep him in my life, I needed to find an excuse to spend time with him, remind him of how I was the one he really wanted to be with.
I sit on a green and grey striped couch watching him flip one card over and place it on top of another in complete concentration. He looks exhausted, it was after midnight after all, but once he has it in his mind to do something, he doesn’t give up very easily. I know he won’t stop until he wins.
“How exactly do you win this?” I said out of the blue.
  He looked up, not realizing that I had been watching him play for the last fifteen minutes.
“Oh well, it’s really complicated, you wouldn’t care anyway,” he said, not intentionally being rude, it’s just how he thinks conversations work.
“Try me,” I said, my eyebrows rising at his response.
  I got up off my couch and walked over to where he was laying sprawled out on the floor. He was wearing blue pajama bottoms with polar bears spread out on them in some sort of pattern. The dark blue of the fabric was beautiful in contrast to his crystal clear blue eyes. He was not wearing a shirt and so his tan torso hung out, casting a shadow over the cards. I laid down next to him not giving him a chance to say no.
“Ok, well I’ll start over then,” He said as he started picking up the cards that were already lying in vertical piles stretching out towards our bodies. At first I thought he was just being nice, now I realized it was just a shameless way to avoid admitting defeat.
He handed me a pile of playing cards and said, “Here, shuffle these.”
  I shuffled them back and forth a couple of times and then passed them back to him. He rifled through the shuffled piles and picked out an ace, a two, a three, and a four. Then he placed those out in front of us in a horizontal row. I looked down to see that all four of the cards he had chosen were red.
“Did you mean to only pick red cards?” I asked him.
“Uh, maybe subconsciously, red is one of my two favorite colors,” he said as he continued shuffling the deck. 
“Oh, what’s the other?” I asked
“Purple,” he said
“Those are the colors of royalty I think,” I said, stating it as more of a fact then anything.
“Really? Cool,” he replied
  He then placed the shuffled deck in front of us, facedown.
“Alright, well you start with these four cards. You then flip one card over at a time and place them either on one of your four hold piles, or put them onto you ace, two, three or four piles. You get it so far?” he asked me.
“Yeah, I get it,” I said
“So the way the ace, two, three and four piles work is pretty simple. On the ace pile you go up by one each time so you would play an ace, then a two, then a three and so on. For the two pile, it’s the same thing just going up by two, and then the three by three and the four by four,” he explained
“Yeah, and what if you have a card that doesn’t go on any of those piles?” I asked him
“That’s when you use your four hold piles,” he said pointing to the four empty spaces under the other piles.
“Ok, seems pretty simple. Anything else?” I asked 
“That’s pretty much it, it’s not that hard a game to get really, but you only win like one percent of the time. I’ve only won three times,” he told me.
“Wow, really?” I asked, kind of shocked it was that hard to win.
“Yeah, but the cool thing is that once, I won twice in a row. My brothers were shocked,” he said, chuckling at the memory, a big goofy smile planted across his face. 
“That’s awesome. Will you watch me play my first game, just to see if I mess up?” I said, not wanting this opportunity to spend time with him to end.
“It’s just solitaire, I am sure you know what you’re doing.” He said, as he started to get up.
“Yeah, but I could use the moral support.” I said batting my eyelashes an obnoxiously large amount. It wasn’t the most believable reason to ask him to stay, but, it worked.
“Whatever,” he said, sitting back down next to me. He rolled his eyes at my in fake annoyance. 
  I laid the cards out as he had shown me and one by one started flipping them up. I played to both the hold piles and the numbered piles and now and then would sneak a glance behind me to see how he thought I was doing. I got down to only having 7 cards left and I started to play one onto the hold pile when I heard a click of his tongue from behind me. I looked back at him giving him a how-very-subtle-of-you roll of my eyes and then played the card on a different pile.
   I was down to the king of hearts, and the nine and king of spades. I decided that this was my chance to make him feel like he was doing something.
“Hey, what do you think I should do now?” I asked him.
  He came closer to me and looked over my shoulder. I could feel his warm breath run down my neck.
“You could play the king on the queen,” he said, looking at me funny.
  I started to blush. I probably should have asked him for help earlier in the game, because doing so now had made me look like an idiot.
“Ok, to be fair, it’s one in the morning,” I said giving him and embarrassed look.  .
  I played the king on the queen, and then realized that the 9 and the king of spades played on top of each other on the four pile. I placed them down, and immediately turned my head to look at him. I gave him a look of pride, and ever so slight amusement that I had won on my first try when it had taken him so long to.
“Did you just win on your first try?” He asked me, his brow furrowed.
  I knew that he already knew the answer, he just couldn’t believe it.
“Maybe?” I replied saucily as a c***ed my head to one side.
“Damn, nice job,” He replied giving me a look of admiration and nodding his head slightly. This caused his long brown hair to fall into his eyes and he used his hand to brush it out again.
  I started to pick up piles of cards and he leaned in to help me. When they were back in a complete deck I handed them back to him.
“Well, I better get to bed. It’s like 1:15 in the morning,” he said, standing up.
“Yeah, I should too,” I replied, following his lead.
As he approached the door I said “Hey, thanks for teaching me. I really like it.”
He turned back to me and replied “Yeah, no problem. You’re a fast learner. We’re going to have to play cards more often,” then he opened the door to his room and disappeared through it. Feeling accomplished I too returned to my room, reassured that thing between us were as good as ever.

I knew that what I was doing was wrong. I knew that my judgment was clouded by the drugs I was on. I knew that this would come back to bite me in the ass, but I didn’t care. I had decided that I loved him, that there was nothing and no one that could make me as happy as I am when I spend time with him. I decided this all while seated above him, my face inches above his as he sat there sleeping, wrapped up in his blue flannel sleeping bag.
  There were five of us sleeping in the lounge of the boy’s dormitory at the boarding school where I attend. We had laid gym mats down on the floor beneath us so that we would be more comfortable as we slept. The three others had drifted off at different point during the action movie we had been watching on my laptop. He yawned, and a few seconds later so did I. As everyone knows, yawns are contagious.
  He placed his head down upon his blue plaid patterned pillow and curled his body into a ball, ready to drift away into sleep. He looked over at me, his long brown hair was covering most of his sky blue eyes. I caught his glance and smiled at him knowing from his expression that he wanted me to turn off the movie. I reached over and closed the screen with a small thud, and most of the light in the room was extinguished. I glanced back at him, just in time to see him close his eyes and readjust his head on his pillow so now his face we turned away from me.
  I settled back into my own sleeping bag, or beg, as he says in his Midwestern accent, something that I  never let him live down, but that I secretly love. I thought about us, that is him and me. He is the first real friend I’ve ever had. The only person who had ever asked to join me when I sat down for a meal, or to go off to do homework, the first person I’ve ever cared this much about.
  I thought I knew I loved him, but I don’t think either one of us knew how much. I don’t think he even had the slightest idea how much I cared. I could feel the Ambien start to take effect. Before it puts you to sleep, it makes you feel invincible, like you could do anything and get away with it. It sends a feeling down your body of pure joy and I started to think of how my life had changed since I had met him.
  It had only been about two months since we had started our freshmen year, and it took me only about two weeks to fall in love with him. As I thought about this I found myself out of my own body. I shifted myself and my sleeping bag over, so I was closer to his. I reached my hand out of the bag and placed my trembling finger tips on the zipper of his sleeping bag.
  I just held it there for two minutes, as the medication took more and more of me away from my body and placed it outside of myself, like a ghostly observer. I started to pull the zipper down. Slowly, but surely I heard the “zeep” sound has the flared edges of the zippers railroad were being dislodged from each other.
  He started to stir at the sound of the zipper, and I rolled my sleeping bag over, creating some distance between us. About five minutes went by, the room was spinning slightly, and the shadows on the wall seemed so real. I heard the snoring of the other people in the room that I had forgotten were there. For me, it was just the two of us. Then I found myself over next to him again, unzipping more of the sleeping bag. At that point he was lying on his side, but he turned over onto his back, most likely to keep the draft created by our open surrounding off of his tanned chest.
  He wasn’t the most polite person in the world. He almost never apologized when he had done something wrong. He was not the type of person to say please or thank you. The most common of courtesies often escaped him, but I found a way to love this about him. Even though it drove me crazy, I found a way for myself to love it. It was like a secret code that only the two of us found a way to understand. Thinking back on it now, I guess he didn’t even get it.  When he would run into me in the hallway, I would say
“Excuse me.”
He would respond with “No problem.” Which really meant, “I’m sorry.”
Or When He would ask me “Do you want to help me with the math homework?”
What I would hear is “Will you help me with my math please?”
  At that moment, there was nothing more I wanted to do then be with him. To make him happy in any and every way possible. I wanted to protect him, to have him care about me. I wanted him to love and accept my every flaw as I did his.
  I crawled out of my sleeping bag and made my way towards his sleep glazed face. I was aware that what I was doing was wrong. I knew it was the medication that was giving me the false courage to do what I was about to do, but I didn’t care. I got closer and closer to where he lay, so sweet in slumber. I made it so that my face was just opposite his. Air was pouring out of his noise as he breathed in and out, and the scent was overpowering and exhilarating. It smelled like orange peels, that pleasant earthy citrus scent, but it wasn’t alone. The orange peel scent was combined with something that could only be described of as a hint of morning breath.
  I looked down on him and in that moment of sheer weakness I pressed my lips down on top of his. I could feel the tactile texture of his lips, so unearthly warm against mine. I could feel the air blowing out of his nose onto my sleep-deprived face. It lasted seven seconds and then I snapped myself out of it. I removed my lips from his and slowly backed away in utter shock and repulsion at what I had just done.
I didn’t know what to do. Did I have to tell him that it happened? Would he believe that it was the medication that had turned my lustful wish into a reality? Would he embrace me, and tell me that there was no harm no foul? Or would he run for the hells, telling everybody about the sick boy that had fallen in love with him and taken it too far?
With all these questions racing through my head I crawled back into my sleeping bag and started to close my eyes thinking that I would deal with all this uncertainty in the morning. I quickly opened them again when I heard a rustle from beside me. Scared to death, I turned my gaze back to him, still sleeping, but now on his side, his head facing me.  I could have made it up, but I thought I saw the shadow of a smile pursed across his lips.

I was sitting in bed waiting for him to come in so I could tell him the news I knew would end our friendship. I didn’t want to do it, but it was better to get it over with. We couldn’t live with this laying over our heads like one of those cartoon dark clouds personally raining on us. I would have to tell him my dark little secret, but first he had to enter my room in the boy’s dorm of the boarding school we attend.
I had sent him an email saying that I had something to tell him, and asking him to come by my room at his earliest convenience to talk. We had to be in the dorm at ten, as all freshmen did, so I knew it wouldn’t be long. I pulled my white bearskin blanket up to my chin and my mind ran furiously trying to think of the best way to handle the situation.
So I had kissed him, big deal, it’s not like I hadn’t kissed anyone before. Did it really matter that he wasn’t awake at the time? I knew that it wasn’t really me who had done it. I was on some sleeping medication for insomnia at the time, and I had no control over myself. Surely he would understand. I clung to all these reasons as if they were my life preserver, and without them I would drown in a sea of self-pity and loathing for ruing the on true friendship I had ever had.
It had been two days since it had occurred, and every time I had seen him, which had been often, I would blush and make some sort of excuse to leave. Just earlier today he had asked me if I wanted to play foosball as we often did. I dare say it was one of the foundations of our friendship, but I had told him that I had a paper to write for my English class, not realizing that he was in the same English class and so this wasn’t feasible. When he questioned me, I had looked back at him unphased and said it was extra credit. I didn’t like lying to him, but I couldn’t even be in the same room with him given the circumstances. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I needed to tell him if I had any hopes of gaining a normal relationship with him again.
I checked the clock. It read 10:06 in small blue numbers. I sighed to myself and then closed my eyes, deciding to nap until he came in. Four minutes later I heard the swish of my door opening, him neglecting to knock as usual.
“Hey, you wanted to see me,” he asked.
“Yeah, come on in. Sit down,” I said, gesturing towards a blue rolling chair seated near the bed. He was wearing blue pajama pants and a flannel button up shirt that made him look like a lumberjack. I loved when he wore green. It complimented his skin tone and made him all the more desirable to me. He took a seat and then looked at me expectantly.
“So?” He asked.
“Uhm, how was your day?” I asked, trying to avoid the actual issue.
“It was pretty good, kind of long,” he said with a yawn.
“Oh, ok, then I’ll try and keep this short,” I said.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
“So…. Something happened the other night,” I said, a terrible feeling of guilt started to well up in my stomach, like an angry dragon trying to escape captivity.
“Yeah?” He asked.
“Yeah, but here’s the thing, I can’t tell you what it is,” I said.
“So you called me in here to tell me that there’s a problem between us, but you can’t tell me what it is?” He asked, slightly amused.
“Basically,” I replied.
“Have I ever told you that you make no sense?” He asked kiddingly. He noticed that my face didn’t change. I was still stone faced; tears started welling up in my eyes.
“Hey, ok, this must be serious,” he said, his facial expression changed from joking to serious. His eyebrows furled and a small wrinkle creased across his forehead.
“Ok, well I need to tell you, but I can’t say it out loud, so I need you to guess it,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?” He asked.
I shook my head no. For a fraction of a second I didn’t think he was going to do it. I thought he was going to walk out, and leave me there.  If he was thinking about doing that, he must have thought better about it, because he went on to say “Ok, so this happened the other night?”
“Yes,” I said.
“The night the five of us slept together in the lounge?” He asked.
“Yep,” I replied.
“Does it involve other people, or just the two of us?” He asked.
“Just us,” I said.
“Oh, ok,” he said, taking a breath.
“How bad is it?” He continued.
“Pretty bad,” I said, my voice breaking.
“Ok, did you go on my computer?” He asked.
“Worse,” I said.
“Did you talk about me behind my back?” He asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Did you pull a prank on my while I was sleeping?” He asked
I pulled the covers up tighter towards my face. He spun around in the chair a little bit, noticing how uncomfortable I had just become. A look of slight fear crept over him.
“I wouldn’t call it a prank,” I replied.
“But something did happen while we were sleeping?” He asked.
“Uhm, well, while one of us was sleeping,” I replied.
I was staring at him through red-rimmed eyes. My vision was clouded my oncoming tears as I waited for him to figure out what I had done. I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face. The one I was expecting was of disgust and anger, and maybe even ever so slight pity.
“What, did you put shaving cream in my hand and then tickle my nose with a feather?” He asked, trying again to break the tension and failing miserably.
“Nope,” I replied.
He stopped and just thought for a second. This was one of those many times I wished I had the power to read minds. It would be so helpful to know all the wild thoughts that were going through his mind, all the gruesome deeds he thought me capable of. I watched as the wrinkle on his forehead thickened as he continued to ponder.
“Is this something….romantic?” he asked carefully, treading on thin ground as if worried he would fall through ice.
A tear actually ran down my face as I nodded in affirmation. I saw a hint of the look I was expecting already pursed across his face. He continued his train of thought choosing his word carefully.
“Better or worse then you holding my hand while I was sleeping?” He asked.
“Worse,” I responded, not looking at him.
“Better or worse then you trying to cuddle with me?” He asked.
I had to think about this one for a moment. I finally came to a conclusion and then still without looking at him answered “worse.”
His look grew more and more worried and he took another thirty-seconds before saying “Better or worse then you kissing me in my sleep?”
I closed my eyes and then said, “I want to say better.”
He looked a little relieved before starting his next sentence.
“Better or worse the….” He said before I cut him off.
“That last thing sounded just about right,” I said, my heart sinking instantly.
“What?” He asked.
“That last thing, it was that last thing,” I replied.
“You kissed me while I was asleep?” He asked.
“Maybe,” I replied.
He gave me the look I was expecting, but with and added element. More then anything, he looked confused.
“Why?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” I said automatically.
He stared at me. His eyes bored into mine and it felt like a blow to the gut. Like his eyes were lazars, blinding me. He was quiet. Every now and then he would open his mouth to start saying something and then would close it again. Finally he managed to get the words out “well, we should talk about this.”
“No, I can’t,” I said started to get out of bed.
“Well we have to,” he said, also starting to get up.
I walked over to the doorway and stood there for a second. I looked into his nave blue eyes and wanted to talk to him. I wanted to work it out with him. I wanted for everything to go back to the way it was, but I knew it wasn’t possible. What I could do was run away from it.
“I’m sorry, I care about you too much, I can’t do this right now.” I said, a tear running down my cheek as I sprinted down the stairs of the dorm ignoring his attempts to call me back.
I have often wondered if things would have ended differently if I had stayed. Would he have told me that it was ok, taken my explanation and forgotten my offence, or would he have hit me for touching him without his consent. Yes, I have often thought about what may have happened if I hadn’t have run away from that situation three years ago, but what I saw in his eyes that day told me that while trying to come clean to him, I had unleashed a deadly storm that would take years to recover from. A storm that would leave some ruined, and some left standing, untouched.

I was sitting at the bar in the student game room scribbling out an apology note, not really know what the correct protocol was. How do you apologize for kissing someone while they are sleeping? A muffin basket, a card? All I knew is that I had screwed up and if I had any hopes of saving our friendship I would need to play this very safely; do as much damage control as possible. 
Having just started the second paragraph, I found myself at a loss for what to say next.  I heard footsteps approaching and glanced behind me to find him there, wearing a weary look.
“Hi,” I said cautiously.
“Hi,” he replied taking a seat on one of the stools next to me.
“What are you writing?” He asked.
“An apology to you, actually,” I replied.
“Really, can I read it?”
“No, it’s not finished yet.”
“Ok, well can you finish it later? I think we need to have a talk.”
He seemed pained, uncomfortable, almost tortured in a way. His breathing was sporadic and face showed little to no sign of a smile. This must not be good I thought as I set the pencil down on the bar and slipped the note into the pocket of my blue cargo shorts.
“Sure, where would you like to talk?”
“How about over there, in the corner,” he said, pointing towards a set of two couches facing each other opposite us.
We walked over and sat down opposite each other, him on the red one, me on the blue. The couches were very uncomfortable, with cushions that didn’t bend or move to adjust to the human body. I readjusted myself several times trying to make myself comfortable before realizing it just might be the situation that was making me nervous. His leg bounced up and down as he tried to think of a way to start the conversation.
“So, we haven’t really discussed things since you told me you kissed me.”
I winced when he said the last part.
“That’s true. Can’t we just pretend that it didn’t happen?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been thinking about this for a couple days now and I think I’ve decided what we should do next.”
“Do tell?”
“I think we should go on a break.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant , but I didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded like an end without calling itself an end, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let our friendship end, or go on a break, without a fight.
“What if I don’t want to go on a break?”
“Well I think it’s really the only thing that’s going to work for us right now, given the situation.”
“I don’t think that’s true, but just so we know what were discussing, what exactly does a break entail?”
His leg started shaking faster and faster making the laces on his worn out gym shoes flop around in a chaotic frenzy. I was making him nervous, but maybe he was right to be given what he was asking.
“A break would involve the two of us not spending as much time together. We would obviously see each other in the hall or in the dorm, and we can be friendly, but we wouldn’t really hang out together, in groups, or alone.”
I was silent for a moment and was fighting back tears behind my blue eyes. I could feel the redness overtake them and my image of him was blurry, but I managed to hold them in.
“At least not for a while,” he finished, chuckling nervously afterwards. 
“Look, I get that your upset, but are you sure there isn’t anything else we can do?”
“I really think this is the only way for now, so are you ok with it?” He asked, obviously aware of my emotional state and not really sure how to address it.
“Am I ok with it? Does it matter if I’m ok with it? Basically what you are telling me is you are putting my on probation. If I can show that I can be around you in a classroom setting without upsetting you or making you uncomfortable, then maybe you’ll let me be in your life again? No, I’m not ok with it, but you’ve made it clear I really don’t get a say, so I guess it’s what we’re doing. “
I let a tear roll down my cheek, but got it together again before another one could break through. He looked a little stunned and rolled his hands up into the sleeves of his navy blue hoodie as if it would provide warmth and comfort.
“Alright, um, do you have anything else you would like to say before we start our break? He asked tentatively.
“No I think I’ve said all that I have to say to you. Enjoy you’re break,” I said as I got up, my legs shaking themselves as I did so.
I knew I wouldn’t make it very far before falling apart. Willing myself to just make it out of his earshot I walked down the hall and made my way into the nearest empty classroom. After having shut the door behind me I allowed myself to succumb to the sobbing heaves I knew were coming. My face was hot and presumably very red. I pulled the letter I had been writing and read it aloud to myself.
Hey,
I am so sorry for kissing you. I know you must feel violated and uncomfortable and I’m not really sure how to fix that, but I will do whatever it takes. You are very important to me, and I want you to continue to be in my life. When we talked about this in my room, you asked me why I did it. I think I have an answer for you now. I did it because I love you.
That was where the letter trailed off because he had walked in. I tumbled over the words I love you several more times before taking the letter between my two hands and ripping it in half, fourths, eighths, sixteenths, I ripped it until the pieces were so small you would have had to spend hours to glue it back together. I walked over to the small trashcan under the desk at the front of the room and dropped the pieces into the can, watching them flutter down like snowflakes with beauty and grace. I watched them flutter down knowing full well that with them went every hope of us being together. If he wanted to go on a break, that was his right, but when those five letters were spoken, it was me that was broken.

I awoke to the sunlight sneaking in through the broken blind on my window. The school had sworn they would replace it, but it had been two weeks and I was still waking up and squinting my eyes as the unwanted sunlight told me that it was a new day.
“Turn that damn thing off,” my roommate muttered from is bed that lay opposite mine.
I reached out my hand and slapped the alarm clock, which had been admitting the usual annoying beep that it does every morning. Having missed the off button, the radio came on blaring what sounded like heavy metal. I searched frantically for the button to turn it off, but instead ending up just pulling its plug. It was too damn early to be getting up, and way too damn early to wake up to heavy metal.
Since it was already six I decided that I had not left myself time for a shower. Begrudgingly, I got out of bed and walked over to my dresser. I pulled out a purple shirt, his favorite color, and my skinniest skinny jeans. My blonde hair was basically standing straight up, but no one was up at this time anyway, so I assumed it did not matter. I got dressed and headed out the door before realizing that it was December and only 10 degrees outside.
Returning to my room, I grabbed a two toned blue sweatshirt and a purple scarf that were lying scattered out upon my dresser. As I left the room, I closed the door a little too hard and could hear the noise echo throughout the hallway of the boy’s dorm. I wanted it to be a surprise and so I hoped I had not woken him. He lived right across the hall after all. It was his birthday and so I thought I would do something special for him.
We had really spoken in two and a half months. We couldn’t avoid it all together, but our conversations in passing were awkward and merely to be polite. He had wanted it that way. Since our break had started he hadn’t really made it clear when we might be back to normal, but I thought that at least on his birthday he might make an exception, and after all, he didn’t really have to talk to me anyway. I could just set them next to his bed and walk out.
I walked quickly down the blue-carpeted stairs and braced myself for the chill as I opened the door out into the frosty morning. There was a small coating of fresh snow on the ground, and very small flakes flew onto my clothes, melting almost as soon as they made contact. It was not a very long walk, as the campus is not very large, but with every step I wanted to turn back more and more. If it were anyone else then I would have turned back, but I really wanted to do something to make his day better.
Finally, I made it to the front door of the main building. I stomped my snow boots out on the rug in front of the door, but that did not stop them from leaving soggy footprints in my wake. I descended the staircase that led to the kitchen. The first thing I did was go to the back room and put on my favorite navy apron. It was by far the longest of the aprons and I tied it very tight, almost to the point that I had trouble breathing, as I liked the way that it made my stomach look.
I was planning on making him banana pancakes as that was the title of one of his favorite songs. In fact, I called it “our song” but never in front of him. If he ever found out about it, I doubt he would like it. It was playing when I first realized that I loved him.
I was sitting on a couch with him in a room full of other people. We sat in a corner laughing. He said that he wanted to show me some of his music, as he had deemed my taste in music as dreadful. I listened to the lyrics and imagined they were about us. The premise of the song was about pretending that there was no one else out there. That having just the two of them together was enough, and in that moment, it was like it was just him and me, and I could deal with that.
“I can play this song on the guitar you know,” he said to me as we sat there, him looking eagerly at me to see if I liked his music or not.
“Oh, cool. You are going to have to play it for me sometime,” I replied, looking back into his bright blue eyes and smiling. I was really smiling, not the fake polite smile that I give to people because that is what they want to see, but the goofy, happy-go-lucky smile of someone truly enjoying an experience.
  I walked into the walk-in refrigerator and grabbed a stick of butter off the top shelf. I then proceeded to the stove, where I placed a blackened frying pan down. The old oven was finicky and so did not light immediately as I twisted the knob. I lifted the frying pan to see what the problem was and as I placed it back down the flame ignited. My hand drew back automatically as I felt my skin graze the blue-orange flame. The frying pan hit the ground with a loud clang and I ran over to the sink to put my hang under cold water.
I returned to the stove and replaced the frying pan. Then I cut a small, uneven, piece of butter off of the stick and placed it in the frying pan to grease it.  I then went to the cupboard where the school keeps its flour, sugar, and other dry ingredients, measuring out the correct amount of each. I added them one by one to the old scratched mixing bowl that I set up next to the stove. When I added the flour, I was immersed in a white powder cloud that left my apron looking more white then blue. I then returned to the refrigerator to get the cooler ingredients.
About a month after that day on the couch, I heard him playing guitar from my room down the hall. At this point we had been getting to know each other even more and I was beginning to fall harder and harder for him, but he was clueless as ever. He was a very smart guy, but when it came to human contact, he had the IQ of a six year old.
I knocked on his door and opened it to find him sitting on his bed wearing a tie-dye tee shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. He stopped playing when he saw me standing there in his doorway grinning at him.
“Hey, I was hoping you might play me banana pancakes,” I said.
“Yeah, cool, you remembered the name and everything,” he said.
He picked up his guitar and started playing the tune that I had been listening to almost every day since he had shown it to me. I was standing in the doorway humming along when all of a sudden he stopped.
“You can sit down if you want,” he said and then quickly returned to his playing.
I walked over and casually sat next to him, the bed sinking a little lower as I took my seat. He finished playing and set the guitar down. 
“Do you ever sing while you play?” I asked.
“No, I don’t sing,” he said, in a tone that indicated that this was something that was set in stone.
“Well I bet you have a great voice. Come on, let’s try it once,” I said.
“No,” was all he said in reply. 
“Come on, I’ll sing too,” I said encouragingly.
“No, trust me, no one has ever gotten me to sing before,” he said.
“Well then obviously you don’t know how good I am at weighing people down,” I said smiling back at him and handing him the guitar.
He started playing and I started singing. I have taken several chorus classes and have been told that I have a good voice, so I was hoping that he would notice that I was a good singer and want to play with me more often. We had gotten to the chorus and he still hadn’t sung a single word. I squinted my eyes at him, but it got me nowhere.
We finally got to the end of the song and he said “You have such a nice voice; I didn’t want to ruin it with mine.”
“I smiled back at him, that’s a cough out and you know it.” I said pushing him playfully.
I awoke from my reminiscing and found myself standing in front of the fridge. I pulled out all the ingredients I needed from there and poured them in with the dry ingredients. The mixture was quite lumpy and did not look very appealing to me. I stuck a finger in it and tasted the batter, it tasted far better then it looked. I finally cut up a banana and added it to the mixture.
Very carefully, I poured a small amount of the batter into the frying pan and watched as it sizzled and bubbled up around the slices of banana. I waited about thirty seconds and then I flipped the pancake over onto its other side. When I removed it from the pan, it was a perfect shade of golden brown. I repeated this three more times and then placed them on a plate.
I then went to retrieve some syrup from the fridge. I thought about using the regular syrup, but then I remembered that he has his own specialty organic syrup that he keeps hidden in the very back of the fridge, behind the fan. I reached back for it and pulled it out. It was a small container shaped like a maple leaf that he had written “DO NOT TOUCH” on in big sloppy handwriting. 
Sooner or later he was going to learn that I don’t listen to some of the things he says to me, or in this case, writes to me. I poured a conservative helping onto the pancakes and watched as it ran down the flaky cakes and onto the plate. I put my dishes in the sink, and swore that I would come back and do them after delivering the pancakes. I poured him a glass of milk and quickly carried the plate and glass up the stairs and into the chilly morning air.
The snow had stopped and I checked my watch to make sure that I wasn’t ahead of schedule; if I woke him up too early then I knew I would hear about it. It was 7:15 and the rest of the campus had breakfast at 7:30, so I felt ok in making my delivery. I walked up the stairs of the dorm carefully, trying to avoid spilling the milk. I stood in front of his door for a full minute, too nervous to knock. Finally I felt my knuckles meet the wooden door and turned the knob slowly. I turned to see him squinting at me through one eye. His brow hair was sticking out in all directions and his blue and white bed covers were pulled tightly over his legs.
“Happy Birthday,” I said, snickering at his appearance as I did so.
“What time is it?” Was his reply.
“It’s 7:20,” I said stepping towards him.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
“I brought you breakfast in bed,” I said smiling at how annoyed he seemed to be getting pancakes.
“Why?” He said.
At this point I was starting to get a little mad. When someone says that they made your breakfast, the correct response is never “why.”
“Because I wanted to do something for you on your birthday, but if you don’t want them, I guess I could just take them…” I said, faking to turn away, knowing he would call me back.
“No, no. Of course I want them. I’m sorry, I’m usually an ass hole when I first wake up,” he said sitting up a little more in bed so I could see his shirtless torso.
I stepped closer to him and set the plate down on the dresser next to him.
“What is it?” He asked me.
“It’s banana pancakes,” I said, wondering if he would get the sentimental value.
“Haha like the song?” He asked 
“Yep,” I said.
I turned to leave the room, assuming he would want to eat in peace.
“Where are you going?” He asked
“I was going to go change and go to breakfast,” I replied 
“No, you are going to stay and eat these with me,” he said.
I was both surprised and pleased that he wanted me to stay. I walked back and sat at the desk chair next to his bed.
“Will you get my iPod out of my pants pocket over there?” He said, pointing to an inside out pair of khakis that he had obviously just taken off and left in the middle of the floor. I reached into the pocket and pulled out his purple iPod. I then handed it to him before sitting back down again. He messed around with it for a second before playing banana pancakes off of it.
He took the plate off the dresser and drove his fork into the pile of pancakes. After chewing it for a couple seconds he said, with his mouth still full “What kind of syrup is this?”
“You tell me,” I said, smiling sassily at him.
“The kind that has DO NOT TOUCH written on it?” He asked.
“Maybe, but in my defense, I don’t generally do what you say, so I didn’t see a reason start now,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him.
“Well they tastes great,” he said, as he kept piling more pieces into his mouth, syrup was flying everywhere, on his bed, on his chest; somehow he even managed to get some in his hair. When he was finally finished with the pancakes and milk he set the plate down.
“Well I better go get ready for class,” I said getting up and taking his dishes.
“Yeah, I better take a shower, now that you have me all sticky. You should probably take one too, because you have a little flour on your, well, everywhere,” he said laughing his broken, high-pitched, laugh that I loved so much.
I laughed along with him and as I turned the doorknob I heard him say, “hey, thanks, by the way. This was really nice. We haven’t hung out in a while.”
“No problem. Happy Birthday,” I said as I closed his door.
I knew that we were never meant to be together, but that does not mean that I could not care about him, and if he didn’t know that I was in love, then no harm no foul. As I started to walk back to the kitchen I noticed that he had left some of his syrup on the plate. I licked it up and it made me realize, sometimes when something is forbidden, it makes it all that more sweet.

I looked up at him as we stood over the cobblestone fire pit. He looked like he was deep in thought, arms crossed, and deep blue eyes misty and staring into the pit. I was not really sure how to build a fire, I had never done it before, but I did not want him to know this.  I knew that he had done it many times before; it is one of the things I loved about him, his knowledge of the outdoors. After about two minutes of silence I decided to break it.
“How can I help you with the fire?” I asked
He looked up at me as if he had forgotten I was there. “Uhm, can you find some dead leaves or something else I can use for kindling?” He asked.
“Yeah, no problem,” I said and I started looking around the wooded area where we are camped.
Our school held trips every spring that all had elements of camping attached to them. We had been assigned to the same one. We never really talked about the break ending, it just seemed to kind of fizzle away, but we were never the same. Never the same energy. Never the same light in his eyes when he would see me walk into a room. I was just another person to him, no one special, barley even a friend.
I walked a few steps towards the forest and then stopped. I heard the crunch of dead leaves with every step I took. I reached down and picked up a handful of them. I love the color of autumnal dead leaves, the bright oranges, crisp browns, and fading yellows. Having done as he asked, I brought them back to where he was standing and started to lay them down in the fire pit.
“Will you just put them in a pile next to it?” He said stopping me.
I did as I was told and waited for my next direction. He leaned down and started to pick up small twigs off the ground. I followed his lead, wondering why he seemed to only be picking up the small ones. He walked back to the fire pit and leaned down, but then stood right back up.
“It’s too dang hot,” he said and he started to unzip the pant legs off of his olive green zip off pants. I always wondered why he used dang instead of damn. It wasn’t like he had an issue with swearing. It was one of the little quirks he had that made me crazy.
He was wearing a sunshine yellow button up camping shirt. It had a mesh vent built into it presumably so that he did not over heat. It was not working because he still looked pretty hot to me. The vent was placed in the perfect spot so you could see the single brown mole that laid contrast to the tanned skin on his back. I must say that if a mole could be described as adorable, this mole would be.
“Nice shirt,” I said
“Thanks, my mom got it for me. At first I was like mom why would you buy a shirt this color, but it’s growing on me,” he replied still trying to pull his left dethatched pant leg over his sandal.
“I like the color,” I replied, seeing him struggling.
I walked over to him and he put his hand on my shoulder, using me to steady himself. I looked down at his tanned calves and smiled; glad I was able to help him. He finally got the one leg off and then unzipped the other one, his grip on my shoulder tightening as he stood on one leg trying to pull the other one off. He finally got it off and threw them both onto his backpack. He let go of me and leaned back down over the fire pit.
“Will you hand me those leaves now?” He asked.
I handed them to him and he placed them down in the center of the pit. I then handed him the twigs I had found and he started to assemble them in a tipi like structure around the leaves. I watched him arrange the twigs in such precision, like the placement was a matter of life or death.
“Let me know when you are ready for a match,” I said patting the box that was rattling around in my pocket. 
“I think I’m ready now,” he replied.
I fumbled the box out of my pocket and handed him the matchbook. He opened it, picked out a match, and then handed the box back to me.
“Don’t you need the box to strike the match on?” I asked.
“No need,” he said, and he ran the red tip of the match against his fingertip. It lit immediately, a brilliant display of dancing orange light. I watched amazed as he dropped it onto the tipi he had created. The leaves lit for a moment and then the flame extinguished, leaving a trail of smoky disappointment in its wake.
“How did you do that?” I asked in utter surprise and admiration.
He looked up at me from his squatting position over the fire pit and shrugged, responding simply with “guitar.”
I handed him another match and watched him light it again. After he dropped the match he put his hands up to his mouth creating a diamond like shape with his fingers. He then blew steadily into the small diamond. The flames that the match had started were now spreading thanks to his blowing. The flames had now left the leaves and caught onto the twigs.
We both turned around and found some bigger pieces of wood. After placing those onto the fire he went back to blowing into his diamond. A mixture of smoke and embers blew up into his face, and he fell back, coughing. I walked over and leaned down over him to assess the damage. An ember had caught onto his right eyebrow, and was burning, bright and orange. I wiped it away with my thumb noting the grey singed hairs it had left behind.
He grabbed the arm I had held out for him to help him up. We sat down on the log that was facing the fire and gazed into it. We didn’t talk, but just listened to the crackling of the fire and the hooting of an owl in the distance.
“Do you want to start the s’mores?” I asked him, getting up to grab the bag of supplies from my backpack.
“Sure,” he said.
I came back a few minutes later to find him sitting on a log, his left ankle sitting on his right knee, whittling away at a stick with his red pocket knife.
“What are you doing? You look like Huck Finn,” I said laughing.
“Huck who?” He responded, still focused on his whittling.
“You know, Huck Finn, like the book,” I said, hoping he had just heard me wrong.
“Nope, never read it,” he responded.
“Well never mind. What are you doing?” I asked.
“How did you think we were going to roast the marshmallows?” He said, brandishing the pointy stick at me.
“I brought marshmallow skewers,” I said, holding up the metal tined instruments.
He looked at the skewers and then back at me.
“You’re kidding, did you actually buy those?” He asked.
“Yes, how else would I do it?” I asked, perplexed at how surprised he was to see the tool.
“With a sharpened stick.” He said, referring back to the spear like object he was whittling.
“Well I think I’m going to stick to metal, I don’t really want any wood shards in my s’mores.” I said and picked a marshmallow up out of the package.
“I don’t know how you Californians roast marshmallows, but back home; I am kind of the king. So watch and learn how it’s done,” he said, grabbing the marshmallow out of my hand.
I stood back and watched as the so called professional placed the marshmallow just above the rising flames. He left it there for just a few second before rotating the stick 360 degrees, as to get a perfect golden brow ombre on the marshmallow. After several more seconds he took the marshmallow off his spear and placed it onto a set of graham crackers and Hershey’s chocolate rectangles. He then handed me the final product.
  As I accepted it, his fingers grazed the back of my hand, and I felt some friction. I had to assume it was just residual stickiness from the marshmallow, but I wanted it to be something more electric. I was hoping it was some sort of mother earthly sign that we should be together.
“Well, how is it?” He asked me. His voiced seemed so c***y, as if he already knew that I loved it.
I took my first bite and was amazed at the different sensations that occurred. The graham cracker crumbled under my teeth getting entrapped in the soft, almost fluffy, vortex of the marshmallow. The chocolate felt cool in comparison and gave it a much needed solidity. Even I had to admit, it was very good.
“Who am I to doubt royalty?” I replied, still chewing.
“I told you so,” he said. He pulled out another marshmallow, and started roasting it for himself.
We sat there, until the fire went out. He made me another s’more and ate an astounding 5 more himself. Right before the flames turned to embers, I looked over at him, and noticed that he had some residual marshmallow left under his bottom lip. In that moment, I realized that what I wanted more than anything was to kiss him. To taste the s’mores on his lips as I brushed back his long brown hair. To be the queen to the king of marshmallows, but instead I turned my gaze to the fire watching as those fantasies were engulfed by the fiery inferno, and flew away as ashes in the wind.

I stood by the refreshment table of my schools prom eating a chocolate covered strawberry and gazing at him across the room. The auditorium was decorated in a sea of white Christmas lights and fake forestry to go along with the theme midsummer night masquerade. The rest of the room was dancing and the techno music was blasting out of the speakers to my right, but in that moment, all I saw was him.
I was wearing a white button up shirt, a pair of khaki pants, a blue felt hat, and a teal scarf. My mask was simple, just a cheap, blue, store bought one. They gave us the option of putting feathers and other glittery things on them, but I chose not to as to not seem too flashy. He was sitting in a corner talking with some friends, not dancing, as usual. He was wearing a brown striped shirt, and no mask.
Step by step, I found myself walking towards where he sat.  I crossed the dance floor never taking my eyes off of him, but he was oblivious to me. I finally reached where he sat and he looked up at me, a quizzical expression on his face, as if he were trying to figure out who I was through the flashing lights.
I leaned down close to him and whispered, “Do you want something to drink?”
“What?” He screamed in my ear.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked louder.
“Yeah, I could go for some punch,” he replied.
“Ok, do you want anything to eat?” I continued, still half shouting so he could hear me.
“Would you bring me a chocolate covered strawberry?” He asked.
“Sure thing, be back in a second.” I said.
He nodded in response. I crossed my way back to the refreshments and filled up a glass with the red-orange liquid. I had decided that I was going to get him to dance with me tonight if it was the last thing I did. He wouldn’t do it easily, but I found that I could be pretty persuasive. I picked up a plate and chose two of the largest, most artfully decorated, chocolate covered strawberries remaining on the platter. I crossed back across the room and sat down next to him, handing him his glass.
“Thanks,” he said as he leaned back and placed his feet on the table in front of us.
“No problem, take your pick,” I said as I held out the plate of strawberries towards him.
He chose the bigger of the two and took a large bite out of it.
“Why no mask?” I asked
He took a second bite out of his strawberry with a loud slurping noise. Some of the chocolate had stuck to his lip and he licked it off before replying “I guess I just don’t see the point in trying to hide yourself from people.”
“Just because your not wearing a mask, doesn’t mean you are not hiding,” I replied.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he replied, tossing his last bite of strawberry into his mouth.
“Yeah, that’s what you want people to think,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“You know what I mean,” I replied in a tender knowing tone.
“Maybe I do, anyway, what’s up with your mask?” He said.
I reached a hand up to make sure it was still on my face.
“What about it?” I asked.
“It’s not very you,” he said.
“And what does that mean?” I retorted.
“It’s plain, and simple. You didn’t decorate it and make it all showy like I assume you would have,” he said.
“Maybe I’m just a simple type of guy,” I said.
He snorted.
“I don’t think I would ever use the word simple to describe you… complicated however,” he replied.
I kicked him gently in the shin. He looked down in surprise, and then back up at me. We both laughed for a moment.
“So are you going to dance,” I asked him, already knowing the answer.
“You know I don’t dance,” he replied.
“Things change,” I said.
“No, I don’t plan on dancing,” he replied.
“Well plans change too,” I replied, holding out a hand to help him up.
“You’re not going to win this,” he said bluntly.
“When are you going to learn to stop underestimating me,” I replied, preparing for a battle.
“When are you going to learn to quit while your ahead,” he replied.
I sat back down for a second and then made sure he was looking me in the eyes. I took a breath before starting my argument.
“See, I think that this is your mask talking. You are too afraid to look stupid out on the dance floor to even try and get up and have some fun. Let me tell you how this is going to go down. I’m going to finish speaking; you’re going to argue with me. In fifteen minutes you will have agreed to dance for a total of one minute with me,” I said.
“Your one to talk about masks,” he replied, ignoring the other things I said.
“What, just because I didn’t put a bunch of stupid feathers on it,” I replied.
“Not your physical mask, the one you put on for everyone else,” he replied.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, alarmed at how suddenly perceptive he was being.
“There’s a disadvantage to being close with someone, they learn all your secrets. I know your mask. I’ve seen through the cracks in it. You always seem so perfect and everyone thinks your happy and together, but you are slowly unraveling,” he replied.
I was shocked. Everything he said was so true, so unmistakably true, but what he didn’t know is that he had caused the cracks. He had taken a hammer to my perfectly chiseled mask and chipped at it piece by piece with his perfect smile and kind words. He was the only one who saw me fore who I really was, but didn’t know that he is who had made me that way.
“Well then, I guess I don’t need this anymore,” I said, taking of the mask and throwing it in his lap. He picked it up and set it beside him.
“It’s not a bad thing not to be perfect,” he said soothingly.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” I said, getting up.
I reached my hand out again and looked pleadingly at him.
“One minute,” I asked.
He sat there for fifteen second before rolling his eyes, letting me help him up, and replying “one minute.”
We made our way onto the dance floor and he stood there motionless. I started to shake my body around to the beat and he looked at me, amused. I grabbed ahold of his wrists and started moving them back and forth. I let go and he continued the motion. His bangs were already dripping with sweat and sticking to his forehead. He actually stared to look kind of happy and got into it a little bit. He forgot about the time and waited until the end of the song, at which point, I grabbed his hand and used it as a way to twirl around. I dropped his sweating palm and we returned to our seating area.
“Was that so bad?” I asked in a tone indicating that I had won.
“Maybe not, but you looked ridiculous,” he replied jokingly.
“I’m going to go head back to the dorm and shower,” I said, pausing and continuing, “thanks for the dance.”
I was half way to the door when he said “hey wait, do you want this?”
He was holding up the blue shimmering mask. I looked to him and then back at the flimsy object in his hand.
“Keep it, it never did me any good with you anyway,” I replied, as I walked out the door.

I sat in the car on my way home from school. The graduation ceremony was earlier that day and that meant that all the students went home. I was flipping through my yearbook making a conscious effort not to skip directly to his page. I waded through the other 30 or so students before I finally got to his name and read what he had scribbled in his sloppy handwriting in a navy blue sharpie.
“You were a really good friend to me at the beginning of the year. I could talk to you and I really appreciated that. It wasn’t always easy, but next year, hopefully we can start fresh. You are my favorite orchid.”
I smiled. The idea of a fresh start with him seemed impossible, but it is what I really wanted, and if he was open to it then I thought we should at least give it a try. It took me a second to figure out why he had called me an orchid, but then I thought back to an experience we had a month into the year.
We walked down the concrete circular path, no real reason or destination in mind. It was in between the hours of afternoon and evening and the sun reflected this with its slightly dimmer then usual appearance. He reached into the pocket of his beige cargo shorts and pulled out three red jolly rancher candies.
“Want one?” He asked, extending his hand towards me.
  I looked down to see they were all cherry flavored.
“No thanks, I hate fake cherry flavoring,” I said looking at him as we walked, the silver ring he wore around his neck created a bulge in his shirt at the collarbone.
“Suit yourself, there the only ones I like,” he said, unwrapping one of the candies and throwing it into his mouth. He deposited the other two back and we kept walking.
  We finally found ourselves out in front of the guesthouse of the boarding school we live on. The off yellow walls were paint chipped and the vines that covered various parts of the building looked to be strangling it. There was a set of 8 green steps, covered in dead leaves, that lead up to the platform where the entrance was. There was a porch swing that one could sit on if they wanted to feel the crisp air on their face, or to hear the wind chimes go crazy with each gust that went by. On either side of the staircase, there was a bed of soil where someone had planted rose bushes.
We stopped in front of one of the bushes and I leaned in to smell one of the creamy yellow blossoms. The scent wafted over me like an aphrodisiac and I sighed slightly, wishing I could bottle it and take it with me wherever I wanted to go.
“You’ve got to smell these,” I said, looking up at him and gesturing my index finger as if to bring him closer.
He shuffled forward and placed his head next to mine. I scooted a little to my left to give him full access to the blossom I had smelled. He sniffed it for a moment and then just looked at me confusedly.
“It smells like a rose,” he said. I could smell the cherry springing from his open mouth. Even though I didn’t like cherries, somehow he managed to make them all the more appealing.
“Yes, what were you expecting?” I said, my eyebrows rising at his response.
“I don’t know,” he said, laughing.
  He pulled his scarlet pocketknife from out of his pocket and opened it with a flick of his wrist. He then grabbed hold of the leafy stem of our rose, but his hand receded quickly as he brought his thumb to his mouth. He dropped the open knife, and the blade landed on the toe of my shoe, bouncing off and into the dirt below us. The rose itself hung pathetically from one strand of stem, flailing side to side over the earth below us.
“God dang it,” he said loudly, the sound masked slightly by his finger.
He said it often enough that I could tell what he was saying just by watching his lips. I had often wondered why he chose to say dang instead of damn. He wasn’t religious, nor did he have a problem saying any other swear word. In fact, over the years, he had become too vulgar for my taste, but he still said dang. I had thought about asking him about it, but didn’t want it to seem like a paid too much attention to his speech habits. I decided to leave it a mystery, one of his complexities that made it so interesting to be in love with him.
“What happened?” I asked, the alarm in my voice audible.
He removed his thumb from his mouth and I could see a jagged cut on the right side of it, covered in a layer of blood and saliva. The flesh on either side of the wound had parted and a trail of thick, watered down blood ran down the side of his thumb and dropped below us.
“Thorn,” he said simply.
I reached down and picked up his knife, handing it back to him, our knuckles grazing in the process. He grabbed the knife with his left hand and haphazardly slashed at the broken stem of the rose. It fell effortlessly to the ground. He put his knife back in his pocket, and then picked up the rose with his right hand. A pinpricks worth of blood appeared on the petal that his thumb had touched, tainting it slightly.
“Here, be careful” he said, handing me the rose.
“Thanks,” I said, putting the rose up to my nose again.
I then began to walk up the stairway of the guesthouse, the boards creaking with each step I took. He followed me and I sat down gently on the swing, the chains that kept it up on the ceiling jingled slightly as I sat. He sat down next to me and the swing started to move, back and forth, back and forth. He placed his legs up on the swing and tried to lie back, but there wasn’t enough room.
“Can I?” He asked, looking at his legs and then at my lap.
“Sure, whatever makes you comfortable,” I said.
He lifted his legs up and draped them across my orange pants his black shoed feet just short enough to avoid hanging off the edge. I smelled the rose again and then placed it in-between his ankles, making sure not to stab him in the process.
“That tickles,” he said, laughing and squirming a little under the leaves small touch.
“God, are you still that ticklish?” I said running my fingers along the underside of his leg. He kicked and laughed involuntarily. The swings started to rock faster than before under his movement.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, his upper lip curled upwards as it always did when he laughed. His eyes looked so joyful and pure, like a crystalline sky.
I rested my arm on his legs, the heat radiating through them into my naturally cool body.  My eyes traced the veins leading up his tanned legs. He leaned upwards for a moment, spitting the jolly rancher out. It flew over the railing and landed in one of the rose bushes.
“Charming,” I said sarcastically.
“It tasted like blood,” he said and he reached into his pocket for another one.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” He said pulling out the two he had remaining.
“Actually, I’ll try one. Thanks,” I said and he handed me one of the wrapped candies.
  I unwrapped it and placed it in my mouth. He watched my face, carefully waiting for a reaction. The taste filled my mouth as I shifted the log shaped candy from side to side. I still didn’t love the flavor, but for some reason it was invigorating to me, because it smelled like him. I turned my gaze back to the rose located between his strong, hair-ridden ankles.
“Isn’t this the most beautiful rose you’ve ever seen?” I asked him.
“It’s ok, I’ve never been a fan of roses though,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Really, what’s your favorite flower then?” I asked him.
He looked at me blankly for a second and then said, “Do I seem like the kind of guy to you that would have a favorite flower?”
He chuckled softly.
“Well you better come up with one, because we’re not leaving until you do have one,” I said playfully.
He rolled his eyes at me before asking, “fine, what’s your favorite flower?”
“I like orchids. I think there so complex and elegant, but also fragile, easily breakable. My favorite orchids are purple and white. Those colors just complement each other so well. They are also generally expensive, and live for a long time, unless they are not taken care of,” I said, pausing for a moment.
“Now that I think about it, I’m a lot like an orchid,” I said, laughing.
“Well you certainly are complex,” he said jokingly.
“What flower would you say I was?” He asked me.
“Hmm, give me a second,” I said, trying to think of what I could compare him to.
He wasn’t optimistic or happy enough to be a sunflower. He didn’t have the slight bitterness I had come to associate with lavender. He wasn’t simple or thick skinned enough to be a tulip. As I thought, I ran my index finger across one of the rose petals feeling his strong anklebone underneath as I did so. I picked the flower up and held it up to his face so he could examine it more closely.
“You know you’re kind of like a rose,” I said simply.
“Really, how?” He said, giving me a puzzled look.
“Well, you kind of put up walls with people, making it hard for them to approach you, kind of like how a rose has thorns. A rose has many layers of petals that almost completely cover its center point, where the sweet smell comes from. You have many layers of manly and arrogant bullshit all covering your inward sweetness,” I said, pulling the rose back to my nose for another sniff.
“What inner sweetness?” He said mockingly.
“Uhm, did I ask you to pick this rose for me?” I said smiling, knowing I had him there.
“I didn’t pick it for you, I picked it for me,” He said, obviously lying to try and irritate me.
“Yea? What happened to “I’ve never been a big fan of roses?” I said in a lowered mimic of his voice. 
“Shut up,” he said, laughing at his own backfired plan.
I looked into his eyes for another moment and it was like getting caught in a daydream, a beautiful scene of love, and want, and passion. I wanted to stay in that safe zone forever and ever, to never have to go back to the nightmare of unrequited love and darkness that struck me just when I’d least expect it, but all daydreams must come to an end at one point or another.
I put my feet out to stop the swings constant motion. It came to a halt and I pat his legs to tell him I need them to move so I could get up. He didn’t move and so I lifted them up with my right hand, got up, and set them back down on the swing with a thud.
“I’m going to go back to the dorm, but did you decide on a favorite flower?” I said expectantly.
“If I must pick one, I’d say that rose is looking better and better,” he said, smiling.
“I almost forgot,” I said, and I leaned down to pick up the flower still resting between his ankles. As I picked it up, I let my fingers dance against his tactile skin.  He started laughing and jerked his foot away.
“You did that on purpose,” he said through his laughs.
“Prove it,” I said, grinning at him.
I turned my back to him and started walking slowly down the green staircase. The jolly rancher had turned into a small sliver, but the flavor was still strong, and as I swallowed the last bit, I turned my head to look back at him, his body still stretched out on the swing. I pulled my rose up to my nose one last time and thought to myself even though he may seem like a rose; he’d planted the seeds of a thousand forget-me-nots inside my mind, leaving a cloud of blue blossoms that would either bloom, or that I would have to nip in the bud, before our daydream turned into a nightmare once again.
I returned from my flashback when we turned into the driveway of our condominium. I wanted that fresh start more then I knew was possible. I would have done anything to get back to the way we once were. Back when he was my rose and I was his orchid. It seemed like the summer would drag on for ever and I would miss him everyday, but I knew I would get through it, after all, there was always next year.

The water rushed over the small sandy beach and came just short of engulfing our toes. It was almost ninety degrees and I knew that the thing I wanted most was to cool off by jumping into the pond on the campus of my boarding school, but I still had that feeling of dread one gets right before the climactic cool.
“Should we just jump in?” He asked.
I turned my gaze from the water to him. The sun was reflecting off of his light brown hair and blinding my slightly. He was wearing a light blue bathing suit, with a black waistband and his orange towel was slung across his left shoulder. The blue surface of the water paled in comparison to that of his eyes. He was shivering slightly. Though the temperature was hot, there was an unsettlingly cool breeze tickling our bare stomachs.
“You can, I am going to wade my way in. You know, lessen the shock,” I said, as I looked back at the water.
“Alright, see you out there then,” he said.
I began my slow, graceful decent into the water. With each step I felt it crawl up my body embracing more and more each time. I saw blue out of the corner of my eye and a second later felt the sudden splash of the freezing water on my chest. He flopped around through the water near me for a moment before taking off with widespread strokes towards the raft in the middle of the pond. I was furious; I took a deep breath and plunged the rest of my body into the murky water.
He made it there seconds before I did and when my head came to surface, he was hoisting himself up onto the small white raft. He was panting softly and looked at me with a mixture of amusement and ever so slight fear. His hair was sticking to his forehead in damp strands dripping down over him. I gave him a challenging look.
“Did you have to get me all wet?” I asked him playfully.
“If you didn’t want to get wet, then you shouldn’t’ have asked if I wanted to go swimming,” he responded, smiling.
“Technically I asked a room full of people, you’re just the only one who said yes,” I said, lifting myself onto the raft.
“Yeah because I didn’t want you to go alone,” he said, lying out on the raft as if to sunbathe.
“Well thanks for that,” I replied sincerely grateful for his company.
“No problem,” he sighed exhaustedly.
I didn’t understand why he needed to tan, his skin was already far darker then most Caucasians, but to each his own. I crawled my way over on my hands and knees until I was seated next to him, and then I too laid down on the raft. My head fell into a pile of water that tickled my neck as I continued to rest it there. We sat there for a moment in silence, just the feeling of the raft rocking back and forth.
“It’s funny, I always say I want to come down here to go swimming, and sometimes I do, but I think I really just come out here to hang out on the raft,” I said.
“Yeah, I know what you mean, something about it is so peaceful, you just never want to leave,” he replied.
“Isn’t the water beautiful?” I asked him, trying to stir up a meaningful conversation.
“I mean kind of. The water where I live is so much clearer then this, so much better, I guess it ruins it for me,” he said.
“Yeah, but I don’t know. I think that the ponds water is one of my favorite places to be,” I said calmly.
“This coming from someone who was complaining that I had got them wet with it just a few minutes ago,” he said smugly.
“First of all, when am I not complaining about something,” I said, pausing for affect.
“That’s true,” he replied.
“And second of all, I still need to repay you for that, don’t I?” I said.
I’m not sure he heard the last syllable however. I had reached my fingertips under his warm chest and pushed him, the water on the raft serving as the perfect slip and slide for me to flop him over the edge of the raft. This may seem like a little bit of an overreaction, but we had been doing this for years. In the warmer months, he and I would come out here with other groups of students and it always turned into a game of who could stay on the raft the longest, or how many people could you push off before falling off yourself. I didn’t know how he would take having his relaxing sunbathing session interrupted, so I put on my best apologetic face and waited for him to resurface. Sure enough, a few seconds later his face appeared at the edge of the raft and he was pulling himself up back onto it. I had to get lower to the ground to regain my balance.
“Oh, your going down now,” he said, smiling and clearly enjoying the competition.
“You know if you try and take me out, I’ll take you with me,” I said as we began our rotating, slow walking circles around the raft.
“That’s fine, as long as you don’t use your nails, I still have scars from the last time we came our here,” he said.
“Aw, I’m sorry about that, let me see,” I said, genuinely sorry that I had scarred him, maybe a little pleased that I had left my mark though.
He held out his left wrist to me, and I could see the two feint white lines that I had left there. They didn’t look all that bad, but I reached out and felt them anyway. Even though he was drenched, his skin still felt so warm, I just wanted to hold him close. Instead, I pulled his wrist with all my weight and he flew sideways off the raft again. He tried to grab my own wrist on his way down, but I pulled back and managed to escape his grasp. He emerged a few seconds later and pulled himself back up onto the raft.
“Nice move,” he said, sounding slightly impressed.
“Thanks,” I replied.
We started our slow circles around the raft again. I had to be careful not to slip and fall on the wet patches that had formed on the white surface. He was intimidating. His arm muscles were larger then mine, and his abs were strong. He was also taller than me and a little bulkier. In a fight, there would be no question as to who would win, that is, if we fought fairly. The only way I could take him down would have been some sort of mind games followed by some quick cheap shots, luckily this was all fun and games, no need to get hurt. He lunged at me and I nearly lost my balance, but regained it. He grabbed a hold of my right forearm and as I tried to shake him off I lost my balance. Having notice this, he used it to his advantage and pushed me towards the side, I knew he had won this round, but as I fell backwards, I grabbed his arm and pulled him down with me. As we hit the water, he fell back on top of me, his skull bashing into mine. I swam to the surface and grabbed hold of the raft again.
He resurfaced too and I asked him “your head ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, neglecting to ask me about mine.
We climbed back onto the raft and only after a few second of getting back on, I felt my feet leave the ground. I was thrashing back and forth in his arms as he took be by surprise. Not wanting to actually hurt him though, I stopped, and allowed him to throw me over the edge. I hit the water with a splash, but as I started to resurface, I felt something long and slimy touch my leg. I swam for the surface, but the thing was still somehow attached to me.  My arrival to the surface was announced by a high-pitched scream followed by his quick paced walk over to me.
“What’s wrong,” he asked astonished.
I held my hand out to him and he reached out and grabbed it pulling me with a swift motion back to safety on the raft. I sat there for a second on my hands and knees panting from fear. I finally caught my breath up enough to say “there was a snake.”
“Really? Snakes don’t usually come that close to the surface,” he said.
“Well tell that to the one that just touched my leg,” I sad annoyed at his disbelief.
“I’m just saying it could have been a fish or something,” he replied.
“God damn it, I know what I felt!” I said, hitting the raft with my open palm.
The noise reverberated wildly and he jumped back slightly. He flailed his arms around for a split second before falling backwards into the water with a splash. I crawled over to where he had been standing and waited for him to come back to surface. It took him longer then expected and when his head protruded he was smiling a big wide smile.
“What’s that grin for?” I asked suspiciously.
“I found your snake,” he said, pulling a green slime covered rope partially out of the water.
“What is that,” I asked bemused.
“It’s attached to the weight that keep the raft in place,” he replied smugly.
He dropped the rope and crawled back up onto the raft. I looked at him, beaming at having proved me wrong. Even though he was starting to piss me off, I loved what he was doing to me. Someone needed to keep me in check, and if I had to see a smug smile, it might as well be on his face.
“So, are you going to say it?” I asked him sarcastically.
“Say what?” He replied, playing dumb.
“I told you so,” I replied.
“No, what am I a child?” He said.
“Really?” I said, taken aback at his sudden maturity.
“I can think of three words that you could say though,” he replied, still smiling at me obnoxiously.
The three words that I could think of were “I love you,” and I really didn’t think we needed to have that conversation again. Especially out in open water where nobody could here me scream. More importantly where no one could hear me drown him for not loving me back. I racked my brain for three other words he could be fishing for.
“Give me a hint,” I asked him.
“The phrase starts with a you,” he replied.
“I’m going to need a little more to go off of,” I said.
“The second word is were,” he said.
“One more?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes at me before saying “it’s something you have never said to me before, and I bet you’re going to hate saying it now.”
I racked my brain for a second before realizing what he wanted me to say. It was true, but I could never give him the satisfaction.
“Oh ok, I’ve got it now,” I said.
He looked at me expectantly. He was shivering slightly from the breeze that was hitting his soaking wet body.
“You,” I said leaning closer to where he stood. “Were,” I said getting up from my crawling position. It was then that I lunged for his legs, taking him completely off guard as he fell backwards into the water again. “Right,” I muttered under my breath, pleased with myself.
He resurfaced, but instead of swimming back towards the raft, he started swimming in the other direction. I saw his blue swimsuit enter and exit the water several times as he surfaced and then went under again, slowly making his way towards shore. I felt a little bad about pushing him now. I didn’t think he would get upset enough to leave me. I sat there on the raft, feeling a cool that had nothing to do with the breeze washing over me.
I looked up and saw that he had made it to shore, but instead of walking towards the path leading up towards campus, he turned left and disappeared into a set of bushes. He was there for about 30 seconds before he appeared again, pulling something large and silver. He pulled it out into the water and I could finally tell that it was a canoe. He got into it and started paddling towards me.  He reached the edge of the raft bumping it and sending me off balance.
“Want a lift?” He asked me, indicating the seat behind him.
“Sure,” I replied, trying to step into the canoe as carefully as possible.
I took one step, and then it was over, I felt the canoe slip out from under me as I toppled down into the water. The splashing sound next to me indicated that I had also flipped the canoe. I came up to the surface and waited there for about a minute, before worrying that something was wrong. He had yet to surface and my mind was working frantically to figure out what to do next. I delve down hoping to see some sign of him. On my first attempt, nothing, I returned to the surface to breath and then decided to swim under the canoe. I took a deep breath and then returned underwater. I swam right where he had been seated and ran into something hard and oddly shaped. Taken aback, I surfaced under the canoe, hitting my head on one of the metal braces. His laughing reverberated throughout the metal chamber. The area was dark and I could barley make out his face, his bright eyes loomed in contrast to everything else.
“God, I thought something bad had happened to you,” I said, in a tone of annoyance.
“Aw, I’m sorry. I thought you would just assume I was under here,” He replied.
“I didn’t even know you could breath under flipped canoes, guess I never really thought about it,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, my friends back home and I do it all the time,” he said.
The air surrounding us was hot and mixed with the sent of body odor and his diluted cologne, but surprisingly it wasn’t bad. It was kind of sweet, almost aphrodisiac like. We just sat there in silence for a moment, breathing and staring at each other. I could have stared at him forever, but the moment ended too soon.
“Want to flip this thing back over and get out of here?” He asked.
“Sounds good,” I replied.

I could see his reflection in the stained yellow sidewall of the communal shower in our boarding schools boy’s dorm bathroom.  In that moment, my heart stopped. It wasn’t the fact that he was naked, I didn’t care about that. It wasn’t the fact that I was listening to b****y country music that reminded me of him. It was the fact that at this moment I was completely vulnerable, open to the senses, open to the perusal of his eyes. It took my breath away, and I had very little time to get it back before he stepped in and turned on his faucet.
There was a certain tension in the air. I was the only one that felt it though, I was sure of that. The silence was killing me, but what do you say in a position like this? I decided to just not say anything and continue about my shower as if he were not there. This was difficult however, as he was quite striking.
I stepped forward to the shower ledge and turned off the music. I then squirted a large amount of my bed head shampoo into my hand. It had such a unique sent to it. It was something that, if you had to put a concrete name to it might be bubble gum, but smells more like what you think a goji berry tree might smell like. I rubbed the shiny white liquid through my dyed brown hair.
“Does anyone actually know what a goji berry is?” I asked.
The words escaped my mouth without me thinking about them. I had been trying to think of something clever or witty to say. Maybe I would have asked a question about his day, something he probably would have answered with “fine” and then we would have gone about our business, but no I asked if he knew what a goji berry was. Now that the damage was done I decided to look up at him to see if he was going to answer me.
“What?” He responded laughing a little as he did so. His short brown hair was wet and up in a Mohawk like shape.
“Do you know what a goji berry is?” I repeated. I thought about trying to switch up my question. Something that sounded like goji berry would have sufficed, but I was not quick enough. In my defense, there are not that many words that rhyme with goji berry.
“Yeah, it’s some sort of organic fruit I think. Sometimes I look at the back of my drinks and see that there’s goji pulp in them. Why in the hell are you thinking about goji berries?” He asked, furrowing his soaking wet brow at me.
I opened my mouth to reply and soapy water flooded in making it hard to speak. I spit and rinsed out my mouth before replying “I was thinking my shampoo smells like a goji berry tree.”
I felt ridiculous just saying the words goji berry tree.
“Let me smell,” He said as he started walking towards me.
My inner monologue started up saying “Oh hell no, you can’t let him come over to you and smell your hair. It’s too weird. Remember, you have a crush on him, you have got to keep a handle of yourself or you’ll blow whatever kind of friendship you have right now. You have to stop him. Don’t let him get any closer. Not another step.”
Though I was listening to myself and I had fully intended to stop him from smelling me, my body didn’t follow my minds lead. He got closer to me and I finally decide to just go with it. I leaned my head down so he could smell my hair and in that moment I completely forgot our lack of clothing. Leaning my head downward was possibly the worst thing I could have done. I lifted my gaze up immediately to his toned chest.  
“Ok, I don’t know what that smells like, but I think goji berry tree is a fair description,” he said walking back to his showerhead. 
I looked back up to the ledge and noticed his shampoo. It was in a green bottle and had a label on it that said “Nature’s Gate.” It made me smile knowing that even his shampoo is so him. Everything he eats and does is organic, even down to his lemongrass and sandalwood scented shampoo. As he started to lather his hair with it I was left in a cloud of the scent. I knew that, ever since I had first smelled it on him, I would never feel the same way about lemongrass or sandalwood again. Thank god I don’t deal with those things very often.
“Hey, can I borrow some conditioner?” He called out to me.
“You want to smell like goji pulp?” I ask him, frankly surprised he would want to indulge himself in such a girly scent.
“Well, at least if I wear it you won’t be the only one smelling like a girl,” he said picking up the hot pink bottle and squirting some into his hand.
“Yeah, because lemongrass is so much better,” I said to him, smiling the way only he can make me.
“Shut up,” He said laughing in a high pitched broken fashion.
While replacing the conditioner, he knocked his body wash, also lemongrass and sandalwood scented, of f the ledge. It landed with a small thud at my feet, a little of the beer colored liquid squirted out and I felt as the substance filled the crevices between my toes.
“I got it” We both said in unison as we leaned down to pick the bottle up. I felt a surge of pain as my forehead hit the back of his head. I grabbed my forehead and stood back up.
“You alright?” I asked him as he himself stood back up and replaced the body wash.
“Yeah, you?” He asked as he returned to his shower head.
“I’m fine. I think I’m done showering though. I’m going to go get an aspirin. You want some?” I said.
“No, I’m good. It doesn’t hurt that much,” he said.
“You and your manly pride,” I said, smiling c***ily at him.
  I turned off my faucet. It’s not that I wanted to leave; it’s that I didn’t want to say anything to ruin this memory. I picked up my shampoo and conditioner and exited the shower. Before I walked out the door, I lingered, staring at his orange towel hung on a hook next to my blue one like I did after every time we showered together. I always stopped because I loved the image of our towels hanging next to each other’s so simple, so friendly and wished it could have stayed that way forever.

Halloween is an interesting event at my boarding school. Students dress up, but instead of going to houses in their neighborhoods, they go around to the staff houses to collect candy. Costumes range from the extremely creative, to wearing sunglasses to try to pass as “Gangsta.” I myself was wearing an extremely tight prom dress as I was going as Nancy Botwin from the hit television show Weeds. He on the other hand was dressed head to toe in Indigo for his part in a group costume as a rainbow.
Everyone had finished trick-or-treating hours ago and so we gathered in the student area for loud music and what some might call dancing. I was standing alone by the bar to the student store leaning one elbow on the counter and staring without being to obvious at him talking to his best friend. I wanted to talk to him, ask him if he wanted to watch a movie or something, but my fear of rejection was tremendous. Finally his friend got up and walked out of the room. I racked up all the courage I could muster and walked over to where he was seated.
“Hey, did you have fun tonight?” I asked.
He shrugged before mumbling, “I guess, it was hard as f*** to find all this Indigo clothing.”
He and another group of people had decided to go as the rainbow. He was the least popular of the group and had been given the least popular color, Indigo. I knew purple was his favorite color though, and it looked nice on him.
“Really, that surprises me. I’ve never had any trouble,” I said, half joking half serious.
He didn’t respond.
“So, do you want to go watch a scary movie or something?” I blurted out.
“With you?” He asked.
“Well, yes, that’s what I had in mind,” he said.
He was silent for a second before I noticed he was looking at where I would have had cleavage.
“You do realize I don’t actually have breasts right?” I asked.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“I don’t know how that would have constituted as flirting, but no.”
“Good. Why would I want to watch a movie with you?” He asked.
“Uhm, because it’s a fun activity that doesn’t involve talking to me, which I know you don’t especially like,” I responded, taken off guard by the question.
“No, I don’t want to watch a movie with you,” he said.
“Ok, so you’re not making this easy on me,” I said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean, you told me you wanted to forget everything that happened last year and start over fresh…. I’m trying to do that, but it kind of seems like you want nothing to do with me,”
“Well, I don’t, in fact I think it’s better if you just kind of leave me alone for now,”
“Sure, but first, can you explain to me why you said you wanted to start fresh if what you meant was you wanted me to leave you alone?”
“Because I thought that would get you off my back, but I regret saying it now. I’m going to go get some punch now,” he said, getting up and walking straight past the punch bowl and out the door.
I stood there shocked for a second. Hurt and shocked. I had done nothing to deserve this. I was so excited that we were on good terms finally. He was being a complete ass, but I couldn’t help but love him anyway. I decided I would do what he asked. I would stay away for a while, until he got over whatever the hell was wrong with him, but in that moment I found myself with a distinct hatred for one thing. Indigo.

I can still see those nine numbers in my head. I should be able to; lord knows that I stared at them enough. It had been three days since his trip to the hospital and there I was staring at his arm thanking a god that I don’t believe in that he was ok. While our government teacher started a lecture about bureaucracy, I watched as he moved his arm to start taking notes on his MacBook. The bracelet slid down his tan forearm, and onto his wrist. The first number was a nine, which is a coincidence; because it was at nine three nights ago that I had found out about his trip.
I was just finishing my math homework at the boarding school that we attend. It had been a long evening because I had two papers do the next day. I was dreary and thinking that I wanted to head to sleep, so I got up off the grey couch I was sitting on and started walking through the main building of the school’s campus. I was planning on heading back to the boy’s dormitory, but before I did so, I thought I would see where other people were in case I wanted to participate.
I walked over to our checkout counter where students sign out if they are going off campus.  The three ringed binder that kept the checkout pages had become worn over the three years that I had been at the school. One of the corners was ripping at the seams and the cover that said “Student Sign Out Book” had many ink stains on its milky white surface. I opened the book to the last dog-eared page and scanned the lines for people I actually liked, and that is when I saw it.
His name was written in a messy sprawl under the section that said “student’s name.” The location was marked hospital. The checkout time said “7:35 to ?.” I checked the clock and it was nine on the dot. My mind automatically assumed the worst. “Was he hurt badly?” “Should I get a ride to the hospital?” “Will I see him again?”
I decided the best course of action was to go to the dorm and await his return. I walked back across the grassy path leading to the dorm, the dewy grass leaving my feet damp. There were so many scenarios running in my head. “Did he break a leg during basketball?” “Did he fall down some stairs?” These were still just speculations, but the idea of him in pain was killing me. It didn’t matter to me that he didn’t care about me. I cared about him, I loved him, and even if he didn’t like it, I was going to be there for him when he got back.
I sat down on the bottom stair of the red cinderblock staircase that leads to the upper floor of the dorm. The paint was chipping, and I started to peel it off in an attempt to feel like I was doing something. I felt so helpless, not being able to do anything, not even knowing what was wrong. I kept chipping away at the stair when I remembered the last time I had done this. I had asked to talk to him about our relationship. He had been cold and distant with me for a while and I wanted to work something out. He had walked up to me while I was sitting on the stairs and said, “what did you want to talk about?”
“Well, I think it’s kind of obvious. Have you noticed our relationship has kind of changed since that thing?” I said.
“Yeah, you mean when you kissed me and I didn’t know it?” He said bluntly.
I winced at the harshness in his voice. I knew it was what I had happened, but I tried to avoid the phrasing he had used. He sat down on the step next to me, his frame, at the time, still so small. I could feel the tension coming from him and I couldn’t handle it.
“Yep, that’s what I mean,” I said.
“Your right, something has changed,” he said again, his voice sounded distant.
“And…” I prompted him to continue.
“And I think we need to take a break,” he said, looking me in the eyes. I stopped scratching at the stair for a moment and looked up at him, shocked.
“A what?” I said in a slightly exasperated tone.
“A break,” he repeated, this time with more enforcement.
“And what exactly does that mean?” I asked him defensively.
“It means that I need think about our friendship and create some boundaries so something like this doesn’t happen again,” he said.
“What do you want me to do then?” I replied, even more defensively.
“Well, I want you to give me some space, let me live my life as if you aren’t a part of it,” he said.
“I’ll make it easy for you, I won’t do a break. A break feels like probation and I don’t deserve that. Don’t think about our friendship, make a decision and then let me know, because otherwise, I’m done,” I said as I got up and exited the boys dorm, picking residual paint out from under my fingernail.
I exited my flashback rather abruptly when the door to the dorm opened.  It was the boy’s dorm sponsor coming in to tell me that I had to be in bed in ten minutes. I didn’t try and argue with him as that would have gotten me nowhere, but instead went back to my room. When he came in to turn off the lights I was in bed, just as I should have been. When he left, I waited exactly thirty seconds before throwing off my covers, and sneaking out of my room, pillow in hand.
I made it back to the staircase and returned to my seat and my nervous scratching. My nails were growing ragged and there was a coat of red underneath each one. The metallic undercoat of the stairs was starting to show through, but that did not stop me from continuing my activity. Since that day I first ran into him, I had been doing everything I could to make him fall in love with me. Nothing had worked, and he had abandoned our friendship entirely, but when it comes to medical stuff, I assumed all of that was behind us.
I was starting to nod off when I heard the metal door creep open. I felt a rush of cold night air surge into the room followed by his ghostly figure.
“Hey,” I said, trying not to scare him.
“Jesus,” he said, jumping back and banging his shoulder on the door frame.
He reached up to hold his now throbbing shoulder and the hospital bracelet fell down his wrist and onto his forearm. I caught a glimpse of the last three numbers. 713.
“What are you doing up?” He asked me, in a grouchy tone.
“Well, I knew you weren’t back yet, and when I saw you were at the hospital I got worried,” I said waiting nervously to see his response.
“It’s one in the morning,” he said.
“I know, your point being?” I replied.
“You’ve been waiting for me since lights out?” He asked, seeming slightly chagrinned.
“Actually, since nine, but I was really worried. I don’t want to talk about that though. What happened, are you ok?” I asked, getting up and trying to hug him.
He stood there like a board hands at his waist. It was the coldest hug I’ve ever received.
“I’m fine. I have a small concussion from basketball,” he said bluntly.
“Well that could be serious. What did the doctor say to do?”
“He said I couldn’t go to bed for eight hours,” he replied.
“Well then what are you going to do now if you can’t sleep?” I asked.
“Probably listen to music in the lounge,” he said, trying to scoot past me.
“Well, I’ll stay up with you,” I said, moving in front of him.
“No, I’ll be fine,” he said trying to move past me again.
“Yeah, but whose going to make sure you don’t fall asleep?” I asked, continuing the dance we were doing up the stairs.
“I’ll make sure of it,” he said, trying to push by me.
I grabbed his arm. “You can try to fight me on this, but I bet you have a b**** of a headache, and you know I can be pretty persistent,” I said.
“Fine, if you want,” he said, shaking off my hand.
I followed him up the stairs and left him in the common area to listen to music. I then went to fill up a cup of water and grab a couple aspirin from my room. I came back to him and he took the pills. We sat down on a couch while he played mellow independent music off his iPod.
“When did you first get the concussion?” I asked him.
“About five,” he replied, stretching out his black jean clothed legs.
“So you can go to bed around three,” I stated.
“I guess so,” he said. The last word was almost incoherent as he yawned during it.
We sat there as the music played. I talked to him about his hospital visit and the incident in basketball to try and keep him awake. I had to nudge him several times after he nodded off. Each of these was returned with a one blue eyed glare before he would sit back up again.
The clock finally ran down and I said, “I think you should sleep here tonight.”
Being too drowsy to argue, he just nodded his head. I went to my room to get a blanket and when I returned, he was already out like a light. I turned off the music and sat down on my seat on the couch, his head nestled against my shoulder. I placed the blanket over us and the way it fell, all you could see were our faces, and his arm, the blue hospital bracelet lying, in contrast, to the brown stitched cloth.   
It had been three days, and he still hadn’t taken the bracelet off. It was probably just due to laziness, but I would like to think it was because he thought of it as a reminder that someone cared about him, weather he felt the same or not.

It was just tea. Just some hot water, some sugar, and a tea bag, or “beg” as he says it in his mid-western accent. It doesn’t mean anything. He probably won’t even drink it, I thought to myself as I put the water on to boil. I was in kind of a time crunch. Thank god that we live at a boarding school and so all our classrooms are within three minutes of each other. Class started in four minutes, and the tea still had to steep, but this was more important to me then getting to class on time. That’s a big deal for me because I’m never late. 
    His cough sounded awful. It was one of those coughs that did not come alone. There were three or four every time he opened his mouth. I hated to see him in pain, and with a cough like that his throat must have been killing him, so I decided to make him tea. I doubted he would accept it, it was kind of a strange gesture, but then again was it really that bad to show him that I cared about him?
  It was Valentine’s Day and I was dressed in all red. Red leather jacket, off-red deep neck tee-shirt, and maroon pants. I hate the day itself, but the sentiment is kind of fun to get involved in. It seems like half the world hates the day and half the world loves it, so at least I was not alone in my despise. I had loved him for a while now, not that he had any clue. I wanted to do something for him on this day to show affection, but something simple, something friendly, so I finally settled on a nice cup of tea.
  I picked out an earl grey tea bag and placed it in a coffee cup that read “Princeton Plasma Lab.” My father had gotten it when he was at a conference there last summer. I heard the unmistakable whistle of a tea kettle as the water came to a boil. I picked up the kettle and stood there with it hovering above the cup. I carefully attempted to pour a generous amount of water into the cup, but apparently not carefully enough.
  I poured some hot water on my hand and instantly felt a mixture of pain and amusement. Pain because obviously getting burnt with hot water is painful and amused because I could not help but see this as a sign, or a reminder that most of the time I put myself in these situations with him, I get burned. This time it just happened to be a physical burn.
  I didn’t have time to run cold water over the burn, so I just kept pouring. Once the cup was about three quarters full, I put the kettle down and pulled out the sugar. Not to force a metaphor, but the sugar also reminded me of him. It was so sweet at first, until you put too much in.  Then, you get sick of it, or maybe it gets sick of you. Either way I put two spoonfuls of it into the cup and stirred it in while I thought of the worst possible reaction to me giving him this tea.
I would be sitting in my blue rolling chair in our Algebra 2 classroom. There was only one chair in the room with wheels, and I always got it, because I always got there first. He would walk in and take his usual seat next to me. 
“I made you tea,” I would say, gesturing to the cup.
“Why?” He would ask.
“Because your cough sounds horrible,” I would respond.
“Well I don’t want it,” he would say, pushing the cup towards me, accidentally spilling it into my lap.
  This scenario may seem a little overdramatic, but I would not put it past him. He doesn’t fully understand common courtesy when he is well and had had a good night’s sleep, so when he is sick and sleep deprived, he might as well be a wild animal.
  I started to think of a more preferable scenario as I grabbed my math book and homework and headed out the door with two minutes to spare.
“I made you some tea,” I would say gesturing to the cup that was still in my left hand.
“Oh, thank you. You are so sweet. I miss that,” he would say, his voice still sounding hoarse. He would take the cup out of my hands. I would jump as I felt his skin graze mine, so firm, so rough.
“Well, I hate to see you sick, are you feeling any better?” I would ask.
“No, I still feel like s***, how have you been?” He would ask in between sips.
“I’m doing pretty good; let me know if there is anything else I can do for you,” I would respond, taken aback at how pleasant he was being.
“I will. Thank you for the tea,” he would say smiling at me.
“No problem,” I would respond, feeling very accomplished.
  This scenario seemed to be a little too good to be true. I guess I would have to settle for something in between the two. I was forced to exit this day dream as I needed to focus all my attention on not spilling the tea that was coming dangerously close to falling all over my shirt. There were already little wet specs from where the tea had splashed up onto it. I rushed into the math room and sat down, still somehow managing to obtain my blue rolling chair.  I had made the tea and gotten to class with a minute to spare.
  I sat there mentally preparing myself for giving him his gift. I had not even considered the fact that he could be too sick to go to class. I am often sick, and so miss my fair share of classes, but in the three years that I had known him, he had only missed one class due to illness, and I was not expecting this one to be his second ever. My worries were soon dismissed by his sudden arrival.
His presence was announced by a loud fit of coughing and he walked in a few seconds later. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie and a pair of low riding, baggy jeans. His brown hair was a mess and was curling up at the ends, as it does when he doesn’t have time to comb it after he washes it. He walked around the table and placed his books down. I felt myself move, and looked up to see him pushing my rolling chair over so that he could sit down next to me.
“Hey, what did you get for problem 3 from last night’s homework?”  He asked me.
“Um, let me check,” I said, rifling through my homework pages.
“7,” I said, laughing to myself as I remembered that this was his favorite number.
“Sweet, that’s what I got too,” he replied, after finishing his sentence, he burst into another fit of coughing.
“Your cough sounds awful, I made you tea, you don’t have to drink it,” I said, rushing the words out of my mouth to get the rejection over with, if I was going to be rejected.
He just looked at me for a second, as if trying to comprehend what I had just said.
“Aw, thank you,” He said, his voice sounded hoarse and it made me feel something for him, I really did hate to see him in pain. Even after all the pain he had caused me.
He took a sip and then said, “what kind is it?”
“Earl grey, it’s lightly sweetened,” I replied.
He nodded.
“Are you feeling any better?” I asked him.
“No, not really,” he replied, as our math teacher entered the room.
Throughout the class period he took more sips of the tea, and when he was finished, he put the cup down and scooted it towards me. When class was over, he got up to leave and I stopped him.
“Hey, is there anything I can do for you? You know to make life easier on you while you’re sick?” I asked.
“Thanks for asking. You could make me some more tea sometime,” he said smiling at me weakly.
“We’ve got a couple minutes before history. Want some more now?” I replied with a grin.
“Sure, but only if you think you can make it to class on time,” he said.
“I’ve done it before.” I said with a shrug and I ran back to the kitchen and set the kettle on to boil for another cup of tea.

The sign said that there were 212 stairs leading down to the Quivre River shore. I was constantly two steps behind his salmon short clothed legs as we walked down them, him with fishing pole in hand. We walked together, but alone. If I had lost pace behind him, he would not have noticed, but just gone about his way. We finally arrived at the bottom of the steps and I sat three steps before the platform dropped off into a muddy, grassy, area that to him, looked perfect for fishing.
“Can you hold this for a sec?” He turned to me and asked.
My face must have shown a flicker of annoyance at his improper grammar as he quickly corrected himself.
“I mean, will you hold this for a sec?”
“I didn’t say anything,” I said, my tone sounding amusingly defensive.
“Yeah, but I had a feeling you were going to correct me, and I wanted to beat you to it,” he said, smiling out of what I assumed to be accomplishment.
  He removed his pole from its case. The apple red color reflected the bright afternoon sun, blinding me as he fiddled with it. It was divided into two pieces that he quickly put together before handing the case to me. I sat down holding the black cloth case in my right hand and brushing my dyed black hair out of my eyes with my left. It felt like as soon as we crossed the state border into Missouri the temperature went up 20 degrees.
  He jumped off the wooden platform and as his sandals hit the ground, I heard a squishing sound as the mud rushed up to cover his feet. I looked down at them and smiled seeing as how the already mud colored birthmark that is located between the third and fourth toes on his left foot was now the same color as the rest of his skin. I highly doubt he even knows that I know this birthmark exists. He did not ask me to join him in his fishing endeavor, but I was not expecting him too. It would not quite fit our dynamic.
Realizing that his bait was in the case I was holding he called back to me ,“can you bring me my case?”
“Sure, give me a sec,” I said, laughing to myself because this time, he had not caught his grammatical error.
  I had no real interest in getting my also sandaled feet muddy, but I am also not a huge fan of saying no to him. I walked down the steps and warily jumped off the platform, landing with the same squishing noise as the mud filled the crevices between my toes. I walked over to where he was standing and handed him the case. He rifled through it for a second and then brought out a plastic container with what looked like a rubber fish in it.
“What is that for?” I asked, half playing dumb in order to break the ice, half actually curious as to why he was using a small fake fish as bait.
“It’s bait,” he responded simply as he attached it to the end of his pole.
  He shoved my shoulder as if trying to get me to move.
“Yes?” I responded, my eyebrows rising dangerously high. I knew he did not have the best manners, but I was still going to make him ask me to move instead of forcing me.
“Will you move over? I don’t want to hit you when I cast out,” he said.
  I moved to his left and thought to myself; well it’s probably good that he doesn’t want to hit me. Only in our relationship would I think that was progress.
  He cast his line in silence as I watched, mesmerized by his every motion. I had never been, or seen, fishing before and so the way he was expertly going about it was curious, not to mention the fact that everything he does is curious to me. There was something so elegant about the way he brought the rod back before letting the line fly out into the murky green blue water.
He kept jerking it around until I finally said, “I thought you were supposed to leave it still in the water.”
“That’s only if it has a bobber,” he replied, looking amused at my lack of fishing knowledge.
  I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if I knew what a bobber was or not, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of explaining it to me.
“What are you trying to catch anyway?” I asked, mentally preparing to kill him if he answered “fish”.
“Large small mouthed bass,” he responded, looking over at me. His eyes were the same color as the water and when I looked into them, I felt as if I was swimming in them, fishing for something funny to say in response.
“Isn’t that kind of an oxymoron?” I replied. Not the funniest response ever, but still a damn good question.
“That depends on what an oxymoron is,” he said.
“Oh well you know. Like jumbo shrimp,” I replied.
He looked back at me in utter confusion.
“Ok, well because jumbo means big, but shrimp means small. So for large small mouth, since large means big, and then it has a small mouth then it is an oxymoron,” I said.
“Leave it to you to turn fishing into an English lesson,” he said, rolling his eyes before reeling in his line.
  I looked down into the water and my heart jumped into my throat. Slithering towards our feet was a small black water snake. I resisted the urge to scream, but I instinctively grabbed on to his strong muscular forearm and pointed open mouthed at the creature. He first looked at me, my nails digging into his tan skin and then looked down to see the cause of my fear.
“It’s just a water snake,” he said, looking back at me.
“Well you know I’m terrified of snakes, land or water,” I replied, angry about how unaffected he was by our unwanted guest.
“Ok, here. I’ll scare it away,” he replied, and he then stuck the tip of his rod into the water right next to where the snake was swimming. Instead of slithering away from us however, it started to charge towards us. I gripped his arm tighter and he just maneuvered his pole so that it was under the snake, and then threw it up into the air. It landed about 6 feet away with a splash. I let go of his arm, patting it slightly in gratitude.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to recover some of my dignity.
“Remind me never to get into a fight with you. You have nails as sharp as piranha’s teeth.”
“Oh, well I thought you were trying to catch piranhas,” I said coyly.
He laughed and then said, “So, have you really never heard of small-mouth bass before?”
“No, I’ve never even gone fishing before,” I replied.
“Well here,” he said, holding the pole out for me to take.
“No thanks. I don’t really see the fun in throwing a small fake fish out into the water and waiting for some larger fish to try and eat it in an attempt to catch and eat that fish. The whole idea of it seems a little bit fishy to me,” I said wishing I hadn’t as soon as I did.
He gave me a small smile and then grabbed my hand, forcing the rod into it. “You’re going to love it, I promise.”
  I was amused at the idea that he thought I was going to love fishing. The only reason that I even wanted to come with him in the first place was to have some alone time with him. Also, the last time I told him I loved something, it was him, and he wasn’t too happy about it. I really hoped that he didn’t think I would be able to figure it out how to fish just from him handing me the pole. I looked at him with a blank stare.
“Ok, so you have to hold this button down. Then you will cast the line by throwing the end of the pole behind you and letting the button go,” he explained.
  I did as he said, but instead of the line sailing out over the open water I felt the pole stiffen in my hands. I looked behind me to see that I had somehow gotten the hook stuck on one of his belt loops.
I laughed it off and said, “Looks like I caught something.”
He laughed his high pitched broken laugh and then walked closer to me. He unhooked himself from my line and then came up behind me.
“Ok, let’s try that again, but this time I’m going to hold on to guide you.”
  The idea of this made me very uncomfortable, as I didn’t really want him getting that close to me. He put his hands on the poles handle so they were slightly overlapping with mine. I loved the way his skin felt pressed up against me. I could feel his warm breath on my neck as I held down the button. He then helped my throw the pole back behind me and then cast the line out. It soared about ten feet and then I heard the plop that meant the bait had hit the water.
  With that, he released his grip on the pole. He then went back to his spot, the mud splashing under his feet. We waited there for five more minutes with me bobbing the pole up and down when suddenly I felt what I presumed to be a tug on the line.
“Hey!” I said ushering him over to me. I handed him the pole as to let him reel it in. There on the end of the line was a small silver scaled fish.
He turned to me and said “Nice catch!”
  I know you are but you never tug on my line was immediately what came to my head to say, but instead I just said with a smile “Thanks, I had a pretty good teacher.”
  He took out his red pocket knife, that he had once accidently stabbed me with, and raised it so that it was above the fish.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked him and I grabbed his wrist.
“I’m going to kill it so we can fry it up,” he said, trying to shake off my grip.
“No! We have to let it go!” I said grasping his wrist tighter.
“Why?” He responded.
“Because I don’t approve of us killing this living creature when we have perfectly good food back at camp,” I said, the vegetarian in me controlling my actions.
“Fine, if it will make you happy, we’ll let it go,” he responded, clearly slightly annoyed, but putting his knife away anyway.
We let the small mouthed bass go just as the sun was starting to set. It sat in the water a second, dazed but then swam away quickly, its scaled glimmering beautifully as it did so. He took apart his pole and I handed him the case and with that, we started to walk up the steps again. This time, I kept pace with him and we made pleasant conversation about our day on the river, him kidding my about my fear of snakes, and me making fun of his carnivorous ways. 
I was expecting to sit on that step three steps up from the bank where he would stand fishing in silence. Instead, I got a lesson in fishing, and taught him one in morality. On that trip, we walked those 212 steps several more times. We went fishing every day, and when we were done, we would have had some that we caught and let go, and some that just escaped our lines. At the end of the day, he never went without catching something, even if he didn’t know it. With every line he cast I fell a little bit deeper for him, meaning that at the end of the day, I was no better than a fish, pathetically trying to escape his line. The fatal question being, would I manage to do so?

I unzipped the front of the tent we were staying in just wide enough so I could crawl into it and then zipped it back up. The tent was old and broken down; its green sides sagged into the sleeping area making it so its occupants had to squeeze together to avoid them interfering with their sleep. I unzipped my sleeping bag and crawled into it. I removed my shirt and shorts and put them at the top of the sleeping bag so I could use them as a pillow. Noises starting coming from outside the tent and then the door zipped open. I was blinded by his flashlight, and put up a hand to block the foreign stream of light.
“Get that the hell out of my face!” I said, a little more angrily then I intended.
“Oh, sorry,” he replied lowering the light.
His face came into focus and I was astounded by how tan he had gotten on just this short canoe trip. He pulled out his sleeping pad and began to blow air into it. His pad was basically a small blow up mattress and so it took a lot of lung power to blow it up. His face started to turn red from the pressure and I could tell he was definitely out of breath.
“Here, let me help you with that,” I said, reaching out a hand to grab the straw like instrument that you blew the air into.
He handed it to me without saying thank you. He almost never does. Common courtesy really isn’t his thing. I started to blow into the tube, feeling his saliva that was already on the outside of it and liking the way that it tasted. This made me feel closer to him. I blew into it for about thirty seconds without stopping and I could tell at that point it was full, so I put the stopper into it and handed it back to him.
He climbed onto the pad and took off his blue and white tye-dye shirt. He was kind of a hippie. When I first met him he only ate organic food and most of his closet was comprised of tye-dye tee shirts. He was far different now. Just recently I had to rescue him when he got stranded at a McDonalds without a ride. Needless to say, McDonalds is NOT organic.
I glanced up at him as he started to disrobe, diverting my eyes whenever he would look over. When he was done, he crawled into his orange sleeping bag and turned over on his side, his eyes staring into mine. Just as he did this, a mosquito landed on my face. I tried to kill it, but it flew away before I could. This mosquito did this several more times until finally I had enough.
“Will you help me kill this damn thing?” I asked him as I flailed about waiting for it to land somewhere for long enough so I could hit it with my palm.
He sat up in his sleeping bag and we both sat there, watching for this bloodsucking vermin to land on the tent. It flew above me and I swatted it, hitting, but not killing it. It flew over to his side and he also was able to swat it, this time in my direction.
“This is like freaking ping pong,” he said in both and amused and exasperated tone.
“Well we play enough ping pong that we should be able to kill this damn thing,” I replied, laughing.
“Yeah, and you always win, so why haven’t you killed it yet?” He replied grinning at me.
Finally it landed on my side of the tent. Apparently I was too busy staring at him to notice because all I saw was him flying at me. He hit my side of the tent with his right hand, but his elbow came down hard on my stomach and his face landed directly on my heart. We both took a few seconds to recover, him still lying on top of me.
“Ow, I think you broke my heart,” I said, more comically then painfully.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said pushing himself off of me so that his arms were on either side of me and he was in a push up position over my body.
I looked into his bright blue eyes, his sandy brown hair falling into them. He was smirking and in that moment I hated him. I hated him for thinking that he could joke about it. I can joke about it because I was the one that got hurt, but he cannot, even if he didn’t do it on purpose, it’s still not funny. Call this a double standard if you want, but it seems fair to me. He glanced down and saw that laying next to my sleeping bag was the dead mosquito.
“I killed it. Must have gotten lucky,” he said still smirking, obviously oblivious to my discomfort with the situation at this point. He often is oblivious to my feelings. 
“Well you are Irish,” I said as if that explained his luck.
He moved back over to his sleeping bag and got into it. I stared into his eyes trying to figure out what he was thinking, until he closed them and began to nod off. Then I turned around so I was no longer facing him so I might be able to get some sleep of my own. About half an hour went by and the whole time he was snoring like a bear. I was just about to fall asleep when I felt something hit me.
I turned around and saw that the fact that we were on a hill had finally gotten to us and he had rolled over practically onto me. I was not complaining however and decided if this is how I got to be close to him I would take what I could get. Another few minutes went by and then I heard him mumbling something in his sleep. I couldn’t make out what it was the first couple of times, so I pressed my ear up closer to his lips, just close enough to make out the words “I love you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes almost instantly because I knew that he wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about the girl in the red tent a few feet away from us. The one he had loved for a while now, but having it thrown in my face at this moment was too much. I knew I had to get out of there. I got out of my sleeping bag and put on my jeans as quietly as I could as not to wake him. When I got up, he rolled into the place where I had been sleeping, his head hitting the side of the tent, but he did not stir. I unzipped the tent and tip toed out to the rocks next to the bank of the lake we were sleeping next to.
I sat down on a rock and looked into the crystal clear Wisconsin water. I could see the crescent moon reflected in it.  I buried my head into my knees and cried softly wondering why I wasn’t good enough for him. Wondering why he had said “I do not love you, and I can never see myself having any type of romantic feelings for you ever.” It was hard enough to sleep next to him, but to hear him say “I love you” when he obviously did not mean me was just too much. I looked up and saw my reflection in the water. My bitter tear stained face twisted in the way everyone’s does when they cry.
I picked up a pebble and threw it at myself. I could not stand the image of what he had turned me into, or what I had turned myself into over him more like. I had to be stronger than this. This is what I had been telling myself for years though, so I don’t know why I thought tonight would change anything.  I then felt cloth on my shoulders and turned around with a start. I must have not been able to hear the sound of the tent unzipping over my crying, but he was there.
I wiped my tears out of my eyes, refusing to let him see me crying about him. How pathetic is that? He had wrapped his blue plaid blanket around my shoulders and had sat next to me completely in silence. I saw him shiver as we sat there and I scooted closer to him so that we could share the blanket.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I said my voice still shaking from the tears.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said staring out into the lake, ignoring my question completely.
I didn’t respond. I just sat there and looked up at the moon then down to the still water again. I still don’t know if I loved or hated the image I found there. The reflection of the two of us huddled together, both shirtless, under his blanket. We sat there in silence for about ten more minutes before we both got up and went back to the tent leaving his blanket still wrapped around my shoulders.
I woke with a start, and there I was again, sitting in front of the water. There was no blanket wrapped around my shoulders. There had been no kind words exchanged between us as I sat there. The dream I had just had was one of many that had haunted my sleeping hours over the years. I looked around again and then back down and my shivering reflection, eyes still red with tears. I saw my pain reflected back at me in the water and it made me angry, but not with him, not with me, but with the part of my mind that told me we could change. The part of me that thought that someday there could be an us. I sighed and recited that phrase I had taught myself to soothe these fantasies. “I am me, he is him, there is no connection.” I repeated this softly several times before getting up and letting myself back into the tent. I crawled into my sleeping bag and within minutes found myself in another nightmare fueled by desire.

We walked out the door, the heat rushing in as we exited the main building of our boarding school. We walked through the campus, the wet afternoon air hanging on my lungs, making it hard to breath. I had asked him if he wanted to pick raspberries with me for the raspberry chocolate cookies I was going to bake. He stood there contemplating for a minute while I gazed at him, the same ball of fear of rejection that had been rolling around my stomach for three years now.
As he thought about if he wanted to join me, his blue eyes slanted slightly upwards, towards the ceiling. He was wearing a white tank top and loose blue jeans. His hair was slicked back with gel and he looked like a tool, like he was in one of those fifties greaser gangs. He liked to think he was a bad boy, but at heart he was quiet and caring. This “I don’t care what you think about me” look he was going for wasn’t working on me; it just made me want him more. He finally looked me in the eyes and said simply “Sure.”
We walked along the path leading to our schools farm. The raspberry patch was about a fifteen minute walk from the main campus and I was already starting to sweat in the late-summer heat. After a few minutes of silence, he broke it.
“Nice shoes.” He said, gesturing to them.
When I had purchased them, I had him in mind. The laces were purple and blue, and I knew those were two if his favorite colors. I was ill prepared for our trip to the farm, but didn’t want to make him wait while I went to change, so I wore them out onto the muddy, dew covered path.
“Thanks, I got them in California,” I replied, surprised that he had given me a compliment. It’s not that he was rude, but if he walked into you, I wouldn’t have expected him to apologize. It just wasn’t the way he was raised. 
“Yeah, they go really well with those pants. You must have like every color of pants imaginable now, right?” He asked.
My pants were a medium grade purple denim that I had spent months trying to find. I had almost every other color of pants, yellow, green, orange, but I could not find purple anywhere online or in store.
“I do have a lot of colors. These were the hardest to find though. I looked in some random thrift store in town and saw these on the rack. I was really lucky. They only had one pair and it was in my size.”
“Really? Can I borrow them sometime?” He said excitedly.
“Uhm yeah. Are we the same size though?” I responded.
“Probably not,” He said, the excitement dropping from his voice.
“I bet you are. I’m a 28-30,” I said.
“Damn you must have like no waist! I’m a 32-32.” He said laughing. 
“Yep, I’ve been wearing the same size for the last three years.” I replied proudly. I loved my slim figure and thought of it as one of my greatest advantages.
We were now walking up a semi-steep grassy area. There mixture of heat and ascent was starting to make me breath heavier than usual as we stepped on the small path, surrounded on both sides by fields of what looked like grain. I walked gingerly, not knowing if there would be snakes slithering through the tall grass. His strides were long and fast and I had to struggle to keep up with him as the hill increased.
“You know this is only the second time I have ever gone to the farm of me own free will,” I said, trying to keep the panting out of my voice.
“Really?” He said.
Not knowing if “really” meant that I should go on with the story, or stop because he wasn’t interested, I decided to finish it.
“Yeah, I came out here with your brother to help him feed and water the animals.” I said pausing for a moment.
“Then he locked me in the old farmhouse,” I finished.
“That a boy,” he said, stopping his strides and laughing.
I too stopped. I picked a piece of grain off one of the stocks and threw it at him. The wind carried it for a few seconds before it fell pathetical to the ground. We both stood there just looking at it.
“That was very affective,” he said, giving me a c***y smile. 
Then it happened. It was one of those moments where the clouds covered the sun, and everything all at once got darker. The temperature felt like it had dropped ten degrees in a matter of seconds. I turned my head to the sky and wondered if that was a sign; some signal that this was unnatural. I shouldn’t be laughing with him; I should be quietly hating him. I should be living in a quiet desperation, always wanting of his love and hating him for not supplying it. We both fell silent. I looked over at him and gave him a quick nod before we both returned to our walking.
After about two minutes, we arrived at a lone strand of wire, cutting the path off horizontally. We could now see the raspberry patch in the distance.
“Do you think the electricity is on?” He asked me, playfully reaching out a hand for the wire.
It was one of the electric wires we had up all over the farm to keep the livestock from escaping. I had never been shocked by one before, and that’s the way I wanted it to stay.
“No, but I don’t want to find out,” I said, as I started to swoop under it.
“Come on. Live a little dangerously,” he said, reaching out, his index finger about a centimeter form the black and white nylon covering the electric wire.
“No, I don’t think I need a shock to live dangerously,” I said. I was thinking about my affection for him. I knew falling in love with someone that was indifferent towards me was a bad idea. I knew it was dangerous to feel such strong emotions while he felt none, but that didn’t stop me.
“Come on, you grab it, and I’ll hold on to you so I absorb the shock,” he said. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes and I have to admit I loved it.
“I don’t trust you enough for that,” I said, not knowing if it were true or not.
At one point, this would have been a no brainer. I would have blindly followed his suggestion, thinking that he would never purposefully hurt me. I would have sacrificed anything for him, but now, I had to fight that. I still wanted to trust him, to think he had my best interest at heart, but I couldn’t do it. As his eyes bore into mine, I knew that he had won a battle in me that he didn’t even know was taking place.
  I rolled my eyes and came back under the wire, taking stock of what I was about to do. He stepped back and held his hand out ready for me to take. I grasped his concourse skin and felt the sweat on his palm press against mine. I felt the shock, the warmth went up my body and traveled through each muscle, my heart started to race faster and faster and the rush of pure and intense energy rushed up my spine, making the little hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. All this happened in an instant, and then I looked down to my right hand, which was still pressed inside the pocket of my purple pants.
I looked back at him, that glint still in his eye. He nodded at me and with that, I hesitantly reached my hand out to grab the electric fence. My fingers curled around the wire as if I were knocking on a door and I felt a surge run through me. It wasn’t painful, it was just there. Without letting go, I looked back at him to see his face, his eyes tightly shut, his nose scrunched up, and his mouth open, teeth gritted in pain.
I let go, and his face returned to normal. He opened his eyes to see me staring at him, concernedly.
“What?” He said. His lips pursed in a smile as he stared back at me.
“Are you done playing with fire now?” I asked him, wondering why people do such things as this. Is it to prove that they are man enough to take the pain, or is it simply out of boredom?
“No, let’s go again,” he said, his face expressionless.
My look grew more concerned. He must have noticed because he responded with “I’m kidding.”
While I decided to go under the wire, he decided to take the more adventurous route, stepping back a few paces and then jumping over it. He over shot it and landed spread-eagled on the muddy ground. He got up and dusted himself off. The thin white fibers of the hole that was starting to wear on the right knee of his baggy jeans were now completely brown. There was a sprinkling of watered down mud spread across his face. Two of the larger dots were located right in the center of his nose and just under his left eye.
“Smooth move,” I said.
“Shut up,” he said, laughing at his own blunder.
  We started walking again and it wasn’t’ long before we arrived at the three long rows of raspberry bushes. I immediately started pulling only the red and juiciest raspberries off of the bushes. He came up behind me and held the plastic cup up so I could deposit my findings. We went up the row and then down the other side. I could hear an incessant chewing sound coming from behind me.
“Are you going to eat all the raspberries, or can we save some for cookies?” I asked him, mostly joking.
“I haven’t even eaten that many!” He said, holding a sticky hand up in the air as to surrender. As he said it a drop of succulent red juice ran down his hand and into the pitcher.
“Looks like I caught you red handed,” I said, pointing to a new stream now running down the ghostly blue center vein of his right hand.
He quickly wiped it on his jeans and responded “You can’t prove anything.”
I rolled my eyes and continued to pick berries off the bush. I kept having to pause to push my dyed platinum blonde hair out of my eyes. I had knocked down two caterpillars already as well as countless other bugs in my relentless search for ALL the ripe raspberries there were. I didn’t want to have to make this trip again if I didn’t end up with enough. Just as I grasped onto a branch with a record number of 12 ripe berries, we heard a loud crack against the sky. I cringed a little and the entire branch came off in my hand.
“We better head back,” I said, depositing the branch in the pitcher.
He nodded and reached a hand into the pitcher, throwing a fistful of berries into his mouth.
We walked quickly towards the main campus. After a few minutes we reached the wire. I started to walk under it again and he stopped me.
“Come on, you have to try it,” he said.
I just looked at him, my mouth slightly gaping. Why did he care so much?
“We don’t have time,” I said, continuing my limbo like maneuvering under the wire.
I got to the other side and turned back. He hadn’t moved.
“Come on. Before the rain starts,” I said, ushering him over.
“I’m not going anywhere until you touch the fence,” he said, giving me a stubborn grin.
“Why?” I said, exasperatedly.
“Because you live your life in this safety bubble, so afraid of getting hurt you don’t live. Well not with me,” He said.
He was right, I knew he was, but I hated that he thought he knew who I was. Hated that he saw me as something he had to fix, to tinker with until I was whole again. And what did he mean not with him. Wasn’t it him that had turned me into this fake person who didn’t want to do anything that could lead to me getting hurt?
We stood there for another couple seconds before I said, “Fine, but you have to do it too.”
I couldn’t believe I was going to let him hurt me again. At least this time I was going to get to take him with me.
“Ok, on three then,” He said, reaching out his hand. I could still see some residual raspberry juice, like a red glaze on his tanned hand.
I nodded.
“One, two, three!” He said.
I grabbed the wire, and for a second, nothing happened. I didn’t take my eyes off him, and then I saw his face tense again, his whole body quivered, but his eyes stayed glued to mine. A millisecond later, it hit me. It felt like my heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline coursed through me body and I heard a sparking noise as the electricity coursed through us. As I stared into his eyes, I could see that he was fearless; he didn’t even squint when he felt the shock. As he looked back into mine, I wondered if he could see the fear in them, the vulnerability that was hidden behind the sea blue surface.
It was like the shock wasn’t coming from the fence at all, but from our stare. A bond of electricity so strong I never wanted it to end. For a second I thought he had felt it too, but when he dropped his gaze and let go of the fence, I did the same. All I wanted was to join him, I knew that when I was with him everything was ok, but we were on opposite sides and the only way to get to him was to get hurt. My hand felt numb from the shock, but the rest of me felt proud. Proud that I hadn’t let my fear get the best of me.
“That was exhilarating,” I said.
“See, isn’t it fun to not always be so worried and tense?” He said as he too came under the fence.
“Yeah, thanks for making me try it,” I replied, as we started our decent to campus.
“Anytime,” he replied with a weary smile.
I knew I was playing a dangerous game. That the spark I felt for him was a one way thing. I knew that we were just friends, but that didn’t stop me from wanting more. I wanted him to love me. I wanted him to save me from myself, to help me live a little. I wanted him to care about me like no one else, but more then all, I wanted the wire between us to be live, emitting fireworks of orange and yellow sparks in the midevening light.

I never wanted to want him. I never wanted to notice how in the morning his luscious brown hair stands up in little curls expanding in every direction or how he cannot wear a necklace without periodically putting it in his mouth to suck on it.  I never wanted to fall for him, to want him to care about me in the same twisted way I care about him. I never wanted to love him, it just happened.
I can’t pin point the exact moment when it happened. When I realized that something had changed forever, but right now I am sitting on the couch pretending to do my algebra two homework, but really watching the thin line that appears on his forehead when he’s really concentrated on something.
“Is the zero property the thing we learned in class today?” He asks me in his inquisitive deep voice. It has changed pitch so much since we met three years ago. It used to be so high and broken; of course he barley spoke at all when we first met.
“Yeah, it’s the thing where you make everything equal to zero and you get multiple answers,” I respond not really wanting to end my sentence there, but thinking that it was sufficient response.
He nods his head as if he already knew the answer and then readjusts his seating as to get a better angle on his paper. The thin line on his temple has not vanished and I can tell he still has no idea what he’s doing. I want to say more, I want to walk over to the old broken down orange couch he’s sitting on and see what he’s doing, try to help, but I know I can’t. It has been over two years since we fell out. I can’t look at him now without feeling embarrassed and regretful about what happened.
He removes his hood from his navy hoodie and I can see that his hair is wet; it always looks darker when it’s wet and the ends fray up and out giving it an unusual volume. He scratches at his cheek and then rests his hand on his chin, as if in a deep train of thought, however I know him well enough to know that that he is not. When he is in deep thought he uses his hand to push his hair up out of his eyes and looks mystified. A foggy glaze covers his eyes. When he is like that I know better than to try and speak with him. Someone could scream his name and he still wouldn’t snap out of it.
We sit there in silence as twenty more minutes pass by. I finally focus on my own algebra homework and get it done in ten minutes. The zero product property is simple and the homework we were given is just the same process over and over again. Set every part of an equation equal to zero and see what you end up with. It’s hard for my mind not to wander when doing such tedious and repetitive work.
I have finished my own homework, but I still sit on my couch and pretend to work. This is the only time of the week I am able to spend time with him. When he does his homework we sit on separate couches about two feet away from each other. They make and L shape right when you walk into the library of the boarding school we attend. He sits on a hideous orange couch that looks as if it is twenty-five years old. It has stains on both sides of the cushions and a hole on the left arm. He sits with one elbow propping his head up on the arm of the couch. One leg is folded over the other and his feet are placed nonchalantly on the coffee table in front of us where we have laid our books for various subjects. He is using a notebook to make a harder surface for him to do his math on.
I know that if I leave then we will not speak. Even if all we talk about is homework it’s better than nothing. I miss our conversations. We used to talk about silly things like girls and favorite colors, but the conversations I really loved were when we would talk about bigger issues like the death penalty or whether or not we believed in god. I flash back to freshmen year when on these exact same couches he said to me “You can always talk to me, I mean if you need someone to talk to.” This memory is painful and I clench my teeth trying not to be angry at him, because in the end it really isn’t his fault. I tell myself that it is silly to wait here and hope he says something to me, so I begin to pack up my books.
“Could you come over here for a sec and see if I’m doing this right?” He asks me.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to keep the mixture of excitement and hope out of my voice.
I walk quickly and nervously over to his couch. I don’t sit down because that would be too official…too close. I lean over the back of the couch and look at his paper. 2(X)(-53x)(72-3x) = 0. He has notes scribbled in the margins, random numbers that have nothing to do with the equation. He is obviously fishing for an answer without having any clue what he’s doing. 
“Ok, so at this point what do you think you do to the equation?” I ask, trying to help without doing the problem for him.
“I have no f***ing clue,” he responds in a tone that sounds exhausted and exasperated at the same time. He laughs a little bit and I am reminded of how much I love his laugh. It’s not a usual laugh. It’s disjointed and high pitched in a way that most people would find annoying. I find it charming. A slight smile crosses his face as he speaks and he looks up at me, playfulness in his eyes.  
“Ok, I’m going to do this one and then you’re going to try and figure out what I did,” I say trying not to sound too condescending.
“So you have three expressions in this equation. 2(x), (-53x), and (72-3x). You want to make all of those expressions equal zero,” I explain.
“How?” He asks.
“I’ll show you. May I borrow your pencil?” I ask.
He hands it to me and his skin grazes mine. It feels so rough, so concrete, but so warm at the same time. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, not wanting to feel the way I do when he touches me. I pull my hand back too soon, dropping the pencil and it falls in between the couch cushions.
“Sorry,” I say feeling mortified.
“It’s chill,” he says as he fishes between the two cushions and pulls it out. His chain link bracelet jingles as he searches for it. When he hands it to me this time I make sure that we don’t touch. I double check that the pencil lead is out and then I lean over the back of the couch so I can grab the notebook he’s writing on. I write out the expressions one by one but doing it in mid air makes it so my writing looks awkward and disjointed.
He notices I’m having trouble and says “here” and he pulls the notebook down, resting it on his orange-short clothed thigh. Now it is easier to write, but in able to get a good angle on his paper I have to lean down and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. The warmth is so invigorating and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His breath smells so unique, like a mixture of morning breath and orange peels. I don’t know how someone maintains the smell of morning breath until 7:30 at night, but somehow he does. It smells nice to me, like his signature scent. I close my eyes and drink as much of it in as I can.
“So you have the expression 2(x) and you want to make that equal to zero. What number would x have to be in order for that to happen?” I ask him turning my head and not realizing how close to his face I really was. His eyes look stormy, like waves crashing down on the open sea. I feel like a sailor on that sea when I look into them. It makes me feel lost and panicked.  He pauses for a second trying to make sense of what I just said. I can tell he’s tired and it makes me want to help him even more.
“X would have to be zero,” he finally says.
“Yeah, what about in the expression (-53x),” I ask.
He takes his hand and brushes his sandy brown hair out of his eyes showing me his tan forehead and misshapen eyebrows. Every part of him is a glowing sun kissed tan. When he brings his hand back down to the paper he is uncoordinated and ends up hitting my arm. He doesn’t apologize, and I remember how he hates apologies. 
“It would also be zero,” he said.
“Yeah, ok so the last one is (72-3x),” I said.
“Ok, so you take the 3 and multiple it by the x first right?” He asks me.
“Yep, and then?” I ask.
“You divide the 72 by 3,” he said.
“Yeah and you get?” I ask encouragingly.
“24,” He said.
“Yeah so your final answers are?” I ask.
“Zero, zero, and twenty-four,” he said.
“Yep that’s right! I knew you could do it,” I say without thinking about if that was overkill or not. I reached down and wrote our final outcomes.
“Alright, study hall is over so I think I’m going to do the rest in my room,” he said.
“Ok,” I say, trying to be nonchalant as I walk back to my seat. I’m used to him not saying thank you so it doesn’t even come as a shock to me anymore. I know that he appreciates me, well at least my math ability.
I sit back down on my own couch and finish packing up. By the time I am done he is already half way out of the room, backpack over one shoulder and pants sagging just enough to see the top of his blue boxer briefs peeking out.  I glance back at where he was sitting and notice that his pencil is still laying there. The bright blue of the plastic is in huge contrast to the orange stained cushion. 
“Hey, you forgot your pencil,” I call out to him.
He doesn’t hear me. I walk over and pick up the pencil. I then chase after him and reluctantly tap him on the shoulder. His hoodie is soft and kind of warn. I forget about not wanting to touch him. The shock value is there, but it is less now that I know it’s coming. He turns around and looks at me expectantly.
“You forgot your pencil,” I say and hold it out for him to take.
He reaches out his hand and grabs the other end of it. He then turns back around, not saying anything. I watch as he disappears into the dark hallway. I turn around and head back into the library where my stuff still sits.
From the darkness I hear him call, “hey, thanks by the way. I’ll see you around.”
I’m shocked into silence. This is the first positive interaction we have had in weeks and it makes me want to chase after him. It makes me want to tell him everything I feel he deserves to know. It makes me want to remind him that we have a history and avoiding it doesn’t help anyone, but I don’t respond, instead I pick up my bag smiling to myself and thinking that this time, I just might have the upper hand.

I had sent him an email. I do this all the time, nagging him to do various things such as remind me what the math homework was, or asking him to send me some pictures that he had taken. Most of these requests went unanswered. He lived across the hall from me at the boarding school where we attend, so I very well could have knocked at his door and asked him in person, but my fear of rejection was too strong.
  At least with internet interactions I would not have to hear him say “No, why would I want to do that.” These trivial little tasks that I asked him to do were the glue holding this once strong friendship together. I read somewhere that when you ask someone for small favors and they do them, that the person who did the favor feels closer to the person who had asked for it. I did not know if it actually worked, but I was desperate to repair what I then thought was the best thing I ever had. 
It ended on a bad note. My passion for him was strong. His indifference towards me was painful. Hurtful things were said and done in response to my “I love you.” It has been over a year since these events transpired, but I still cannot get over the pain it caused me. That does not mean however, that I was not naïve enough to fall for him all over again. 
The email I sent said:
“Hey,
So we have this Spanish test tomorrow over the Sports/Olympic vocab. I’m probably going to study in the dorm around 8 tonight. Let me know if you want to study with me.”
After sending this I had just hung out in my room, too nervous to do any real work. I looked up our vocabulary words in the back of my Spanish textbook and decided to create some flashcards for them. I thought about doing it the old fashioned way using note cards and a pencil, and then remembered that I had an app for that. I created flashcards for every word on the page, making countless typos as my hands were shaking slightly. I was not sure if they were shaking out of nervousness or fear of rejection, but shake they did.
After finishing the flashcards I checked the clock. The big blocky red numbers 8:05 were projected on the screen, flashing like a big electronic slap in the face. I sighed and started going through the flashcards on my own. I was swiveling in the blue swivel chair in my room. Aimlessly wheeling it around the room bored out of my mind. I was half way through my second run through of the flashcards when he came in with a bang.
I rolled out from behind the door he had just slammed on me and looked at him, grinning, his blue eyes lighting up from what he had accidently just done.
“Hey, are you still up for studying?” He said
“Yeah, sounds cool to me,” I replied.
“Cool, can we do it in my room? I have a fan going and it’s hot as hell in here.”
“Sure,” I said, grabbing my Spanish book and iPad and following him out the door.
As a rule of mine, I almost never go into his room. It just seems too strange being alone with him on his turf. In our meetings I usually like to have the upper hand. His room has the same setup as everyone’s does, one desk, two beds, a desk chair, and two dressers, except that he bought a couch from the school. He sat down on one seat of the fading red couch and moved his guitar off of the other. I took my seat on the arm of the couch, not wanting to be that close to him.
“So how have you been?” He asked.
“I’ve been pretty good, and you?” I responded taken aback by his uncharacteristic pleasantry.
“I’m doing pretty well.”
There was a tension in the room, at least on my end. I was starting to think that maybe this was a bad idea.
“So our test tomorrow is over the sports vocab right?” He asked
“Yeah, sports and Olympics, because we definitely need to know that before we know about food or clothes,”  I said, joking about how are schools Spanish system has been messed up since our freshmen years. In three years of Spanish we have had six teachers.
“You know the page number?”
“I think it is 303, but I made flashcards if you would rather use those.”
“Of course you made flashcards.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my eyes narrowing,
“Just that you are always on top of things like that. You can sit on the actual couch, you know,” he replied, patting the seat.
I slid down the arm and landed next to him. The fan in the room was blowing directly my new spot and it was colder then I would have liked. I brought up the flashcard app on the iPad and suggested that I ask him the questions first and then vice versa. He agreed and we got started.
“El Equipo?” I asked
“Team,” he said
“La Medalla.”
“Medal.”
“La Carrera?”
“Race.”
“Vencer?”
I waited a second and looked up when I didn’t hear a reply. He just looked at me smiling over at him for a second, the wind blowing back my long blonde hair and then he said, “I have no clue.”
He reached for his book and as he went to open it I grabbed his hand and stopped him.
“No, come on. If you come up with some trick in your memory then you will be able to remember it.”
He rolled his eyes at me and put the book down.
“What’s your memory trick for this one?” He asked me.
“I don’t want to tell you, you’ll laugh at me,” I said, remembering how nonsensical it was.
“I promise I won’t laugh,” he said. I could see his curiosity reflected in his facial expression.
“Well what do you call deer meat?” I asked him.
He squinted his eyes at me and said “venison.”
“Yes, well I think venison sounds a lot like vencer and vencer means to win. When you go hunting, and you kill a deer for venison you are kind of winning in the sport of hunting, so therefore vencer means to win,” I said
He sat there nodding his head for a minute and I suddenly felt a shiver run down my spine.
“I’m going to go back to my room and grab a sweatshirt, its freezing in here,”  I said and started to get up.
“Here, I’ve got one you can use,” he said, pulling out his dresser drawer.
“I live less than 20 feet away,” I said laughing and continuing to get up.
“But we are on a roll,” he said grabbing my arm.
I sat back down and he handed me his evergreen fleece hoodie that I had always admired. I put it on and it felt so big on me, even though he and I are the same size. It smelled like him, that unmistakable smell of oranges. We got back to work and just as I had finished asking him his last question, the door to his room opened.
His roommate walked in and flipped his hair as he always does when he walks into a room. He is skinny and wearing a surf shirt. Once he got through the door he kicked off his shoes as he hates wearing them and avoids it whenever he can. He finally stops and asks
“What’s he doing here?” I am pretty good friends with his roommate and so I knew he was asking this because he knows I try and avoid this room at all costs.
“We’re studying.” Came the reply from next to me.
“Well can you do that somewhere else? I am going to bed,” he said.
“Want to move to your room?” He asked me.
“Si.” I said, and grabbed my stuff off the couch.
We got to my room and I sat down on my bed, noticing the problem with our move.
“Sorry, we don’t have a couch. You can sit on the bed, or move the chair over here.” I suggested.
He strolled over and sat down next to me on the bed. I handed him the iPad. He went through the first couple questions then looked up at the poster hanging on my wall. It was of Taylor swift, advertising her new album “Red.”
“God, you have the worst taste in music,” He said looking up at me pitifully.
“Just because I don’t like the Beatles, does not mean I have horrible taste in music,” I said, referring to the Abbey Road poster hanging above his bed.
“Besides, she’s not that bad.”
“Ok, you are going to play me one Taylor Swift song right now that is not bad.”
After he broke my heart the first time, I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift break up songs to get me through it. I had the words to almost all of them down by heart, so the ides of picking just one to show him was daunting. He handed me the iPad and I decided to play the title song of “Red.” It was about finding a love that was perfect and then losing it, and the pain that can cause. It makes it seem like it was not worth the love in the first place.
I for one appreciated the irony of having him hear it, but I didn’t know if he would. As I started the song I unzipped his hoodie, and placed it next to me. I too was starting to get a little hot, I didn’t know if it was the 80 degree weather, or the company that was making me so. I found myself singing along with the song as he sat there, eyes closed.
When it was finished he opened them and said
“How can you be so smart, yet like music this dumb? That was just awful.”
“Shut up!” I said sassily.
We were interrupted by a knock at the door
“Lights out is in 15 minutes,” The dorm sponsor said cracking the door open and then shutting it behind him.
“We better get back to studying,” I said, flipping the iPad back to the flashcard app and handing it to him.
“What does vencer mean in English?” He asked me.
“To win,” I said.
He finished reading me all the vocabulary words just as the dorm sponsor came around to do lights out. We told him we were studying and he said to finish as soon as possible.
As soon as the dorm sponsor had left he closed the iPad and said, “Well I better get going to bed.”
“Yeah, it’s late,” I said standing up.
“Thanks for helping me study. I think it really helped,” he said, giving me a high five.
“No problem, we make a good equipo,” I said smiling.
“Yeah, we do,” he said.
“If we hang out more I’m going to have to fix your taste in music though,” he added.
“Goodnight,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. 
“Goodnight,” he replied.
As he walked out the door I could hear him humming the chorus to red under his breath. I sighed as I closed my door, knowing that this was a onetime thing. Being close with him, though it feels so easy, takes a lot out of me when it’s all said and done because I know that I have to do my best not to get into that place of vulnerability and hurt again.
I got into bed and noticed a lump under my back. It was his sweatshirt. I started to get up to return it but instead laid back down. As I drifted off to sleep I thought of deer and medals. I flashbacked to him smiling at me, while sitting on my bed, as we had an actually intelligent conversation. I then pulled his sweatshirt so that it was closer to me, promising myself that I would return it… in the morning.

I watched the small grey-brown hairs that ran across his neck as I sat behind him. They always looked so delicate, but so complicated, like a system of veins winding their way to his thick brown hair.  The room was quiet, as was customary in Quaker worship. He had shuffled his way to the bench in front of me, his jeans rolled up on his long sun-kissed legs so that they hems were showing. He placed his brown sandaled feet on the edge of the bench in front of him.
He had just gotten a haircut. I hated when he got them. He had the most beautiful hair. To the casual onlooker he may just look like a classic brunette, but I saw more than that. I saw the two tones one just a grade darker than the other, presumably from all his time in the sun playing soccer. The different shades melded in front of his face in little spruces that went every which way. He never combed it, and that let his natural volume expand. Our freshman year at boarding school some had called him the “king of bed head” for his supercharged hair upon first waking up.  The few chances I got I would run my hand through it and I loved how soft it was.
The meetinghouse was a dull shade of white, closer to cream than anything else. This was purposeful, it was supposed to be less distracting than other colors, more pure. The point of the silence was to let oneself think, to dig into your subconscious and take a closer look at who you are, and what you believe. The meetinghouse is a relatively large room filled with wide wooden benches located along its four, rectangular walls. Behind each set of benches are two 12-pained window panels that let the mid-autumn light it in.
    He was wearing a sky blue hooded jacket and the hood was laid out behind him, the seam running in perfect symmetry with his backbone. There was a tethered layer of grey lint hanging off the rim of the hood and it took all my will not to reach out, to brush it off, to feel his body heat radiate from his muscular back to my thin fingertips. I could imagine his face, as he would turn around, and stare at me, giving me a perplexed look. I would hold up the ball in a silent explanation, and he would turn around again, go back to forgetting I existed.
I played with one of the buttons on the red cushion under me, and looked up at the array of white ceiling tiles that loomed over us. The wind was blowing outside and I could hear the whoosh as the tiny branches were blown around helplessly. The wind was oddly calming and I placed my hands, open palmed in my lap.
“324,” he said as he made his way closer to where I sat journaling under a large oak tree.
“What?” I asked confusedly, his long brown hair was blowing every which way in the wind. It had been its longest then, when I had first met him three years ago. It was parted in the middle, just so it would cover one of his brilliant blue eyes. He smiled, realizing in his excitement, he had neglected to tell me what the hell he was talking about.
“In the meeting house, there are 324 tiles on the ceiling,” he said, in an evident tone of pride.
I couldn’t imagine that he could have looked past the dancing shadows of the trees on the oak flooring, or the beauty of the drizzle tapping on the window to count the tiles on the ceiling. I had never thought to do this before. Many pieces were fractured and the room was cut in half by a long set of sliding wooden doors which cut certain pieces in half, some in thirds.
“Really? I’m going to have to check your math on that the next time I’m in there,” I said jokingly.
“You’ll probably get a different number,” he said sitting down next to me.
“What are you writing?” He asked, pointing to the red spiral bound notebook in my hands.
They tensed on the notebook as I looked to it and then back at him. I had been writing a story about us. Fragments and details about the monotony of where we lived, and how my passion for him, was making it easier to stand.
“A story,” I replied simply.
“That’s awesome; you should send it to me sometime. I bet you’re a good writer,” he replied.
“Thanks, I’ll do that sometime,” I said watching as the leaves cascaded around us, a storm of bright reds crisp oranges and vibrant yellows. I had other stories I could send him, my favorite of which was entitled “The Blind Date.” I made a mental note to send it to him when we got up.
I awoke from my daydream when I heard a fit of coughing coming from in front of me. His body heaved as he coughed and it went on for about ten seconds before I saw my opportunity. I took my flat outstretched palm and patted him firmly on the back until the coughing subsided. As I retraced my hand, I grabbed the piece of lint firmly, and it came off cleanly in my hand. 
He turned and gave me an appreciative glance. I nodded my head slightly. His eyes looked misted over and gave off an air of exhaustion. I put my hand together and then up to the side of my head as if to illustrate a pillow. It took him a second but he finally got my meaning and shook his head. He then turned forward again and rested his head on the back rest of the bench. I couldn’t imagine that would be comfortable. I took the toe of my shoe and tapped it into his side. He turned back to me looking slightly annoyed.
I took off my sea-foam green scarf and pointed from it to the place where his head had been resting. He nodded again and I handed it to him. When he leaned in to grab it I could smell his cologne. It was a mixture of something not quite describable, but it left the faint trace of brown sugar in the air. I smiled to myself as I breathed it in. He laid the balled up scarf behind him on the edge of the bench and then rested his head on top of it. I looked up at the ceiling and resumed my counting.
“I got 360,” I said, catching up to him as he disembarked the meetinghouse. We walked down the cement path leading to the school’s main building.
“Aw, well you’re probably right,” he said giving me a toothy grin.
“Yeah, but it was difficult to assess given all the bits and pieces of them you have to account for,” I said consolingly.
He veered off the path and into the grassy blades that filled the schools courtyard. I followed suit, the dew stricken grass sticking to my sandaled feet, making them damp. He walked a little ways before I asked “where are you going?”
“You’ll see,” He said as we walked further and further from the main building.
“What did you think about during meeting?” I asked him, uncomfortable with the silence between us.
“Uhm, I thought a lot about friendship, and how hard it is to know who you can trust,” he said as he made a sharp right turn.
“Really, well you know you can trust me, right?” I said, hoping I wasn’t crossing the boundaries I had been watching oh so closely.
“Right, you’ve really helped me my first month here. I’ve been able to talk to you, and its helped a lot,” he said to me and it finally became clear where he was going.
About 20 feet away stood an old hammock. It looked tattered, with white strings coming apart where the white nodules of it were fastened to each other. The trees it was attached to looked frail and drooping, and I doubted it could hold much weight.
“Well good. I’m glad you know you have me if you need me,” I said, wanting to say more.
I wanted to let him now that I would do anything for him. Our relationship was so passionate, so kind and loving, of course this was only on my end. To him, I was just a friend, just one of the guys, but to me, he was everything. I woke up in the morning excited to spend another day with him, and I couldn’t go to bed at night without him saying goodnight. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the only way out was to stay silent.
He got on the hammock and it sagged when he got on, laying his head back and gazing at me where I stood leaned up against a tree. He was wearing his signature brown hoodie with a tan peace sign embroidered on its back. There was a pile of leaves below the hammock ad with each small swing, they rustled softly, flying to either side.
“This is a two person hammock you know,” he said invitingly.
“A what?” I said laughing slightly at his pronunciation. He said it as it was spelled with an “o” sound instead of the “i” sound.
“A two person hammock,” he said again, looking bemused at my confusion.
“You mean hamm-ick,” I said, enunciating the last syllable jokingly.
“No, I mean hammock. Where in the spelling of that would do you see and I?” He said in a tone that indicated this was not the first time he had this conversation.
“I don’t know, that’s a good point,” I said, strolling over to the hammock and reaching out a hand to steady it so I could claim my spot.
“Yeah, back home we always say it the way it’s spelled, but whenever I say it here people always jump on me for it,” he said, sliding over on the white array of webs.
He slid over to far and the hammock flew up sideways. I pushed hard on where I had hold of the fibers and it stopped as it was completely straight up in the air. He was holding on, his fingers and toes were intertwined with the hammock and he was holding on to it as I mountain climber does a cliff. Fear flashed in his eyes and I could see it as I slowly pressed on the opposite side, lowering it down to normal height.
“Thanks,” he said in a breathy voice.
I sat down next to him and carefully leaned back, making sure that the weight wasn’t imbalanced before finally saying “no problem.” 
I could feel his body heat radiating from beside me as I laid my head down. His hair tickled my ear softly. I could hear his heart beating quickly, faster than normal. He turned over carefully and propped himself up on one elbow.
“I read your story,” he said.
“Really, what did you think?” I asked, my heart fluttering softly, hoping he would appreciate my style of writing.
“I really liked it. It was clever how you had the couple meet beforehand on the train, before actually realizing they were each other’s blind dates,” he said.
“Thanks, that means a lot to me. It’s one of my best pieces I think,” I replied, craning my neck and lifting my head so I could look him in the eyes while I talked to him.
“You should send me more if you want,” he said. The wind blew through the trees branches and brushed over us, leaves fluttering to the ground. It blew on us too, but I wasn’t cold laying there next to him.
“I’ll do that,” I said. I had an overwhelming will to express to him how much I cared. How much I loved him.
I moved over to my right so we were no longer on top of each other trying hard not to throw off the balance. His beige short clothed legs were sprawled out and upwards and it was hard to make it so our legs didn’t intertwine. I took a fast breath and then turned my head; his hair was tickling my cheek as it flew in the wind making it hard to see him through the shroud of course dark locks.
“I’ve really enjoyed hanging out with you that last few weeks,” I said. I laughed nervously at the end of it, immediately regretting doing so as it came off high pitched and feminine.
“Me too,” he said. I boar into his eyes the clear almost transparent blue of ice, but I couldn’t see anything. I saw his pupils, so large, black and perfect. I saw his eyelashes blink to keep out the chilly air. I tried to read his thoughts, see what he was thinking, but he didn’t even give off a clue.
“It’s just like, you know, I feel like I’m starting to really…..” I trailed off suddenly leaving a palpable tension. My eyes started to water and my stomach started to make disgruntled noises. I had a bad feeling about this. He was my only friend, what would happen if I told him, and he didn’t’ like it. Would he completely abandon me? Would we just pretend nothing happened? Could he feel the same way? Could we share our first kiss right hear amidst the delicate strands of this hammock, or however you want to say it?
I took another deep breath and then said “I’m starting to really like…” I was cut off by a nasty snap. I toppled over on top of him and we both landed with a crunch on the bed of leaves previously below us. My head landed with a thud against his back, our bodies intertwined in a pile of heat and jagged edged leaves. I rolled over onto my back and laughed slightly. He started to laugh too and we just sat there for a couple minutes before getting back up and assessing the damage.
The rope that was tied around the far tree holding up the hammock had snapped and the ends of it were frayed, like the fragile hairs of a lion’s tale. He picked it up and strolled around the tree. I followed suit and watched as he pulled a scarlet knife from out of his pocket. I stepped back a little, startled, my foot stepped down on a branch and it cracked beneath me.
“What?” He asked, snickering a little at my reaction.
“Nothing, it’s just, I didn’t know you carried a knife around with you,” I said, smiling to try and make up for my obvious discomfort.
“Really? Everyone does it where I’m from. It would be weird for you not to. My dad gave me this one for my birthday last year,” he said, holding the knife out for me to grab.
I took a hold of it and looked at it admiringly for a second then handed it back.
“It’s beautiful,” I said smiling at him.
“Thanks,” he said, and then he got to work sawing off the end of the severed rope.
When the tassels were finally off, he ushered me over, and said “will you hold these two end tightly so I can tie them in a knot?”
“Yeah, “I said, shuffling over to where he was standing. His warm hands grazed mine as he handed the end to me.
“Jesus, your hands are freezing,” he said, grasping them firmly in his palms.
“Yeah, they always are,” I said, nervous that this had upset him in some way.
He brought them up to his head and blew on them slightly. The warm air engulfed my hands and the cold started to vanish. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of being so close to him. It took everything I had to breakaway and say “the rope?”
I held the two ends as tightly as I could at the trunk. To my surprise, he slid under my arms, so now he was between me and the tree, leaving only inches between us. I let my hands slide down the rope a little to allow him more access to the ends. He began to fiddle with them, putting one end into a circle, and then the other through it. In order to watch I had my chin basically on top of his shoulder. Finally he told me I could let go. I did so and the hammock stayed up, looking just the same as before we sat down upon it.
“Alright, well we better get out of here just in case,” he said, taking off at a running pace, as if to suggest a race.
I ran after him, the cool breeze stinging my rosy-cheeked face.
I awoke from my second memory to the sound of a deep snoring in front of me. I kicked his back gently and he startled awake, turning back to give me a red eyed glare. I knew he knew that I wouldn’t have woken him up for no reason, so I just tilted my head and grinned at him sassily. He turned back around, adjusting his seating again, his neck sliding back down onto my scarf. My eyes returned to the ceiling so I could continue counting.
322, 323, 324. I stopped on 324 and thought that he was right. He was right when he told me he didn’t love me. He was right that we weren’t right for each other. He had to leave me for a couple years, collect his thoughts and then consider where to go from there. He was right that this wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s not like I don’t care about you, it’s just that I can’t do more than that. You’ll never be more than a friend to me, and I need you to understand that,” he said to me two months prior to this silent moment. I rolled the lint ball between my fingers some more and waited for the tears to come again like they had before, cascading down my cheeks at the thought of losing him, but they didn’t come.
I counted on before I finally got to the end. 358, 359, 360. I smiled and was reminded that I wasn’t all wrong either. Just because he didn’t want me in that way, didn’t mean that I wasn’t allowed to care for him. I could treat him well; we could be friends, just like the old days. Maybe this time it could even be more of an even friendship instead of a one way street. He would let me borrow his calculator for my math homework, and I could still bring him peach coconut shakes from the ice cream shop in town.
The room irrupted in a fit of silent handshakes, as was custom at the end of our worships. I reached over to my left and shook the hand of the women next to me, then my math teacher, who was on the other side of me. I finally turned straight in front of me, where his hand stood outstretched. I reached over and shook it firmly, his warm mixing with my cold once again, more than three years later.
As the rest of the room began to get up and exit the building I stayed seated. He got up, yawned and stretched, rotating his body left to right. He reached back down on his seat and grabbed the scarf that had fallen there.
“Thanks,” he said handing it back to me.
I looked into his red-rimmed eyes and said, “No problem, how was your nap?”
“It was great, until somebody interrupted it,” he said, his voice rising accusatorily on “somebody.”
“Yea, your snoring was intense. Sorry about that,” I said.
“That’s fine, I would have done the same,” he said laughing a sleep deprived laugh.
I got up out of my seat and stretched as well. He started to walk out and I followed him. I snuck the lint ball into my pocket, patting it protectively afterwards. Our footsteps creaked on the old wooden floor as we made our way to the exit. I pushed on the old white paint chipped door to open it for him.
“So, 360?” I said to him as he exited.
“Yep, you always were right about that,” he said smiling at me as he walked down the steps.
I leaned up against the door and put on my scarf. As I readjusted it I thought I caught a whiff of brown sugar, and I pulled it up to my nose. His scent had imprinted on the scarf.  I watched him as he stepped up the path to the boy’s dorm. If there was one thing we knew, it was that there were 360 ceiling tiles in the meetinghouse.

I had to speak loudly because the rain was pelting the raspberry bushes and the leaves were reflecting the sound rhythmically. After looking around for a minute, I noticed a small shed a little while away from us. I pointed to it and we started to run through the raspberry patch. My shoes were soaked and I could hear the squishing sound they made with every step I took towards the rusty old shed. I got to the door first and opened it for him. When we were both inside I closed it with a reverberating thud.
We were standing there, both with our hands on our knees, painting after our long run. The shed was smaller than most bedrooms, and had a slanted tin roof so that we were only able to stand in half the area. The pounding of the rain on the roof was incredibly loud, but also beautiful, nature’s music. The floor was covered in straw and a few rusty, thrown away tools. An old broken down cooler sat in the right hand corner. I walked over and hauled myself onto it, my legs dangling off the side.
He came down and sat next t me, closer then I would have liked, but I guess I couldn’t blame him for the lack of space. I turned to look at him in the dim sunlight coming through the small, dusty windows located on the back wall. His eyes shined very brightly and his brown hair was damp. The water had washed away the dirt on his nose. We sat there in silence just listening to the rain. I was hoping so badly he would break it, that I wouldn’t have to be the one to always cave, but I knew him better than that.
“Do you still have the raspberries?” I asked him, reaching my hand out for the pitcher.
“Yeah,” he said, holding it out to me and then pulling it back again before I had a chance to take any.
“You have to catch it,” he said, jumping off the cooler and scooping up a raspberry from the pitcher. He held his muscular arm up and started to practice his aim, darting his hand back and forth in an attempt to get the motion down.
“No, this is a bad idea,” I said, mostly just not wanting my hand eye coordination to embarrass me in front of him.
“Because we have so many better things to do?” He said, brandishing his arms as to remind me of our surroundings.
He had me there. I sighed and jumped off the cooler, waiting for him to throw the raspberry with extreme precision. The first one hit me just above my right eyebrow and then fell to the ground, bouncing a little as it hit the soft hay blanket. The second hit my upper lip, this one was closer, but still off.
“Aren’t you on the basketball team?” I asked him mockingly.
“Yeah, but it’s not all my fault, you have to move to catch it too,” he replied, semi-defensively.
“Let me try,” I said, sauntering over to where he was standing and taking the damp pitcher out of his hands.
He walked over to where I had been positioned and opened his mouth wide. I didn’t have complete faith that I was going to be able to do any better than he had, but on the off chance of a miracle, I picked up one of the firmer raspberries in the pitchers and took my aim. The first one sailed over his right shoulder and hit the wall with a small thud. He looked at it, and then looked back at me, an expression of slight fear running across his face.
I decided I would go for a lighter throw this time and the raspberry hit his pronounced chin, leaving a small red juice stain at the point of impact. He started to walk towards me, but I help up one finger to indicate that I wanted to try one more time. He begrudgingly returned to his spot. I threw the raspberry and as it got closer to his face, he dove for it, and landed in a bed of hay.
My face went from one of amusement to shock in a flash. I leaned down and saw that there was a bone saw lying less than an inch from where his left hand had landed.
“Are you ok?” I asked worriedly, not knowing if there had been another saw that had just impaled him.
“Yeah, and I caught your horrible throw too. You’re welcome,” he replied. As he got up, the residual hay in his hair started falling to the ground like a giant powdery dust cloud.
The rain continued pounding the roof as we both sat back up on the cooler. This is what I had been trying to avoid, getting trapped in a conversation with him that I didn’t want to have. Looking at him was painful, but hearing his voice, feeling the heat radiating from his body, just a few inches from mine, that was torture. We sat there in silence once again. I was contemplating what was going to happen now. I had yet to tell him that I loved him, or at least I had yet to tell him in those words. 
I had made it clear in the hundreds of emails I had sent him over the years I had known him. I had shown it in small gestures like memorizing his favorite kind of milkshake ad surprising him with it, or trying to take care of him when he was sick. I had made it very clear with body motions every time I made up an excuse to spend time with him. I had done my best to let him know without having to utter those three words that would make it concrete.
I did not want to love him, because I knew he would not feel the same way. If I said it aloud, it would not only change our dynamic, but it would make it real. I would have to face the fact that I had fallen so deeply for someone who was indifferent towards me. I would have to give away the little control I had left over the situation that I had already made a fool of myself over. The relationship was like a battle, with me being the only warrior, and somehow I was still managing to lose. With the utterance of those three words I was slowly impaling myself, the war was over, I would be gone, dead.
“What are you thinking about?” He asked, breaking the silence.
“You don’t want to know,” I said, scooting myself slightly farther away from him.
I was visibly upset and I knew he didn’t know how to handle it. I turned my head so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. I hated that I was doing this to him. It wasn’t his fault, but still I had blamed him for everything.
“Why?” He asked in response.
“Because I know you said you didn’t want any more drama,” I said, turning my head back towards him.
“Come on, are we really going to do this again?” He said, his tone still gentle, but his frustration evident.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying. It’s just hard,” I said, tilting my head downwards as to not look at him.
“God, what is it. Why do you care so much about me, about us being friends,” he asked, his tone becoming more and more exasperated.
“I don’t know,” I said, I could feel myself turning off, becoming a stone, incapable of emotion. This was a defense mechanism I had picked up over the years.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he replied. His tone was calming down, becoming less exasperated and more accusatory.
I was silent, on the verge of saying those three solemn words.
“If you have something to say, just say it, because I don’t want to have to do this again,” he replied, going back to exasperated.
“I don’t want to tell you, because you’re going to hate me,” I said, jumping off of the cooler and walking towards the door.
“I’m not going to hate you if you just put an end to this,” he said, shaking his head slightly as if I was something disgusting he had to deal with, something not worth his time or energy, a pest.
“I love you,” I said. I winced right after they left my mouth, preparing myself for the wave of pain that was about t wash over me. I took my chance to get away.
I ran, ran out into the pouring rain searching for a solace. A shelter that might seem warmer, more open than the one I had just left. I felt mud splash up onto my legs, tricking down and being replaced with each step. After a couple minutes I found the old farm house we use for hay and threw myself into a pile of it. Strips of it tickled my nose as I used it as a pillow. My heart was racing and tears started to roll down my face, mixing with the rain.
I knew he didn’t love me. I knew that there was no possible reaction he would give me that would make me happy. I knew he wouldn’t show up, his masculine shadow cast over me and the bale. He wouldn’t whisper in my ear that everything was ok, that he felt the same way and that we could be happy together.
We would never sit together on on a meadow, the blue-checkered patterned blanket my grandmother knit lying underneath us. I would have made him a steak sandwich, making him meat because I know how much he loves it, even though I’m a vegetarian. We would never drink sparkling blueberry lemonade out of champagne glasses clinking and laughing in the bright sun. Worst of all, he would never taste the lemon meringue pie I would have made for him, knowing it was his favorite. Little would he know I had tried over a dozen recipes, trying to make one perfect, just for him.
I had played this guilty fantasy over in my mind many times, but as soon as those three words came out of my mouth, it shattered. 15 minutes had passed since I ran away, and I knew that soon I would have to return to him, face my fears, and I didn’t know if I was strong enough. Couldn’t I run forever? Avoid him for the rest of my time at school. This idea seemed beautiful for a moment, but I realized it wasn’t realistic. I finally removed my face from the hay, little bristles sticking to my tear stained cheeks. I walked lethargically over to the doorway of the farmhouse, took a deep breath, and ran back into the rainy afternoon.
There was a pit of imminent dread rolling around in my stomach as I made my way back to the farmhouse. I knew that when I got there I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t let him see me weak, vulnerable, he would think I was pathetic. I am many things when it comes to him, lustful, dramatic, over-pleasant to the point of nausea, but pathetic is not one of them. My breathing was heavy and I slowed my pace once I saw the house only about 25 feet from me. I stopped, curled my fists, clenched my jaw, and held my head up high. Then I began walking towards the big wooden door.
I pushed it open and it hit the metal wall with a loud clang. One thing that I could be truthfully said about me is that I did like to make an entrance. He jumped with a start when the door clanged, one of those shaky, adrenaline filled jumps and I thought he was going to tackle me. When I caught his gaze, his face expressionless my hard armor dropped, the pit returned. I wanted to run, back out into the safety of the rain, but I willed myself to stay. I walked over and sat down on the cooler.
He strolled over to the big wooden door that I had left open and latched it shut. The wind was howling against the metal walls, creating a menacing whistle.
“Do I have to stand in front of the door, or can we sit down and talk about this without you running away?” He said, his tone coming off very patronizing, when I think he was trying for caring.
I felt like a child being scolded by a parent for running away.
“Can’t we just forget about it?” I replied coldly, my hands shaking as I held them firmly in my lap.
“No, obviously this changes things,” he said, his back still pressed firmly against the door.
“It doesn’t have to. I’ve felt this way for a long time, you’ve just been too clueless to see it. I can just go back to my life of quiet desperation, and you can go about yours as if I never said anything. No drama, no pain, everybody wins,” I said, knowing that I had already lost. Lost him, lost this game I had been playing, and I was trying so hard to change the score after the fact. Go back to the seventh inning and pretend I hadn’t struck out with those three lousy words that had filled our air with tension for so long.
“But you did say something, and now that it’s out there, something needs to be said. I have things you need to understand,” he said, his face remaining expressionless.
“Really, because I know how this conversation goes. I have gone through it enough times in my head to be able to tell you what you say and so you actually saying it is just a waste of time,” I said, a hint of anger in my voice.
“Even so, let me say what I have to say,” he said.
I looked up at him, the hint of a smug look on his face. I wanted to hit him, wanted to punch him in the gut. He was about to break my heart and he couldn’t even have the decency to act like he cared, even a little bit. What the hell did he have to be smug about anyway, the fact that someone was so enthralled with him? Did that make him feel big, powerful? I gave him a flick of my wrist, to let him know he could start speaking, and then returned my hands to my lap, fists forming as I did so.
“I don’t love you,” he said.
I knew this was just the beginning, but I was already feeling the warmth in my cheeks that occurred just before I was going to cry. I bit my lip in an effort to distract myself from the tears, hold them off until he wasn’t looking.
After a breath he continued, “I have never loved you, and I never will love you. You will never be more than a friend to me, so it’s good to get any notion of that out of your head right now,” he said in a monotone.
I scoffed. Did he really think it was that easy to get me to drop the idea of us? Did he think I hadn’t tried to stop feeling how I did?
“I’ve gotten pretty tired of this bullshit over the last couple of years and I’m frankly annoyed by the amount of drama you bring into my life,” he continued.
I couldn’t deny this. I did bring a lot of drama into his life, but it was all leading to this conversation. All the drama leading to this moment I had been dancing around for so long.
“I mean you’re a cool person, and at times, I get along with you great… but this love thing is not going to fly on my end. Obviously I can’t stop you from feeling that way about me, but again, I don’t feel that way in the slightest,” he said, his voice calm, steady. It was still giving off a tone that was cold as ice.
“If you feel like you can hang out with me without bringing drama into my life, or complaining about how I don’t reciprocate your love, then great, maybe we can be some type of friends.”
“Don’t give me the “we can be friends” line. We both know we haven’t been “friends” for years,” I said shaking my head slightly in indignation.
“What do you mean? I thought we had,” he said.
“No, what we were is civil. Friends is having conversations with me about things that actually matter. Friends is trusting me enough to tell me things that you wouldn’t tell just anyone. Friends is asking me questions about me. I have been trying to be friends, and you keep blocking me at every turn, “I said.
“See, this is you trying to bring drama into my life. Can you ever just be happy with what you have? Be happy with my definition of friendship or are you always going to want more? If you are cool with what we have, great, otherwise, I’m tired of this,” he said taking a step towards me. He flailed his arms emphatically.
“I’m sorry that you see this as me trying to bring drama into your life. I see this as me trying to stop the drama. I’ve been haunted by these feelings for you for years now, and instead of telling you and wrecking our friendship, I kept it to myself.”
“God, I am so tired of you blaming this on me!” He said and he hit the cooler with his fists making me jump.
“I didn’t ask you to fall in love with me,” he said, his teeth gritted.
“And you think I did? I hate that I love you. I hate that whenever you walk into a room I play with my hair in order to make it look like I’m not staring. I really hate that even when you’re a total dick to me I make excuses for you in my head. All I ever wanted to do, all I want to do now, is make you happy,” I said.
“Well you’ve done a lousy job of it,” he said bluntly.
“I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that all I’ve done is make you miserable, but did you for one second ever stop to think how I feel. I’ve been trying to be friends with someone who is totally and indefinitely indifferent towards me. I could not be here and your life would be exactly the same, maybe even better,” I replied.
“No, I never thought about that,” he mumbled.
“Ok, so what happens now?” I asked resignedly.
“Well I’m not going to change how I act towards you. I’m going to treat you the same way I’ve been treating you for the last few years,” he said.
“Ok, and I’m not going to stop trying to break down these walls you put up,” I replied.
He rolled his eyes at me, but it seemed to be more playful then actually exasperated.
The rain was starting to die down and all we could hear was the plink of drizzle hitting the tin roof.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about all this,” I said catching his gaze for the first time in the conversation.
“It’s ok, it’s not all your fault, I’m pretty great,” he said. I laughed at his pride and confidence and the tension in the room started to evaporate.
We sat there for a few more minutes before exiting the farmhouse and making our way back through the marshland to campus. He didn’t love me, but I already knew that. What I knew now is that we could move on. No more passive aggressive emails trying to gauge how much he cared about me. I wouldn’t have to wonder what he saw when he looked at me, a pathetic romantic, or a devoted friend. In the end, it was probably good he didn’t love me, because now I could give up the notion that we were perfect for each other. As we walked back I knew for the first time in years what was going on between us. We were friends, well, his version of friends, and I think that for now, I could handle that.

I had been sitting on a bus for about 5 hours listening to music and occasionally sneaking glances at the seat across from mine, where he was seated. I was sprawled out across my seat, my head resting on the edge of the seat in front of mine. He was resting with his eyes closed his feet sprawled across the aisle and resting on the edge of my seat.  It was a long ride back from Earlham, Indiana and we were about to take our first food and bathroom stop and I both really had to use the restroom and wanted to eat something.
Our trip advisor stood up and cleared his throat, as to silence the bus. I unplugged my earphones and looked up at him expectantly. I could tell from the snoring to my right that he had not realized an announcement was being made, so I “gently” kicked his feet off my seat, hoping the shock would be enough to get his attention. Sure enough he opened his eyes and looked at me bemused. I pointed toward the front of the bus and he sat up, stretching his arms out and making that adorable noise he always does when he stretches. Of course now when I heard it, all I wanted to do was hurl things at him. I resisted my urge, and turned back to the announcement. 
“I know it’s been a long ride, but now we get to have a nice lunch. You and the person next to you will be buddies,” our trip leader said.
I rolled my eyes at this, not just at the thought that I was in high school and we were still using the buddy system, but also at the fact that my so called “buddy” was an ass.
“When you get off the bus you will be given fifteen dollars to purchase lunch for the two of you. Now where we are going to stop has two options, Subway, or McDonalds. Please try to make up your minds now so we don’t have to decide when we get there,” he continued before sitting back down.
I thought about trying to change seats quickly in order to not have to be with him, but it was too late. He and I don’t usually talk. After I told him I loved him and he said he would never love me, we didn’t have anything really to say anymore. I wanted to be his friend, I tried for a while until I realized it wasn’t working and then I just stopped. I would be lying if I said I didn’t resent him for it, so let’s just say that the idea of being in close vicinity alone with him for the next hour made me lose my appetite. 
He turned to me and said
“Where do you want to eat?”
I ignored him, pretending to listen to music.
“Hey?” He tried again waving his arms around stupidly in an attempt to get my attention.
I kept my face forward, my jaw clenched in anger. He finally reached over and pulled the earphone out of my right ear. I turned in his direction and looked at him.
“Yes,” I said, a fake smile plastered across my face.
“Where do you want to eat?” He asked.
He was a very healthy eater, in fact, when I met him, I don’t think he had ever eaten at a fast food restaurant. This was something I had originally found so foreign and attractive, but now just seemed obnoxious.
“Do you plan on eating at McDonalds?” I asked in a tone that I was hoping would make him feel stupid for asking the question.
“No, not really,” he said, obviously oblivious to my tones meaning.
“Well then I guess Subway it is,” I said, flashed him a smile, and then put my earphone back in, forgetting that the music I was playing was fake.
I turned some actual music on and enjoyed my solitude for the next half-hour until our bus came to a screeching halt. I looked around. We were parked outside of the McDonalds, and the subway was across the highway from us. The students all started getting up and shifting their belongings to the side so they could exit the overheating bus. The aisle became a sea of teenagers, stepping on each other’s toes and tapping their feet impatiently waiting for the line to thin. I was in no rush to get off the bus and so finally, it was just the two of us.
“Ready to go?” He asked.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I replied standing up with a quick flourish and quickly navigating the aisle, leaving him behind.
I did feel kind of bad. The way I was treating him was unfair and it really wasn’t his fault, but he told me we couldn’t be friends, and to me, that makes him the enemy. Once I hopped down the steps of the bus, our leader handed me a white envelope containing our lunch money. He and I walked down the pavement towards the highway, the infinite crossing of it looming over us.
“I really have to go to the bathroom.” He said to me as we waited for there to be enough space between cars for us to run across the road.
“Me too.” I said bluntly in response.
We ran as fast as possible until we finally reached the entrance of the restaurant, both of us panting for breath. I walked in, and quickly entered the single restroom, locking the door behind me. I relieved my bladder and then I took an extra long time washing my hands.  As I left, he nearly ran me over on his attempt to enter the bathroom.
I sat down in one of the provided red and yellow booths and began to think over my order. Being a vegetarian, I didn’t have a huge amount of options.  I decided I would get my usual, wondering why I would ever even try anything different. We still had a good forty-five minutes to order before we had to be back on the bus, so I didn’t see a need to rush.
When he had exited the restroom he sat down across from me and asked. “hey, what are you going to order?”
“I’m going to get the veggie delight,” I said in response, wondering what was up.
“Oh, cool. I was thinking about the meatball marinara, you ever tried that?” He asked me.
“Nope, I’m a vegetarian,” I responded. I couldn’t believe he had forgotten this because I had been a vegetarian ever since I met him two years ago.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You ready to order?” He asked me. He swept his chestnut hair out of his eyes and looked anxious to get up and get in line.
“Yeah, I am,” I answered still confused about this situation.
Why was he being all pleasant all of a sudden? Maybe he had remembered how good a friend I was back in the day and wanted me back, or maybe he was just in the mood to rebuild some burnt bridges. Either way, it was going to take a hell of a lot more then common pleasantry to fix this relationship. It was like he turned back into the person I first met, so shy and timid, but still fun to talk to, but so much had changed, there was no way for that to be the case.
We both got up and proceeded to get in line. The large women behind the counter asked me what I wanted to eat and right as I began to tell her, I was interrupted.
“Wait, you know I’m not that hungry, want to split a sandwich?” He asked.
“Well, don’t you want meat on yours?” I asked, knowing that he was a devote carnivore.
“No, whatever you want,” he responded.
“So what will you be having?” The women behind the counter asked impatiently.
“Hold on, give us a sec,” I said, holding up a finger and turning to him, a look of bewilderment on my face.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” I said, louder then I had intended.
“What?” He said, his eyes widening as he took a step back from me.
“Three days ago you wanted nothing to do with me, now you want to share a sandwich, so I repeat, what the hell has gotten into you,” I said.
“Do you really want to do this here?” He asked.
“Yes, I do,” I replied.
“Can you guys argue and choose what you want on this sandwich at the same time?” The woman behind the counter asked.
“You pick,” I said, trying to get back to my question.
“What kind of bread?” The woman asked.
“Honey Oat,” he said, and then turned back to me.
“I’m tired of fighting with you. We used to be good friends,” he said to me, emphasizing the word friends. 
“What kind of cheese?” The woman asked.
“Cheddar Jack,” he replied still looking at me.
“Well I’ve wanted that for years, and you said that could never happen again.” I replied, getting more and more animated.
“Do you want this toasted?” The woman asked.
“Yes,” He said to her.
“I know what I said, but then I realized that except for that whole you loving me thing, you were a great friend, and I think that maybe I could give you another chance and forgive you,” he said.
“Well, maybe isn’t good enough for me. I don’t want you to give me a second chance. I don’t want you to forgive me. Don’t act like you’re the one with no blame. You hurt me really badly, and you “think” that you can give me another chance,” I said, I could feel the rage in my voice.
“Do you want olives?” The women behind the counter asked him.
“Do you want olives?” He repeated to me.
“I don’t care about olives,” I screamed at him tears welling up in my eyes.
I turned to the women, plastering on the fake smile I had gotten so good at over the last couple years. “We would like to make this a combo, with an extra drink,” I said, removing the money from our envelope and handing it to her, my hands quivering.
I walked back to our booth, and rested my head on the table. I could not believe this was happening. The pain that he had caused me was so great; it was the worst I had felt in my short lifetime. I had really loved him, and he had cut me off so quickly, so easily. I did not know if I could trust him. I mean, I had just made a seen in a Subway over him leaving me the first time. I could not imagine the damage I might cause if he left me again. I felt the table shake as he sat back down at our booth.
“I didn’t know what you’d want to drink, so I got you a root beer,” he said, pushing the styrofoam cup towards me.
As I looked up at him, I suddenly felt a surge of embarrassment for how I had acted today.
“Thanks. I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said, my cheeks turning red.
“It’s ok, this was a lot to spring on you,” he said, smiling at me.
“I would love to try and be your friend again, but I need something from you first,” I said.
“And what would that be?” He asked nervously.
“I want us to start with a clean slate, no more anger, no more yelling, a fresh start,” I closed my eyes, waiting to hear him say that this wasn’t possible, too much had happened.
“Sounds good to me,” he replied.
“All right then, let’s eat,” I said reaching over onto his tray and grabbing my half of our sandwich.
I unwrapped it and took a bite. He sat there staring at me, waiting to see my reaction.
“How do you like the olives?” He asked me half smiling half laughing.
“They’re the best damn olives I have ever had,” I said with a genuine smile.

I was sitting under a tree on the Earlham College campus reflecting on my mistakes. Well really my mistake, singular. It had been three years since it happened. Three years to the day since I had done the deed that I so deeply regretted. It had been three years since I had kissed him, and ruined our friendship, something that ever since that day, I have been hell bent on getting back.
He hadn’t known that it happened. It was pretty much a blur to me too. At the time, I was on a sleeping medication that alters your state of mind. Once you take it, you have a lot of trouble remembering what you have done once the morning comes. Not to mention that the dosage I was taking is no longer legal in the United States. Anyway, these excuses were not enough for him, but I had to try.
The next morning I had awoken in my sleeping bag, feeling very confused. I got up and looked over at him and it came over me like a vision. Me, huddled over his slumbering body, face opposite his. I leaned down and could hear his heart beat, and I swore it rose, as I placed my lips on top of his. His first kiss, if you could count it. When I came out of this vision, I knew I was screwed, and it cost me the one true friendship I had ever had.
Our boarding schools soccer team had decided to drive out to the college campus to participate in a tournament. I was not on the team, but decided to tag along. I wanted to get off campus for the anniversary, and this seemed like the best way to do so. There was only one problem, he was on the team.
After our six hour bus ride, I decided I needed some alone time. I set up my sleeping bag in the large castle like building that was housing the four soccer teams. We were all meant to sleep on the floor together in one massive heap, and I wanted to put that off as much as possible. Sleeping on the floor seemed like an unfortunate turn of events, especially tonight of all nights. I did my best to move my sleeping bag as far away from his as possible, but in the small space that was designated for our team, that was easier said than done.
I walked out into the cold evening air and was surprised by my lack of visibility. I went back inside and grabbed my iPad, tripping over numerous sleeping bags in the process. When I got back outside, I turned on the flashlight app on the iPad, and it illuminated the grassy courtyard that lay ahead of me. I started to walk through the damp grass, little drops of dew gathering on my sandaled feet. I found a small tree surrounded by woodchips and decided I would stop and sit there for a while.
I took off my red sparkly scarf and placed it on top of the woodchips in order to soak up any dew that may have accumulated there as well as to make a more comfortable seating arrangement for myself. I then sat down, my back propped up against the trunk of the tree. Having created my perch for the evening, I switched off the flashlight app and began to play my favorite playlist. Some of my friends liked to call it my “self pity” playlist, which in a sense it was. I curled up, and then began to scroll through pictures of my previous two years at the school.
I looked so happy in all of them, a façade I put on to make others think I was ok, but in all reality I was miserable. I scrolled through picture after picture of fake smiles that all looked the same and then I finally found a genuine one. It was the only picture of the two of us ever taken. He had suggested we do a Charlie’s Angels pose, and when I told him I had no idea what that was he laughed at me and proceeded to show me how it was done.
The picture was far from perfect, but it was all I needed. I looked raggedy because I had been up baking all night for a party that had just ended. I was also wearing orange which washes out my skin tone. He looked younger, of course this picture was taken our freshmen year so we both did, and he was wearing his signature blue hoodie that it seemed like he never took off. We were both smiling at the camera holding up our fingers as fake guns.
He had grabbed the camera right after the photo was taken and told me it looked great. I couldn’t tell if he was lying or if he actually thought it was good, but either way it meant a lot to me. This was, of course, before the kiss. I had recently put up some old pictures on to Facebook, which included this one. The next evening I had received a message from him asking me if I could take it down. It said, “hey, can you please remove this pic from Facebook, I really hate this picture of me.”
As I thought about this, I felt my face grow hot. Tears started welling up in my eyes and I decided to put the picture down. I changed my positioning, laying my head down on the scarf and leaning back. I could see the stars through my weeping eyes, but they looked distorted and unfocused. I could take him not wanting to spend time with me, I could take him saying disparaging thing, but him defiling one of my few good memories stung like a hornet. I closed my eyes, trying to restore my breathing to a normal state.
I opened them again after hearing rustling a few steps away.  I jolted upwards and brought my hands up to my eyes, trying to wipe away any signs of tears.
“Hey,” I heard a voice say as a silhouette appeared out of the darkness.
“Hey,” I said, my voice quivering.
“Does that thing have a flashlight?” He asked, pointing at the iPad.
“Yeah, do you need a flashlight for something?” I responded coyly, my voice still strained.
“Uh, yeah. I lost my shoes somewhere out here,” he said sheepishly.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I don’t believe in God, but could this have been a sign. I mean what are the odds that the person I am crying over walks up to me while I’m mourning my loss of him? I was not surprised he hadn’t noticed I was crying. He isn’t the best at understanding human emotion. He was clueless, but it was kind of a cute clueless. I guess sooner or later I was going to have to stop getting so mad at him for not realizing I was upset, it just wasn’t in his wheelhouse.
I sighed and pushed myself up off the ground. A couple small pieces of wood chip stuck to my hand and you could see the outline of more pieces along the arm I had been using to prop myself up. It was kind of cool in a way, a temporary indent on the skin. It was kind of like tears, a temporary stain on the cheek. Your eyes are red for a few minutes, your nose runs like crazy, and then you go completely back to normal. Give it five minutes and then it’s like nothing ever happened. I didn’t need five minutes, ever since I’d lost him, the only person I had every truly loved, I had become a master of the quick cry.
“What are you doing?” He asked, as if it weren’t obvious.
“I’m going to help you find your shoes.” I replied, leaning down to pick up the iPad and my scarf.
“Hold this for a second, will you?” I said, handing him the iPad so I could put on the scarf properly.
“Sure, which page is the app on?” He asked, about to open the cover.
My mind started racing furiously. I had forgotten that the last thing I had been looking at before I had decided to take my impromptu pity party was that picture of us. At this point saying “No” would be no use, it would just incite more curiosity. So I did the only thing I could think of, I fell. I toppled sideways, knocking the iPad out of his hands. I landed spread eagled, my face being tickled by the dew-covered blades of grass, and the iPad lying safely at my side.
“Sorry,” I said hoping my little stunt hadn’t deterred him too much from my help.
“It’s fine,” he said, laughing.
Most people would have offered me a hand, but I was soon reminded that he wasn’t most people. I got up and dusted myself off, then I opened the iPad just enough so that I could press the button that would return it to the home page. I then opened it fully and turned on the flashlight app. Handing it back to him, we began to walk up and down the open green field that the team had been practicing on earlier.
Neither of us spoke as we walked up and down the field in a systematic grid. I had so much that I wanted to say, but I didn’t want to seem desperate. In fact I bet he had no idea what today was, or that it meant anything to me at all. There were so many questions I had running through my head. “Where are we now? Are you still pissed at me? Is there a chance that we could be friends?” Those and so many more echoed around the silence, a cacophony of desperate advances and pitiful pleas, and as I thought about them, my throat started to tighten up. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying again. I couldn’t do it in front of him; I could not stand the thought of him thinking of me as weak.
“Are you excited about tomorrow’s game?” I finally asked.
“Yeah, excited and nervous, this is my first like actual tournament,” he replied.
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” I said. I didn’t actually know. I had never been to a game. As far as I knew he was the worst player on the team, but for some reason I doubted it.
We walked around like that for half an hour more searching high and low, but to no avail. We had several close calls that turned out to be broken tree limbs or empty soda bottles, but finally he turned the light out.
“It’s getting late; I think I’m going to go in. I’m sure I’ll find them in the morning,” he said, handing me back the iPad.
“Okay, I’m going to stay out a while longer,” I said and watched as he walked back towards the light in the distance.
I waited until he was far enough away not to notice what I was doing, and then I turned the flashlight back on. I was intent on finding him his shoes; it seemed like a good peace offering on this otherwise dreary night. The grass was already trodden down from where we had walked before, but I doubled back and checked every inch of the grassy area around me. After about 20 minutes I spotted a suspicious shadowy figure under a large oak tree.
I walked over to it and kicked at the shadowy object. The top sandal flipped over onto its back and my heart filled with hope and pride as I picked up my prize. As I walked back toward the castle like building I kept trying to think of what I would say when I got to him. I wanted it to be clever like “I think when we were looking before, we were barking up the wrong tree.” I chuckled to myself as I placed the sandals by the door of the building.
As soon as I opened the door, I heard the noises of loud pop music coming from the upper floor where we were staying. I carefully climbed the stairs trying to both withhold my enthusiasm and not to get my hopes up that his response would be as big as I would want it to be. I saw him standing by the balcony where our team was sleeping talking to some of his friends. I made my way across the sea of sleeping bags and luggage and stood there for a moment waiting for them to finish their conversation. When there seemed to be a lull, I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, looking at me expectantly.
“I think I found your shoes,” I said, taking in his image for the first time today as now I could actually see him. He was wearing his red plaid shirt, the one that is slightly too big for him and makes him look like a lumberjack.
“Cool, where?” He asked.
“I left them outside,” I said and started to make my way back to the front door.
I opened it and pointed to the sandals.
He squinted down at them before finally saying “those aren’t mine.”
My heart sunk immediately.
“Oh ok, sorry for the false alarm then,” I said trying to hide my disappointment.
“No problem,” he said turning to go back inside.
“Wait!” I said out of desperation, really wanting him to say something, really wanting him to see that I was upset and that I needed some answers.
“Yeah?” He said.
“Never mind,” I said realizing that I needed to let him go.
“Have a good night,” I said, trying to put as much emotion into those four words, as I would have in the whole conversation I wished we were having right then.”
“You too,” He said as he turned the knob and entered the building once again.
I let out a heavy sigh as I sat down on the stone bench outside of the front door. I pulled my legs up under me and rested my head on my shoulder, gazing down at the shoes that I was really hoping could be a turning point in our relationship. I wanted them to be some sort of symbol of how I wanted to work with him to try and find a way out of this dark place we had gotten ourselves into. In that moment I was forced to realize that this wasn’t a picture. I couldn’t fake a smile anymore to mask the pain I was feeling underneath. So instead of wallowing in it, I got up, walked up the stairs, curled up in my sleeping bag, and went to bed, wishing myself a happy anniversary.

My hand was starting to get tired as I moved my spatula counter clockwise around my mixing bowl. I was standing over the stainless steel island in our boarding schools industrial kitchen. Whenever I’m sad, I bake to get my mind off of it, and I had many emotions that I needed to viciously stir into a light and fluffy batter. My navy apron was peppered in various sized dots of lemon cupcake batter. I was getting ready to pour the mixture into the muffin pan when I realized I didn’t have the liners in it.
I walked into the backroom of the kitchen and perused the ridiculously messy white shelf they have back there for baking supplies. There were half melted birthday candles lying in the same pile as the dusty vials of food coloring. The box that was supposed to contain bottles of sprinkles had more sprinkles in it then the bottles it contained. The bottom of the box looked as if it were every holiday at once, red and pink hearts mixed with green trees and white snowflakes. I finally found the liners lying behind a box that was supposed to contain lighters, but really contained a half used can of Crisco.
I then returned to the kitchen and was about to start lining the cupcake container when he walked in. He was carrying and orange water bottle and was presumably just there to get water, but upon seeing me, he walked over to the island.
“What are you baking?” He asked me as he propped himself up on the island with one hand and played with his black earring with the other.
“ It’s a surprise,” I said as I started to line the muffin pan.
“Yeah, but I want in on the surprise”, he replied.
“Fine, I’ll tell you, but first I need to make the frosting. Will you get me some powdered sugar?” I asked him as I finished lining the containers.
I began to pour the thick yellow liquid out into the tin. I did this same pattern for all three tins and then put them in the oven. After setting the timer for 30 minutes, I realized that he had not come back with the powdered sugar yet. I walked into the backroom and when I opened the door, a cloud of what seemed like white smoke hit my face. I opened my mouth and realized that it tasted sweet. When I opened my eyes, I saw him standing there. His purple tee-shirt was now completely white and he gave me a very guilty look.
“I had a bit of an accident,” he said laughing a little and then coughing as he inhaled more of the powder.
“I can see that,” I said smiling back at him.
I walked past him and grabbed another pack of powdered sugar. I then walked right back out again. He attempted to follow me, leaving a trail in his wake.
“Stop!” I said, turning around frantically.
“What?” He replied.
“Go back into the back room, and shake off.” I said pointing towards the door.
I grabbed a broom and dustpan and then followed him into the back. He began to shake off his head over the floor and millions of tiny particles flew out of his brown locks. He then began to take his shirt off.
“What are you doing?” I asked, perplexed.
“There’s so much powdered sugar on my shirt, I have to get it off,” he replied.
“Well not in here, it’s not sanitary.” I said pulling the edge of his shirt back down over his gorgeous stomach.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said, smiling at me as he pulled the rest of it off.
When he brought his elbow back he hit the spice rack and something fell to the ground with a thud. A small brown cloud now merged with the white one.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I said, as I leaned down to pick up his latest mess.
It was a bottle of cinnamon. I dusted it off and laughed to myself. Cinnamon Sugar is what I called him when I talked to my best friend about him.  It’s because he used to be so sweet like sugar, but he was tan and kind of spicy like cinnamon too. Once I had placed it back on the shelf I turned around to see him standing there trying to shake out the residual sugar from his shirt. I finished sweeping the floor and saw that he had failed to get the majority of the sugar out of the fabric.
“Got any ideas on how to get this out?” He asked me.
“Nope.” I said and I started to undo my apron.
“Here” I said, and I handed it to him.
“What’s this for?” He asked, his lowered his brow, which was still covered in powdered sugar.
“If you think I’m letting you take that messy shirt, back into the kitchen I have to clean, then you’re crazy,” I said.
He put the apron on and then asked me, “What do you think? Is it a good look for me?”
“I could do with a little less powder, but yeah, not bad,” I replied coyly.
I then walked back out into the kitchen, him following in my footsteps. I opened a package of powdered sugar and put it into my new mixing bowl.
“Would you mind washing these for me?” I asked him, pointing him towards the dirty dishes I had made during my earlier baking. 
“No problem,” he said and he took them over to our dish area.
I put the sugar in and then added the milk and the butter. I decided to hand mix the frosting as well. There was no use in dirtying a mixer for something I could easily do on my own. I picked up the vanilla and added a splash. I then started to stir the mixture thoroughly, making sure there were no chunks as I did so. A few seconds later, the timer went off.
“Would you grab me some oven mitts?” I called over to him as I went to turn off the timer.
He threw me a pair and I took each of the trays out of the oven. I then obtained a fork and started prying each of the cupcakes out of the tin, trying not to burn myself. He walked over to the fan that was running in the kitchen and lifted the apron so that he could cool of his stomach. It was admittedly very hot in the kitchen. Once I had all the cupcakes onto a circular tray and went over and joined him.
“It’s hella hot in here,” he said to me.
“Yeah, I noticed,” I said, taking in the beautiful image of his sweaty chest in front of the fan.
Once I had gotten my fill of cool air, I went and got a knife. Then I returned to the cupcakes. I dipped my knife into the frosting and began to spread the white mixture on top of the top of one of the cupcakes. I repeated this process several times, placing the frosted cupcakes onto a white dinner plate. He came over to me and dipped a finger into the frosting.
“Mhmm this is really good,” he said, going for another fingers worth.
“Here’s a spoon,” I said, swatting his hand away.
“How did you know that I would need a spoon?” He asked giving me his adorable smile.
“I know you, and I knew you would like this,” I said.
“Yeah, do I get to know the surprise yet?”
“Uhm yeah, taste this,” I said, handing him one of the frosted cupcakes.
He chewed it for a while and said, “It kind of tastes like lemon meringue pie.”
“That was the plan,” I said with a nervous smile.
He put the cupcake down immediately.
“You’re pathetic,” he said shaking his head at me.
“Excuse me?” I said, putting down the frosting knife.
“You think you can just make me cupcakes and bat your eyes and that then I’ll fall in love with you,” he said in an exasperated voice.
“What would make you think that these cupcakes were for you?” I said, my voice starting to sound defensive.
“You know that lemon meringue is my favorite pie, then you tell me that there is this big surprise, are you trying to tell me this is a coincidence?” He said glaring at me.
“No, but are you really yelling at me for trying to make you cupcakes?” I replied
He turned and picked up his still sugar covered shirt.
“No, I’m yelling at you because you are trying to manipulate me into falling in love with you,” He said.
“No, what I have done is made you something I knew you would like because you are my friend, but you’ve made your point. I think you should go,” I said, my face was starting to heat up and I could feel tears coming on.
“No, I need you to understand that I don’t love you. I never did love you, I never will love you, in fact, I probably will never care strongly about you at all,” he said as he took off his apron.
“Ok, now will you leave?” I said my throat catching as I did so. I went back to frosting cupcakes as a way to hide from the emotions I was feeling.
“No, I need you to tell me you’re not going to pull this s*** anymore,” he said.
“You need to leave now, or so help me,” I said, on the brink of tears.
“Not until you promise me,” he said starting to walk towards me.
“Go to hell!” I screamed at him.
I had hit my emotional breaking point and before I even knew what I was doing I had thrown the cupcakes I was frosting at him. It hit him right on the collarbone and then fell flat to the floor, leaving a circle of white frosting on his body. He opened his mouth to speak again and my eyes widened. I grabbed another cupcake and held it up in the air, threateningly. He decided that it was probably in his best interest to leave and as he walked out the kitchen door I screamed at him “I hope you liked your cupcakes!”
I then fell to the floor, being unable to hold in my tears any longer. I sat there for a moment, gasping for breath between long sobs. After what felt like hours I got back up, and tried to regain my composure. I went to the back, and got a washrag. I then returned to the spot where the cupcake had landed. As I leaned down to pick up the crumbs it had left behind, a single silent tear ran down my cheek.

My head was spinning, and not just because of the office chair I found myself spinning around in. His hat was on my head and the smell of cheap vodka on my breath. I had never been drunk before and thus did not know how to handle myself. I had just left the party maybe 20 minutes before. It was a small event for a friend that I had not planned on attending, but my inhibitions were lowered and all I really wanted to do was see him.
I had walked through the doors and seen him sitting on one of the tables laughing with a group of friends. The people I had been drinking with tried to talk to me, but I was focused only on him. I walked straight towards him and sat down next fluttering my eyelashes.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he replied. He took his hat, which he had professionally embroidered with his last name and placed it in his lap.
“You should leave it on, it perpetuates the image you’re going for,” I said.
“And what image would that be?” He asked.
“Well I was assuming mainstream bad ass, but correct me if I’m wrong,” I replied. I knew what I was saying, but I would never have said it without the help of the alcohol.
He laughed throwing his head back so that when he replied his hair was in his eyes. He was wearing something he referred to as a “bro-tank” that emphasized his biceps. He was clearly oblivious to my inebriated state, but most of the room was.
“I guess I wasn’t really thinking about my image too much,” he replied.

I reached down and flirtily pried the hat out of his hands. I brushed back my own hair in the motion I so often did when I was around him and placed the hat on my head. I ironically positioned it so that it was on a tilt.
“Do I pull it off?” I asked, mostly joking.
“Uhm, I think you might want to stick to scarves,” he replied.
I slapped his arm playfully. The two girls I had been with earlier came and found me. They whispered in my ear that they thought we should leave just in case people started to suspect we were drunk. It was a big no-no to drink at the school we attended and so I agreed. I got up and started to walk away with them.
“Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?” He said, indicating his hat.
“Find me later,” I said and I turned back to follow the girls out.
I stopped spinning when I heard the bloop of a new message coming in on my Facebook page. I righted myself and tried to focus my eyes on the text in front of me. The girls had left me there swearing they would come back for me. The message was from him. It was simple. He had just typed my name. I looked at it for a full thirty seconds trying to figure out what he meant by it.
Hi. I’m drunk and scared; will you please come sit with me? I wrote back. Tears started to well up in my eyes and I did not know why. I gripped his hat and laid it out in front of me. The tears made it a blur of black and purple and the letters came together in some sort of illegible font. I waited for his reply. Minutes passed and I started spinning again. Finally I heard that familiar sound of a message coming in.
No, I can’t. We have to be in the dorm. Where is my hat?

My hear fell. I knew full well we did not have to be in the dorm for twenty more minutes. He was using an excuse to avoid seeing me. He did not care that I was scared and alone. I expected him to be my sober knight in shining armor and instead I got a cowardice self-serving ass. I thought about reading him the riot act, but I felt more defeated than angry. Instead I wrote back to him.
It’s funny that all you cared about was your hat. Goodnight.
I sat back down and realized that something had changed. The game of cat and mouse I had been playing had ended. It is hard to play games when one party seems inept at realizing they are playing. I blew the hair out of my eyes and watched as a tear fell onto his prized hat. He’d never know how often I’d cried for him, he’d never know that I was drinking because I thought he would come to my rescue; he’d never know that he had won. 
This night left me with many questions. I asked myself why he did not care enough to come make sure I was ok. I asked myself what he had wanted when he messaged me, as he is not usually one to message first. I asked myself what was so special about this hat. On this night the most important of my questions was answered. After this encounter I knew that the answer to the question would we end up together was a resounding no, but with a whole year to challenge the fates I sat back and thought let the games begin.

I combed my hair, not even pausing to wince as I went through a particularly nasty knot. Frantically looking for my phone, I threw pillows around dorm room and saw the tell tale blue sticking out beneath the cushion. I pulled it out, continuing to comb, and started dialing the only person who would realize how exciting this was for me. The phone rang once, twice, I squeezed it tighter, as if that would make the likelihood of her answering greater, three times, finally she picked it up.
“Hello,” she drawled out in her British accent.
“Hey, so, you’re never going to believe it, but he said yes,” I blurted out, faster then even possibly understandable.
“What are you talking about,” she replied.
“He finally agreed to go off campus with me, but the thing is, we need a ride,” I said in a pleading and desperate tone.
“Really, that’s quite a change, yes, I’ll meet you out front in five,” she said and she hung up.
Ecstatic, I opened my bedroom drawer and leafed through it to find all the quarters I had stashed there in case I needed to go out. It had been a long time since he had even wanted to me in a room alone with me, let alone a room off of the campus where our boarding school was located. I was not going to let anyone ruin this opportunity for me. I pulled on a blue and white patterned over shirt, and rushed back to the main building.
I entered the building to find him sitting on the couch waiting for me. He was wearing light wash blue jeans, a white shirt with green stripes that I had given him years ago, and a pair of sunglasses designed to make him look cooler then he actually was. He stood as I entered.
“Ready to go?” He asked.
“Yes, just let me check on our ride,” I said, slightly out of breath from my run over.
I walked into the hallway just in time to see her coming through the doorway of her office.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Yes, just let me grab the keys,” she said.
I walked back to him and said “she’s just grabbing the keys.”
“Sweet, should we wait outside? It’s finally getting warm again,” he said.
“Sure,” I replied, smiling.
It had been so long since I had thought of us as a we. In the darkest of times I had to remind myself that he didn’t care about me the way I wanted him too. He would never love me, but it seemed like that was behind us now, a blur of screaming, silence, and tension slowly dissolving over the last couple months.
We stepped out into the sun and I could feel it instantly embrace my body. As each ray rained down on me I was reminded of what a difficult winter it had been. The iciness came at a time where I was already dealing with the frigid loss of my latest failed love ploy. Though I was still dealing with the scars of that, it was nice to feel the sun on my skin and know that I had made it through the darkest times, and that there was light ahead.
“So, have you heard back from any colleges?” I asked him.
“Yeah, three so far, what about you?” He replied.
“So far I’ve been accepted into six,” I replied.
“Damn, sounds like all your years of hard work at all costs finally paid off,” he said.
“Yeah, but I still have seven more to hear back from, so I’m still playing the waiting game,” I replied.
“Your mother took the car,” she said to me as she walked up to where we stood in the parking lot.
My heart sunk immediately. There was nothing more that I wanted in this moment was to have this experience with him. Now that we were finally on good terms, I wanted to solidify it with something fun, and what is more fun than ice cream.
“Uhm, can we talk a school vehicle?” I asked her.
“I’ll go check to see if there are any on campus,” she said and started walking back to the main building.
“Why is nothing ever simple,” I said, turning to him.
“That’s a good motto for life,” he responded laughing at me.
“May I see those for a second?” I asked, pointing to his sunglasses.
“Sure,” he said, handing them to me. As his skin grazed mine, I was surprised at how soft his palms were. Far less callused and gruff then his personality had become over the time I had known him. There was a comforting quality to it. I took them from him and put them over my dark blue eyes. The area around me turned sepia toned and I looked directly at him.
“Do I look like a classic Californian now?” I asked him, referring to my blonde hair, blue eyes, and hotshot personality.
He laughed for a moment before saying “I know you’re from Cali, but there is nothing Californian about you.”
“First of all, only people from Cali can call it Cali,” I said jokingly.
“Second of all, how am I not Californian?” I finished.
“ I don’t know, you just don’t have the self-centeredness I associate with Californians,” he said shrugging.
“Thanks,” I said handing the glasses back to him.
The car pulled up and I got in the backseat with him.
“I guess I’m just the chauffer then,” she said from the front seat.
“So, are you thinking you might actually go to college now?” I asked him.
“Uhm, I don’t know, I’m not supper excited about another four years of school, but I don’t know what else I would do,” he said.
“I mean, you could take community college classes at night and then get a job during the day or something,” I said.
“Yeah, but I also don’t know if I want to work,” he said snickering.
“Haha, well you still have some time,” I replied.
“I think you should go to college, I just think that in the future, you will look back on it and think it was a good decision, but that could just be the way I was raised,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s the direction I’m leaning,” he said.
It was only about a four-minute ride to the local ice cream shop. When we arrived, she parked the car and said “Text me when you want to be picked up.”
“Thanks,” we said in unison.
I opened my car door and then waited for him to exit his. We walked towards the ice cream shop slowly, enjoying the fresh air on our faces. The pink building was surrounded on the outside by tables with tilted umbrellas sticking out of their middles. We walked up the ramp that led to the entrance. I tripped slightly and stumbled, but did not fall.
“Are you sure there open?” He asked me.
“Yeah, there pretty much always open,” I replied, trying to seem knowledgeable.
We stepped closer to the door and he tried to open it. My heart sunk as it stuck and he pulled back on the door handle several more times. He then gave me a look that reinforced our new life motto. Why is nothing ever simple? Then I saw the sign in the window written in small neat handwriting and placed on the door in lime green paper. “Back in a minute,” it said. I was pointing it out to him when we heard a voice from behind us.
“I’m a coming,” the shop owner said as she bustled up the ramp.
We moved out of her way as she took out a key ring and unlocked the door. I held it open for him and he entered the air-conditioned room, turning his attention immediately to the menu.
“What do you usually get here?” We said, again in unison.
We laughed at how in sync we were. I turned my gaze to the floor before looking back up at him expectantly.
“Uhm, I usually get a vanilla and coconut shake,” he said.
“Nice, I like the chocolate cherry coke,” I replied.
We told the women behind the counter that those were what we wanted and stood chatting while she made them, the whir of the ice cream machine behind us.
“So let me get this straight. You invited me out for ice cream with no intention of actually ordering ice cream?” He said grinning at me in that c***y you-make-no-sense way he usually did.
“I don’t really eat ice cream,” I replied, shrugging off his expression.
“So, why are we here?” He replied. He didn’t see unhappy that we were, but curious as to my motives for bringing him to an ice cream shop without ordering ice cream.
“Well, I wanted to spend time with you off campus. You know, just chat, like the old days. Ice cream is merely a formality,” I explained.
“I feel like I could write a book out of the ridiculous quotes I get from having these chats with you. Did you really just say, “ice cream is merely a formality?” He chuckled.
“Yes, ice cream is a formality. A pretense for which we may find ourselves preoccupied doing something else instead of just sitting down to talk,” I said.
“I guess that makes sense,” he said.
“Plus, doesn’t ice cream make chats so much more fun? Imagine if I had brought ice cream to all those little chats we used to have about us,” I said both nostalgically and poking fun at our past. I was trying to be careful not to toe the line to close to making him uncomfortable.
“If memory serves I think I may have ended up with ice cream thrown at me more often then not if you had brought it to our past talks,” he said.
I rolled by eyes at him. The women handed us our order and I paid her all in quarters. We took a seat at one of the tables indoors that was a ghastly shade of Pepto-Bismol pink. I looked around more to see that the entire room was decorated with pink. There was also a fake rose sticking out of a purple vase on our table.
“Valentines Day,” I said to him, gesturing around the room.
“So, what’s new,” I asked
His eyes widened and he looked taken aback. He stuttered for a moment before saying “you know I’m bad at small talk, can you ask a more specific question?”
“Sure, what are you doing for spring break?”
“Skiing”
“Are you excited for that?”
“Yeah, if I could live on a ski slope, I would.”
“Awesome”
There was a pause for a second where we both just nodded in acknowledgement of each other.
I smiled and reached up to grab a piece of my hair, twisting it around my finger.
“This is the part of the conversation where the other person usually asks a question back,” I leaned in and whispered to him jokingly.
“Oh yeah, duh. So, what’s new?” He asked.
“I’ve been watching a lot of Revolution,”
“Oh, cool. Like the revolutionary war?”
“Nope, it’s a TV series about a giant power outage that basically makes it so no one has electricity all over the world,” I replied.
“Sounds interesting,”
“Yeah, I think it is really cool concept. What if the power everywhere just went out right now? It would change so many ways we go about our every day lives,”
“Wow, the show questions all that?”
“Yeah, I bet you would like it. It seems up your ally.”
“Imagine if we lived in a power outage. I don’t think I could deal without my music.”
“You and your music. Have you been playing the guitar a lot recently?” I asked, still twisting my hair around my finger.
“Uhm, yeah. I actually joined the band on campus. You know it?”
I tensed up a little and straightened in my seat, visibly becoming uncomfortable.
“Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot that he was the one who started it,”
“It’s alright, if I tense up every time someone mentioned something related to him I would spend my whole life tense,” I replied.
“How are you guys doing now, did you work everything out?” He asked.
I was surprised at the amount of sympathy he was showing me. It was uncharacteristic for him to ask me about drama, especially relationship drama as the majority of it had involved him. I guess he was just glad to be off the hot seat.
“Oh it’s a long story. As far as I’m concerned though we’re done. He’s been treating me poorly the last couple of weeks. I guess it just wasn’t going to work to be friends,”
“Yeah, it’s hard to get to that place.
“Right? It took us three years to get to this place. I don’t have that kind of time with him,” I said.
There was a silence. It was nice to be able to talk about this with him. He was really the only person who could relate to the situation fully, and may be able to provide some insight.
“You handled it better then he did,” I said.
“Handled what better?” He asked, not following me.
“Me telling you I loved you,” I said.
We both straightened ourselves up a little, but there was not the tension in the air that may have been expected. It was still light and friendly.
“How so?”
“Well, you actually wanted to work through it, he wanted to pretend it never happened.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that,” he said.
There was another pause before he said “he’s stupid for not caring if he loses you as a friend.”
It was one of the nicest things he had ever said to me, and I could tell he had tried hard to think of something to make me feel better. I took another sip of my drink
“Thanks,” I said and I stared into his eyes.
For the first time, when I looked into them, I saw him. I saw who he was, whom he had become, instead of the person I had made him out to be when I had fallen for him. I took of my puppy love glasses and saw the friend that he had turned out to be.
“Can you believe we only have three more months of school before we leave this place?” I asked him.
“No, it feels like just yesterday we started freshmen year,” he replied.
“Yeah, except I’m a lot more cynical now then I was then,” I replied.
“You and me both,” he said laughing.
“We were so young and naïve back then,” I said
“Not to mention stupid,” he said
“I was a lot of things freshmen year, but stupid wasn’t one of them,”
“I barley remember most of it,”
“That might be a good thing,” I replied jokingly.
“It might be,” he agreed, also laughing.
“But looking back from then to now, who would have ever thought we would end up here?” I said, looking around.
He sucked up the last sip of his milkshake and it made that loud slurping noise of air entering the straw.
“I don’t know. I always kind of hoped we could get to his place?” He said nonchalantly.
“Me too,” I said.
“Well, we should probably text her to come pick us up so we can get back to school,” I said.
“I guess we better,” he said, standing up.
“This was fun, thanks for coming,” I said, reaching for his cup and then throwing them both in the garbage can.
“Yeah, it was. You should show me that Revolution show sometime when were on campus, you know, if you ever need a break from dealing with him,” he said.
“You better clear your schedule then?” I said half sighing, half laughing.
This was a revolutionary concept to me in itself. Having him as an ally instead of an enemy made me so much happier then I had been in a while. I had been so blinded by hate, and hurt, and regret that I had let it cloud my vision. I had let it turn the lights out on our friendship as if our emotional fuse boxes had been fried. But I was starting to see the lights come back on again, one flicker at a time until the entire country had regained power.

As were protruded down the stairs together you could hear the clack of shoes against the steps, his clunky long legged jaunt, skipping steps at a time, and my patient and graceful one stair at a time approach. The halls of our boarding school were quiet other then our footsteps. This was no surprising given it was ten in the evening. He reached the bottom first and waited impatiently.
“Can you hurry up, there just stairs,” he said harshly.
“May I remind you of my history with stairs,” I said calmly focusing on the task at hand.
“Oh, that’s right, falling down stairs is like a hobby for you isn’t it,” he said sarcastically.
“I think it’s proven to be one of the hobbies I’m better at,” I said as I stepped off the last stare and smiled at him.
We walked into the student social area of the school. It wasn’t fancy, white cinderblock walls, old tattered green carpet, dim lighting that always seemed to be going out, but it was enough.  There were three gaming tables lined up in the room, a pool table, a foosball table, and a ping-pong table. He walked over to the right hand wall, where the student mailboxes were all aligned and opened his. He stood there for a second perplexed before mumbling, “Someone took the ping-pong paddles and balls.”
I stood their for a second looking guilty before he turned around and looked me in the eyes. As they bore into me, I found myself helpless to resist telling him the truth.
“Actually it wasn’t somebody, it was me,” I said indignantly.
“You went into my mailbox?” He said, not necessarily annoyed, but surprised.
“Don’t be silly, that’s illegal,” I said
He furled his brow at me.

“I had someone do it for me,” I finished with a smile.
“Why?” he asked.
“Well last time I checked they were my paddles,” I replied.
“Yeah, but I was using them,” he said.
“And feel free to, it just made me more comfortable to have them in mine,” I said.
He shrugged before tossing me one of the paddles. It hit the table with the thud and he gave me a really-you-couldn’t-catch-that look.
“Sorry, I’m more used to throwing things then catching things,” I replied.
“Trust me, I know. Remember the apple?” He said, referring to the time he had pissed me off enough that I had threw my half eaten snack at him. 
“Ok, but to be fare you had that one coming to you,” I said.
“I guess I did,” he replied laughing before getting into his game stance.
“Are we starting with Ping?” He asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
He served the ball and I returned it. It went back and forth and back and forth until he hit it into the net.
“Your serve,” he said.
“Game to eleven?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied.
I served the ball to him and he returned it with ease. We were evenly matched most of the time. Sometimes he would get to c***y and try to spike the ball, this almost always led to him hitting it into the net. The point continued until I let the ball shoot past me, over the edge of the table. It hit the floor and rolled six feet away under a table. I walked over and picked it up before tossing it back to him. The next point went almost exactly the same.
“Why do you always make me play on this side?” I asked him, as I walked over to retrieve the ball again.
“Because that’s the winning side,” he said.
“Mhhmm, are you sure is has nothing to do with the fact that I have to walk to get the ball every time you miss the table whereas you don’t have to walk at all?” I said, a cutesy, know-it-all smile on my face.
“Nope, that’s not it at all,” he said. There was a glint in his blue eyes that told me he was lying, but I already knew that.
“Well then I guess I’ll just have to assume it’s that you like seeing me lean down,” I said in my best self-absorbed tone.
“And why would I like that?” He asked.
“Because my ass looks amazing in these jeans,” I said, running my fingers over the denim as to demonstrate.
“I guarantee, I have never thought about your ass, not today not ever,” he said smiling.
“Well that makes one of us,” I said in my head laughing at my own wit. Just because we’d moved on from the whole me telling him I was in love with him fiasco, didn’t mean he wasn’t still eye candy. I threw the ball back to him and he served it to me. I managed to return the first one, but he got me with a quick shot to the corner making the score me two and him one. He served again and after a long rally, I won. He threw me back the ball and I served it to him. I won again making it me four him one. I threw the ball to him. It bounced and he caught it, but immediately threw it back to me. I looked at him quizzically.
“It’s still your serve,” he said snickering.
I looked at him suspiciously.
“Remember how bad you are at knowing whose serve it is? Just trust me,” he replied.
I was so tired and knew I wasn’t thinking straight. I squinted my eyes at him to make it look like I didn’t believe him, and his widened as if I had just challenged him.
“Fine, don’t believe me,” he said exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air.
“I’m kidding, of course I trust you,” I said letting my guard down a little.
I served the ball to him and he hit it back in a way I just could not return making it me four him two. He got into his serving stance, paddle in one hand, ball in the other, legs spread apart and leaning slightly to the left. He started to move the ball in circles around the paddle in some sort of distracting dance. When he finally hit the ball I had no idea where it was and he hit it right past me. He did the same move on his next serve winning another point. It was now tied four to four. 
“Wow, I guess I found your weakness,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe. When you move like that and I’m this tired, it’s like there are three of you, and I can’t even handle one of you,” I said snarkily.
“Hey!” He said slightly laughing.
Realizing I might have gone over the line I said, “I think that was somehow a compliment,” raising my eyebrows in an attempt to look innocent.
“Saying you can’t handle me is a compliment,” he said, still poking fun.
“When are you going to learn just not to question the things I say,” I said, laughing too.
I served my first point and he won it after a long rally. On the second one I thought I would try a page out of his book. I took the ball and started to move it around the paddle. I put it on one side, then the other while his eyes darted, following it’s every motion. I finally served it and it went right into the net.
“You know it’s supposed to go over the net, right?” He said.
I put my pointer finger to my lips and shushed him before going back to my normal serve, winning the point. We were still tied, but this time at five to five. He started to serve again, using his same dancing motions. I managed to return both points making the score me seven him five. I looked at him for a second. He could tell how tired I was, so instead of chastising me for not knowing whose serve it was he just threw me the ball. I served it and he hit it back excellently. It was one of those rare times that his spikes actually hit my side of the table. I hit it back and it flew over the table and hit him in the chest, bouncing off of him and onto the floor.
“I think it’s supposed to hit the table,” he said mockingly.
“What are you talking about? I hit exactly what I was aiming for!” I said, a smile plastered on my face.
He shook his head slightly. I served to him again and we were rallying for a minute before he tried to spike it again and it flew right into the net. I opened my mouth with an expression indicating I was going to say something cheeky, but I was stopped when he said, “don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
“I know you. You had three brilliant lines prepared for when I failed, but why don’t you save them for another time,” he said.
“Well actually you don’t know me at all. I had four brilliant lines prepared and two sub par ones ready depending on how bad you were going to play today,” I replied smiling as I threw the ball back to him so he could serve.
“My mistake,” he said sarcastically as he served.
I won both points meaning that it was now still his serve, and game point.
“Hold on a second, this is getting serious,” he said as he started to take off his blue and white jacket.
“What do you think, does the shirt need to go too?” He asked me, as he started lifting up his also blue and white shirt.
“Are you trying to distract me with your abs?” I asked him, a look of contempt on my face.
“I don’t know? Is it working?” He asked me.
“No,” I said. I knew in my head that this was a lie. I really wanted him to take his shirt of, but this was a good friendship we had going now, and I didn’t want to complicate things by getting more attracted to him again.
He let his shirt fall back over his chest and served the ball. It was a solid serve to the right hand corner and I just could not get it.
“Are you sure it didn’t work?” He asked jokingly.
“Check the score funny guy. I’m still up by three,” I said.
He served again and after a long rally, he hit it to the corner and won another point, making it me ten him eight.
“Looks like I’m making a comeback,” he said.
“Yeah, well I’ll make sure it’s short lived,” I said before he served the ball.
I did just that. He gave me the opportunity to spike the ball and I did so. He was helpless, and the game was over. He threw the paddle down before looking up to me, a look of masculine pride on his face and saying “rematch?”
“Not tonight,” I said yawning.
His face instantly turned pouty and brooding. I laughed a little bit at it before saying “I’m sure we will be playing this game many nights to come, don’t worry.”
“Tomorrow night at nine?” He asked me.
“It’s a date,” I said, before realizing the implications. I trailed off for a second before following it up with “well you know what I mean.”
He rolled his eyes at me before reaching out to grab the paddle out of my hand and going to put them in my mailbox.
“Go ahead and keep them in yours,” I said.
“No, it’s ok,” he replied.
I walked over to him and grabbed them out of his hands, reaching to open his mailbox and saying, “I insist.”
“Here, why don’t you keep one in yours, and I’ll keep one in mine,” he said placing them in that arrangement.
I nodded my approval before we turned to exit the lounge. He grabbed his jacket and we got to the stairs once again. He started his lumbering steps again before turning to me and saying, “Watch your step,” and with that, he disappeared around the corner turning into nothing but footsteps in the distance.

I had walked away from him once and for all. Sure, there had been times where he had made me angry and I said that I was done, but I had never meant it. This time I had told him that I needed for him to change, I needed for this friendship to be different if it was going to work. I told him that the way he was treating me was hurting me. I told him all of this in an email. He had read it and not addressed it. That Monday night I finally wrote to him on Facebook. “Last chance to say or do something.” He read it at 9:48 and didn’t respond. That’s when I said I was done. I was wrong.
It was difficult to avoid him given the fact that we attended a boarding school of 40 students and only 12 of them were actually on campus right then. I was doing a good job of it though. That morning at breakfast I had been cold, ignoring anything that he said and making as little eye contact as possible. It was almost relieving in a way. If he wasn’t going to try and fix the situation, then I didn’t need to try either.
I was walking out of the Boy’s Dormitory when I heard him call my name. I kept walking, hoping he would take the hint. When I heard footsteps behind me, I sped up slightly, not really knowing where I was going, but trying to get away. I heard him panting slightly behind me. Once he was close enough that I couldn’t pretend to not hear him anymore I was forced to acknowledge his presence.
“What?” I said in a tone icier then I knew I could make.
“We should talk,” he said.
“We don’t have time,” I said and I started to walk away.
“But we can make time,” he said, there was a pang of real emotion in his voice that made me want to take him seriously, but it didn’t make up for him taking this long to address the issue.
“Maybe later,” I said.
“No, I have a few things that I need to say now,” he said.
I thought about saying no, but I couldn’t do it. I guess deep down I really did still love him, even though I told myself I didn’t. I had found a distraction, another guy I thought would make it so I could forget about him. Once I had told him that I loved him, and he had said he would never love me, I knew that we couldn’t be friends, at least not for a while. Fast forward a year and here we were.
“Fine, where?” I asked.
“Back in the dorm?” He asked me.
I didn’t reply but just started walking back in the direction we had come from. We walked up the stairs I had fallen down several times over the four years I had lived there. I felt a little like a prisoner being escorted to my cell. When we got to the common area I sat down on an uncomfortable blue couch and folded my legs beneath me. He took his seat in a red armchair and propped himself up, leaning forward, and his elbows on his knees.
“So, I read your email,” he said.
I looked at him expectantly as if to tell him he was going to need to say more then that before I felt obligated to respond.
He cleared his throat before continuing “I think we need to have a much longer conversation about things later on, but there are just a few things I wanted to say in the meantime.”
“We really don’t have time for this right now,” I said, starting to get up.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
“Fine,” I said, settling back into my chair.
“I realize that there are times that I treat you like s***,” he said, “and that is probably not going to change.”
My eyes became dangerously wide.
“But I want you to know that I truly do value you,” he finished his thought.
He looked very proud of himself for having told me this. I thought about screaming at him. Did he really think that telling me that he valued me changed anything. You tell a customer that they are valued. You don’t tell that to someone who hates you to make them stop hating you. Instead of saying any of this however I replied “thank you, I’m glad to know you value me.” I said this in a very sarcastic tone, but he didn’t seem to recognize that.
“No problem, now lets have that longer conversation tonight so we can actually work all this out,” he said.
“That sounds great,” I said and I walked out of the room.
I highly doubted we would actually have the conversation he was talking about. He didn’t like talking about feelings. He probably would forget he suggested it. If we did have that conversation, there was a chance I could forgive him, and I was open to that, but in the meantime, at least I knew I was valued, and isn’t that what everyone truly wants?

I got out the eggs and threw them into the silver mixing bowl, avoiding the little puffs of flour that were wafting out over the edges. He had yet to arrive, but I couldn’t really blame him. It was 6:58. He had told me he wanted to make crepes. I asked him if he knew how to make crepes and he had shaken his head. This is when I offered to help. 
We were supposed to make breakfast for about 15 people who were still on the campus of the boarding school we attended. I told him that in order to make crepes and get everything else done, I was going to get started at 6:30. He had taken this to mean that if he got there at 7:00 I would already have a good start on things and could direct him from there.
While the batter thickened, I walked over to the cups and pulled two of them out for us. I then opened the two bottles of coconut-mocha iced Frappuccino’s pouring half in one glass and half in the other. I then downed the other bottle. I figured if I was going to deal with him this early in the morning in the state the two of us were in, I should be caffeinated when he got there.
He had said we were going to talk about all of our problems; that we would sit down and discuss them all and finally get to the bottom of it. I was skeptical at the time, and two days later I was even more so. I knew that I shouldn’t even be helping him this morning until we had figured it all out, but the image of him trying to make crepes alone at 7:00 in the morning made me sad, and so here I was standing fully made up with eggs already made and on the stove to stay hot and crepe batter almost completely finished.
I was in the backroom getting heavy whipping cream when he came in. I couldn’t hear him over the Avril Lavigne I was blaring over the kitchen speakers. He came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped slightly, dropping the bottle of cream back into the milk cooler. He was wearing a pink tank top with a black pocket and a pair of black plaid shorts. He had obviously just woken up and had a very impressive brown cowlick sticking up from the left side of his head.
“Good morning,” I said, amused by his appearance.
“Morning,” he mumbled back.
I picked up the bottle of cream again and headed back into the main kitchen, him following in my footsteps.
“Here is a cup of coffee, I don’t like you when you’re not caffeinated,” I said, handing him one of the cups while taking a sip from the other.
He looked suspiciously at it for a moment before saying “you didn’t poison it, did you?”
“No, but if you had made me wait fifteen more minutes I was going to,” I said.
“Cool, what do you want me to do?” He asked.
“Well first of all, I bet you would be much more happy with your music playing, so go ahead and switch that, and then if you could start making the potatoes that would be great,” I said.
“Ok, I’ve got this special recipe I use for potato spices that you are going to love,” he replied excitedly.
“Also, you’ve got a little bit of bedhead, you might consider running some water over your head,” I said.
He rolled his eyes at me.
I went and got the crepe batter and started to pour it into the pan. I had also never made crepes before, but I had far more experience baking then he did, and I knew I could figure it out if I tried hard enough. The first few were thicker then I would have liked, but after a little while I was creating thin and perfectly fried crepes that resembled the ones shown on the recipes page. I was reaching the end of the batter when a fork appeared in front of my face.
“Try these potatoes?” He said to me.
I denied his attempt to feed me and took the fork out of his hand. I chewed the potatoes methodically and tried to identify the different spices found in them. I could taste salt and paper, and what seemed to be basil. They were quite good.
“There okay,” I replied, handing the fork back to him.
“They are way better then just ok,” he replied, sounding wounded.
“Sorry, there the best potatoes I’ve ever had,” I corrected myself before returning to my work.
I was hoping he would catch the hint that I was frustrated with his lack of commitment to the conversation we needed to have. I had told him that we couldn’t be friends the way things were, it was just too confusing. He would treat me very nicely one day and then the next as if I didn’t exist. We had been through the emotional ringer, culminating in me telling him I loved him and him ignoring me for a couple of months. We had finally found our way back to something you might call normal, but then this cycle started up and I had to draw a line.
I finished the crepes and walked over to get another mixing bowl. He had changed the music to a chiller reggae artist that he liked, but I could never remember the name of. I poured the whipping cream into the mixer and started to add the sugar. He walked over to me and asked what I wanted him to do next. I asked him to set the tables for me and he went off to do that. I then went into the back room in order to melt some chocolate chips. When I got back he was standing in front of my mixing bowl a spatula full of whipped cream in one hand. He put his finger on the tip of it as if getting ready to fling it at me.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.
Apparently he would have. The cold creamy substance hit me directly on the right cheek and splatted across my lips and the floor behind me.
“Let me ask you something. What would give you the inclination that throwing whipped cream at me would be a good idea right now?” I said, my voice dangerously cold.
He was grinning from ear to ear, his cowlick still sticking up and a little whipped cream hiding in the corner of his lips. He shrugged before replying, “we’re friends.”
“Actually, no we’re not,” I said, scraping what I could of the whipped cream on my face off with my fingers.
“What do you mean?” He asked, his grin turning to a look of confusion.
“I mean I told you that I can’t do this friendship the way it is anymore. You said we could talk about it, and then you keep putting it off. Right now were in a sort of emotional limbo that somehow involves me getting up early in the morning and helping you make crepes,” I replied.
I moved forward to turn off the mixer and he moved to the other side of me.
“What can I say that will make you happy?” He asked me.
I thought of several things I wished he would say. “I love you.” “You are way too good to me.” “I need you in my life.” None of these were things he would ever actually say, or at least never mean. I finally decided on what I wanted from him.
“I need you to give me a day and time that we are going to have this conversation. That’s what would make me happy.”
“Ok, how about Saturday,” he said.
“Saturday, perfect. At what time?” I asked.
“Noon,” he replied.
“Ok, Saturday at noon,” I said
“Are you happy now?” He asked me, his face turning back into a grin.
I turned and stuck my hand into the whipped cream, grabbing a small glob of it. I reached up and tussled his course brown hair, using the whipped cream as a kind of gel. He looked down at me confusedly for a second while I admired my handy work. His cowlick was nowhere to be seen.
“Very,” I replied walking over to the microwave with the chocolate chips.
“Will you do me a favor and get me more of those potatoes, they were very good,” I asked.
“Told you,” he said laughing as he walked over to get a bowl.
He may have been a sleep deprived, c***y, ass hole at times, but I knew that if he showed up Saturday at Noon we could work things out. We got breakfast out on time and everybody said that it was a hit.
“Were the dream team of breakfast,” he said to me as we put our dishes away.
“Yeah we are,” I said smiling back at him, “I’m kind of glad I didn’t poison your coffee,” I said as we walked out of the kitchen.

We were supposed to have a conversation about everything ever that had happened between us over the last four years. It was a good idea, one of his few when it came to us. I had written up an itinerary for our conversation to make sure everything was covered. It was scheduled for Noon, but I had a feeling he would forget so at 11:53 I messaged him on Facebook “Do you want me to make coffee for our talk?”
I was going to make coffee regardless because I needed some for what was going to be a very long and emotional meeting for me. He read the message at 12:03 and replied. “Sorry! Completely forgot! Give me 10 minutes, and coffee would be great!” I wasn’t pleased that he had forgotten as I had been anticipating this all week so I could finally be done with it. I poured him a cup of coffee, added the amount of cream I knew he liked, and sat down, making sure the itinerary was in exactly the right order. When he arrived, he was wearing a pair of loose fit jeans, a brown shirt, and a lot of cologne.
“You smell very nice,” I said, pressing the coffee into his hand.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“So, I have our itinerary all written up,” I said, trying to break the ice.
“Of course you do. May I read it?” He asked.
“No, it’s for me, not you,” I said as I sat back down on my green couch, loving the feeling of finally being in control.
“Alright, well, shall we just get right into it?” I asked.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
“So, a couple of ground rules. This conversation isn’t going to be easy for me. I put up a lot of walls when I’m around you so that I don’t get hurt, and I’m about to try and tear a lot of them down, so I need you to pretend that you have emotions for like 45 minutes so that we can actually accomplish something…okay?” I said.
“Sounds good to me,” he replied.
“So, lets start at the beginning. We were really good friends, in fact you were the first real friend I had and that was nice,” I said.
“Yeah, I remember that, why did that stop?” He asked.
“Are you being serious?” I replied.
“Yes, when did it go to s***?” He responded.
“Well, it probably had something to do with that kiss,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right,” he said.
There was a flat line in the conversation for a moment.
“So yes, I kissed you while you were sleeping, but I was on very strong sleeping pills, and we’ve been over this. I think I have apologized a lot for this, but one final time. I’m sorry, and I still haven’t forgiven myself,” I said.
“Well I forgave you a long time ago,” he said.
“That would have been a good thing to tell me,” I replied.
“Oh, yeah, sorry about that,” he said laughing.
“Ok so then we tried to be friends for a while, and it was kind of a rollercoaster. The next big thing probably happened when I told you that I loved you,” I said.
“Yeah, over email,” he finished the sentence for me.
“Would it have made a difference if I had done it in person?” I said.
“No probably not,” he said.
“Alright, so that sucked,” I told him.
“Ok, so where are we on that now?” He asked me.
“Well, have I explained the difference between in love and love yet?” I asked him.
“No, I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Well, I love you, like I care about you a lot and you are very important to me, but I am no longer in love with you,” I said.
“I think I can deal with that,” he replied.
“Ok, well I guess that’s a lot of the past taken care of, do you have anything you want to say about it?” I asked.
“Uhm, I guess I really just want to say that I know you loved me, and that it’s not that you aren’t a cool person, I’m just not into guys,” he said.
“Thank you, that’s good to know,” I replied.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s not you it’s…”
I cut him off.
“You’re not allowed to say what you are about to say,” I told him.
“What was I about to say?” He asked me.
“It’s not you it’s me,” I finished for him.
“Okay, but it’s true,” he said.
“I don’t care, you’re still not allowed to say it,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
“Alright, I guess all there is left to decide is what do we want to do next?” I said.
“Well, because of all of this stuff that has happened, we really don’t know each other very well anymore,” he said.
“Yeah, I would really like to get to know you before we graduate in a month and a half,” I replied.
“And we are about to go on this month long service trip to Bolivia and everything,” he said.
“Well then why don’t we let that be the plan?” I asked him.
“What do you mean?” He said.
“Why don’t we spend the next couple weeks trying to get to know each other,” I explained.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
We sat there for another hour and just talked about our lives, and for the first time I felt like things were actually resolved. Before we left, I gave him a hug, and even when I tried to pull away, he held me there for a few more seconds. The conversation ended up being painless and something we should have done years earlier, but we left that day with a plan that we both felt comfortable with, and I was so happy for that.

I knew it was a bad idea when I wrote it. That is why I put the disclaimer on it. Even before he opened it I was trying to distance myself from the fall out. I sealed the envelope, threw it on his lap and said, “don’t forget to read the disclaimer.” I then walked out of our schools library so quickly one could have thought the letter was a bomb and I was trying to avoid shrapnel.
The one part of my plan I was already beginning to regret was that I had no way of knowing if he had read it or not. We had proven adept at not dealing with issues for three or four months after they had occurred, I could already see him walking up to me on graduation day, less then two months away, and saying “so about that letter?” In all honesty I didn’t know if I wanted him to open it or not.

The disclaimer read:
“This letter brings up ideas that could drastically change our dynamic. As far as I am concerned you may open or not open this letter. I cannot be held responsible for anything that happens as a result of you opening this letter.”
I used a classic manila envelope and wrote the disclaimer on the back. I had then drawn a line for him to sign his name on. On the front, I had carefully written his name in the neatest handwriting I could muster. From the outside it looked so innocent. Envelopes are like clothing for letters. They cover the messages people are too afraid to show on the outside.
I tried my best to be nuanced in what I wrote in the letter itself, but the subject matter made this difficult. I truly did love him. I had made ever ploy I could think of to show him this in caring and wholesome way. I made him coffee in the mornings, brought him his favorite milkshakes whenever I went out for ice cream, tried to help him figure out what he wanted to do with his future, but he wasn’t interested in an emotional connection. That’s when I decided to see if he was interested in a physical one.
This is not to say that I didn’t want to have a physical relationship with him. I very much did. I loved every part of his body and thought he was the most attractive guy I had ever met. For me, the emotional connection was far more important, but after three years I had finally realized I wasn’t going to get that, and so I thought I would cut my losses and try another approach. Besides, it wasn’t like he had women lining up around the block to be with him. I thought that if I could just get at him from this angle, maybe it could develop into something a little bit healthier.
The letter read something along the lines of:
I find you very attractive. I know that you are a man, and men have certain sexual needs. I just want you to know that I am always willing to fulfill these needs for you if you so wish. All I really want to do is make you happy, and since I cannot do that intellectually I feel the only way I can do this is by pleasuring you sexually. Think it over, and then let me know. Also, I would appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone else about this, as it doesn’t paint me in the most positive light.
I wasn’t proud of myself for writing it, but I needed to get it off my chest. I was 95% sure that he would say no, he was after all, very straight, but it didn’t seem fair to me that I had to be the only one with these feelings, and that I wasn’t allowed to share them with him. Once he had the letter, I wasn’t keeping my feelings from him anymore, and I wasn’t forcing them on him either. He had the option of opening it, and as it turned out, he did so.
A few weeks later I received an email from him saying “we should probably talk about that letter at some point.”
“Yeah, we probably should. In person or over email?” I replied.
“In person, are you in your room? I could come over now.” He sent back.
He lived right across the hall from me.
“Come on over.” I replied
I instinctively reached for the comb lying on my desk. If he was going to come over here, I wanted to look better when he did so. I pulled it through my long blonde hair a few times before putting it back down. A few seconds later he knocked on my door and entered, not waiting for me to tell him it was ok to come in. He was wearing jeans, but no shirt.
“Are you kidding me?” I said as he walked in.
“What?” He replied looking taken aback.
“Are you seriously not wearing a shirt right now?” I replied.
“I guess not. Why?” He asked.
“Because your stomach is distracting,” I said.
“Oh, sorry about that. Do you want me to go put on a shirt?” He replied.
“No, I want to get this over with,” I replied.
“Fine, where do you want to start?” He asked.
“Well, you know how I feel. I was pretty open about it in that letter. Why don’t you just tell me what you want to do now,” I said.
“Ok. So first of all, I want to thank you for being so straightforward about this.” He said.
I scoffed. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it.
“What?” He asked, laughing at me.
“Ok. I’m not sure I would call it straightforward. It took me three and a half years and I did it in a letter,” I explained.
“Ok, that’s true,” he said.
“Also, I just want to make sure you don’t plan on yelling at me, or saying anything mean to me at all during this conversation, because I wrote a disclaimer and so I am legally protected from you doing that,” I said, covering my bases.
“That’s true, you did. I signed it too,” he said. He started to try and talk again, but I interrupted him.
“Wait, wait, wait, you actually signed the disclaimer!” I said.
“Yep, I figured if I was going to do this, I might as well do it right,” he said, shifting a little in his seat and laughing at how surprised I was.
“Ok, awesome. Go on,” I replied, calming back down.
“Anyway, thank you for being so straightforward. Secondly, I do find you very attractive, but I’m just way too straight for us to actually do anything,” he said looking up at me to see if I was ok with this or not.
“I get that. I didn’t expect you to say yes, I was just tired of the fact that I’m attracted to you getting in the way of our friendship,” I said.
“That makes a lot of sense. Strangely enough, this doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable around you at all. If anything it makes me feel more comfortable around you,” he said.
“I’m glad,” I replied, smiling.
“I did consider it though,” he said, looking deeper into my eyes, “I wouldn’t have even considered it with most people.”
“Well I’m frankly surprised you even considered it,” I replied, reaching out and patting him on the knee.
“So was I,” he said.
There were a few seconds of silence before I said “so, anything else?”
He stood up and said, “I don’t think so,”
He was halfway out the door before I asked him “Hey. Out of curiosity, what did you think when you read the disclaimer?”
“Honestly, I thought. This must be trouble, but not just any trouble, a special kind of trouble that it seems like only you can provide for me,” he said, laughing at his own cleverness.
“Cool,” I said and I closed the door behind him.
“A special kind of trouble” I thought to myself. I wonder if my signature trouble had a scent to it, maybe like vanilla, or maybe more of a flavor, like coconut. I wondered if I could bottle it up and sell it to the highest bidder. I considered the idea for a moment before coming to the conclusion that it wasn’t me that produced the trouble at all. He brought it out in me, and maybe we were both a little bit to blame, but I couldn’t be held responsible, I had written a disclaimer.

“Do you have the key?”  I asked, leaning down to get a better angle on the lock to our hotel room door.
He frisked his pockets for a second before saying “uhm, no.”
He tried to do it with a straight face, but there was an air of glee underneath his usual sheepish grin that indicated to me he was lying. We had been in Bolivia for two weeks at this point on a month long service trip and had somehow ended up being assigned to a hotel room together.
“You’re cute,” I said snarkily, holding out my hand for the keys.
“I’m cute? Thank you,” he said, not wanting to give up the joke yet.
“Come on, I’m tired. We spent three hours today exploring an old silver mine. I just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep,” I said.
“How are you going to do that without the keys?” He asked me.
At this point he was unable to keep a straight face. I charged at him, driving my fingers into his sides. If there was one thing he hated it was being tickled. It only took him about 3 seconds to give in.
“Ok, ok, here,” he said, handing me the old bronze key.
I stuck it in the lock and the door opened. I walked straight in and sat down on my bed. The room was small, with two twin-sized beds, a dresser, a mirror, a window, and no bathroom. Well it technically did have a bathroom, it just cost quite a bit extra. He had decided the sleeping arrangements. I had originally set my stuff on the bed he now occupied.
“Wait, can I sleep on that one?” He asked when we moved in.
“Sure, why?” I asked, moving my stuff over to the other one.
“Because I don’t want to be in the bed closest to the door,” he replied.
“Ok, why?” I asked growing more and more perplexed.
“Because if someone comes in, they’ll kill you first, and your screaming will wake me up and give me enough time to escape,” he said nonchalantly.
“Charming,” I had replied.
I got into my bed. He yawned loudly from the other side of the room.
“Tired?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“You tried to use my face as a pillow today on the bus,” I told him.
We had a 14 hour bus ride earlier that day. Every five minutes he would jerk his neck back and would hit his head on the window with a sickening thud. Finally put my jacket against the window frame so he wouldn’t give himself a concussion. He apparently didn’t find this very appealing because instead of using the jacket, he readjusted himself so he was leaning on my shoulder. Our height difference apparently didn’t make this very comfortable for him however and I woke up to the feeling of his hair tickling my noise as he rested his head on my face.
“Oh really, sorry about that, but hey, I seem to remember waking up to your head on my shoulder a couple times too,” he said jokingly.
“It’s not my fault that your shoulder is so much more comfortable then Bolivian bus seats,” I said defensively.
“I wasn’t complaining, just observing,” he replied.
“I think I’m going to go take a shower. May I use your towel again?” He asked, starting to strip down.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, grabbing it off of the chair he had left it on to dry and throwing it to him.
“God, this thing is soaked. What did you do to it?” He asked.
“I haven’t done anything to it since you used it last,” I replied.
“Alright, fine. I’ll be back in like 10 minutes,” he said and he walked out the door.
I sighed and leaned back onto my pillow. It was surreal to me how well we were getting along. Just a few weeks before we hadn’t been talking to each other. We weren’t angry or anything of that sort, we just weren’t what you would call friends. I don’t think either one of us really knew how to interact with the other anymore. I had delved into a new hopeless romance with another guy who wanted nothing to do with me, and he had taken after trying to date my best friend.
I had forgotten how much fun I could have when I was with him. It had been a very long time since I had spent this much time with him alone. It was fun seeing how he had changed as a person. He really had become a strong, independent, and intelligent guy when I wasn’t looking. In the last two weeks I had began to fall in love with him all over again, and that was a problem, not only because he would never love me, but I knew it would make leaving him in 9 days all that much harder. Still, every time he told a corny joke or tripped over his feet, or gave me that happy go lucky grin he had I felt like was falling deeper and deeper.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a piece of watermelon-flavored gum, shoving it into my mouth and waiting for the flavor to hit me. I saw a spider crawling on the wall opposite me. It went behind a picture frame and didn’t crawl back out. A few second later he came back into the room. I laughed as soon as he did so. He had tried to make it look like his hair was gelled back by using his hands, but it had just gave it more static and it was sticking up like he were the back of a porcupine.
“What?” He asked, putting the towel back on the chair to dry.
“Nothing, want gum?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said, catching the piece as I threw it to him.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a blue glass bottle, spraying some onto his neck.
“What is that?” I asked him.
“Cologne,” he said.
It smelled amazing. It wasn’t really something you could describe, but he wore it all the time and I couldn’t differentiate at this point between the smell and him. He lived across the hall and so the scent would often waft into my room leaving me with a constant reminder of his presence.
“What’s it called?” I asked.
“I don’t know, it’s in French. Here.” He said, and he threw the bottle onto my bed.
“Touch of Blue,” I said to him. I sniffed it and then handed it back to him.
“I love French things,” I said sighing.
“Really, like what?” He asked, smacking his gum loudly.
“Croissants, wine, I think the language is beautiful. Want to move to Paris with me?” I asked him.
“I hear Paris smells like piss,” he replied.
“That’s not an answer,” I replied.
“Why would I want to move somewhere that smells like piss?” He asked.
“With the amount of cologne you wear, we wouldn’t be able to smell anything else anyway,” I kidded him.
“Oh please, you love my cologne,” he said, picking his bag up off the floor.
“Your right, I do,” I said, crawling back into bed.
He blew a bubble with his gum. I watched as it popped and he drew it back into his mouth so easily.
“I’ve never been able to do that. Blow a bubble with gum, I mean,” I said.
“Really, it’s easy,” he replied.
He picked up my phone and started taking selfies of himself blowing bubbles.
“You shouldn’t leave your bags on the floor. Spiders will get into them,” he said.
“Oh yeah. I saw one crawling on the wall a minute ago,” I replied.
“And you didn’t kill it!” He said, a distinct line forming between his eyes.
“I didn’t feel the need to,” I said, thinking he was being purposefully overdramatic.
“I think this is revenge for me not loving you. I think you put the spider in here,” he said quickly as he picked up his shoes and put them on top of his dresser.
“You are being ridiculous, it’s not going to hurt you,” I said, ignoring his other remarks.
“I’m terrified of spiders. It’s one of my biggest irrational fears,” he said.
“You’ll be ok. I’ll protect you from spiders,” I said soothingly.
It was really sweet to me that someone so macho had such a small weakness. He was so vulnerable and scared. I could see the worry hidden behind his bright blue eyes. He got into bed, but refused to get under the covers. He just sat in the middle of it, his knees huddled up to his chest.
“Can I turn the light off?” I asked softly.
“No,” he said.
“Are you expecting me to go to sleep with the lights on?” I asked him bemusedly.
“I can’t sleep. How am I supposed to sleep when I know there are spiders crawling around this room with their scary ass mandibles,” he said.
“Ok, I’ll stay awake until you fall asleep, and then I’ll turn the light off. If I see any spiders, I’ll kill them,” I said calmingly.
“Can you pass me my phone so I can set the alarm?” I asked him.
He threw it to me. I set one for 8:00 the next morning. I then went through the pictures he had taken. He didn’t look very good, but I couldn’t delete them. I just smiled at them, rolled me eyes and turned my attention to my facebook feed. I scrolled down for a long time before I heard movement from next to me. I looked over at him. He was slowly starting to get under the covers.
“I’m slowly relaxing into it,” he said.
“Good,” I replied.
“Why didn’t you kill the damn spider?” He asked in a voice that sounded more whiney then angry.
“Because I wasn’t anticipating this reaction. On the bright side, there’s a baby otter,” I said, holding up my phone to show him the video I was watching.
“The spider will probably go for the baby otter next,” he said.
I rolled my eyes and then laid my head down on my pillow so we were facing each other. His hair was still messed up and there was still an air of fear in his eyes.
“I can’t believe we only have nine more days before I’ll never see you again,” I said to him.
“Neither can I,” he replied simply.
“You’re going to graduate and you’re going to forget about me,” I said.
“No, I think we’re both going to graduate,” he said.
“Not the point I was trying to make,” I said.
“Hey, on the bright side, there’s a baby otter,” he said, pointing at my phone.
“Do you trust me?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he replied worriedly.
“Then close your eyes and go to sleep. I promise that I won’t let any spiders bite you,” I said.
“Fine, but if I wake up with a spider bite, I may literally kill you,” he said, closing his eyes.
Less than a minute later I heard the steady sound of snoring coming from the other side of the room. I got up, turned the light out, and then got back into bed. Before falling asleep myself, I watched that video of baby otters twice more.

I had been waiting for him to get back for about fifteen minutes. I had already combed through and styled my hair differently, put on enough foundation that my skin looked almost natural, and rubbed a minimal amount of lip-gloss onto my lips so that when he got there, he would look at me more than once. I even bought a special scarf for the occasion.
It was blue, not the color of his eyes blue, or the color of my eyes blue, but more of a cobalt. It was patterned with hearts that grew in size as you got closer and closer to the middle. I had seen it when I was out on the streets of Bolivia that afternoon, and knew I wanted it to be my date scarf. The rest of the group had gone out to get Pizza, but I had stayed in, at least that’s what I had told them I was going to do. What I actually did was a completely different story.
It was too cold outside for me to go out in just a tee-shirt, but my sweater had gotten wet from being underneath my wet towel all day, so I went over to where his black sweatshirt lay and put it on. It smelled of his cologne and was two sizes too big for me, but I didn’t mind, it felt like I was wrapped in him. It made me feel safe. I then grabbed my wallet, locked the door to the hotel room and headed out to the coffee shop I had been to earlier that day.
It was only about a 5 block walk and I made it rather quickly. One of my favorite things about Bolivia, other than the amazing scenery and interesting culture, was that you were allowed to drink at 18. I ordered two coffees with amaretto and a slice of lemon meringue pie, and then walked back toward the hotel, hoping that I beat the rest of them back. It was a pretty risky plan, but it was for him, and I knew that I would be fine no matter what happened. He walked in to find me sitting on his bed, holding the coffees and wearing his sweatshirt.
“We’re having a date,” I said.
“What?” He replied confusedly
“Well not a date date, but you know what I mean,” I replied.
“Ok,” he said walking over and sitting on the bed.
“Here is coffee con amaretto,” I said, showing off my Spanish skills, “and there’s pie when you want it.”
“How did you do this?” He asked, taking a sip of coffee and then spitting it back into his cup.
“I went out to the coffee shop,” I said proudly.
“Is there alcohol in this?” He asked.
“Yes, I said amaretto,” I reminded him.
“What the hell is amaretto?” He asked, taking another sip.
“It’s an almond liquor,” I replied
“Of course it is,” he replied laughing a little bit.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked.
“Because you are the only person I know who would go out and get almond liquor for a date with me,” he said.
“I also bought a date scarf, and got pie,” I said, “but the date hasn’t started yet. You can’t wear that to a date,” I said, indicating the fact that he was wearing a white “bro tank.”
“Fine, if I can’t wear this, what can I wear?” He asked, stripping off the white fabric.
“Put on that blue striped shirt. The one that brings out your eyes, that’s my favorite,” I said, loving being able to be high maintenance with him. 
He walked over to his bag and got the shirt I was referring to out. He put it on and said “happy now?”
“Actually no,” I said walking over to him.
“It looks stupid when you have the collar unbuttoned,” I said, reaching up and buttoning them for him.
“The girls say they look better down,” he said, going to unbutton them.
I put my hands up and smacked his away “the girls are wrong,” I replied.
He sat back down on the bed and we started in on the pie.
“Is this as good as the lemon meringue I make?” I asked.
“Not by a long shot,” he replied in between bites.
“So does this date have anymore planned events?” He asked.
“No, but I saw an open bottle of beer in the kitchen, we could try and include that if you wanted to,” I replied.
His eyes widened, and before I knew it he was out the door. He came back a few minutes later with the bottle and two cups.
“No chaser?” I asked.
“It’s beer, you don’t need a chaser, he replied.
“I hate the taste of beer,” I said frowning.
He put the glass up to his mouth, but I stopped him.
“What about a toast?” I asked him.
“Fine, to finally getting along,” he said and we downed the first cups.
My face must have shown my disgust because he looked amusedly at me for a moment before pouring the next cup. We finished the bottle and he was smiling at me in a way I had never seen him before. It was like all his cares went away.
“You feel anything yet?” I asked him.
“I’m gone,” he said and he got up and spun around.
“Want to go for a walk?” I asked him.
“Yeah, let’s do it!”
“Ok, but you have to put on a scarf,” I said, holding a red sparkly one up for him.
“Ninja’s don’t wear scarves,” he said.
“You aren’t a ninja,” I replied.
“That’s what you think,” he said, and with that we exited our hotel room and walked toward the hotel doors.
They were locked, but not just any kind of locked, locked in a way that neither of us could figure out how to unlock them. We tried moving the blocks that were connected to the bolts, but that didn’t do anything. He was holding my phone as a flashlight and the light would extinguish every thirty seconds as we tried to break out without alerting the teachers that were with us on the trip, finally we gave up.
“I hear music,” he said
He was right. It sounded like there was a band playing somewhere off in the distance.
“Do you want to go to the roof and check it out?” I asked him.
“Do you even have to ask?” He asked as he started walking towards the spiral staircase that lead to the roof.
As we climbed it, it became more and more evident how foggy the night had become. It was billowing in large clouds so we could barely see where we were stepping. Once he got to the top he held out a hand to help me up.
“You’re nicer when you’re drunk,” I said to him kiddingly.
The music was louder from where we were. It sounded like a mixture of punk and rock, but the lyrics we heard were all in Spanish and neither of us could understand them very well. We gazed off the edge of the roof and I let my hand linger in his. I felt the warmth of his fingers pressed against mine and I loved every second of it. I finally let go just when he started to say something.
“Damn, I wish we could go out and see where this was,” he said.
“Well when are we going to have this opportunity again. Go get your knife. Give me like five minutes with the door. I have an idea,” I said and I started my decent back down the stairs.
I played with the lock for a little while longer before slipping my finger in the hole under the door. I pulled slightly while lifting up and it opened with a shrill creaking sound. He walked up a second later holding his jacket in one hand and his knife in the other.
“I thought you might want this,” he said, handing the jacket to me.
“Thanks,” I said putting it on.
We left the door ajar and headed out into the street. It was so foggy that would could only see a few steps in front of us.
“This is so cool,” he said, his hand staying in his pocket where it was still grasped around his knife.
“I know right,” I said.
We walked for a couple of blocks passed cafes and restaurants that had all closed hours ago.
“I think we better go back,” he said “I’m starting to get really sketched out, and it’s just the two of us,” he continued, as if he needed to explain why he was chickening out to me.
“I agree, it’s really just one of us anyway. I’d be completely counting on you to save me if anything happened,” I told him.
“Then we really need to get back,” he said, and we turned back towards where the hotel was located.
We passed several men on the street, and his grip firmed on his knife, but they didn’t say anything to us. Before we knew it we were back in the hotel. I closed the door firmly and we returned to our room. He got into his bed and I got into mine and just as I was drifting off into sleep I heard him say “you still awake?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“We should have dates more often,” he said.
“I agree,” I replied.
“What’s the name of that almond stuff?” He asked.
“Amaretto,” I said.
“Yeah, you should bring that to all of them too,” he said.
“Well that’s not going to happen, but I might bring pie,” I said.
“Ok, but will you at least make the pie yourself?” He asked.
“Only if you wear that shirt,” I replied.
“Deal,” he said, and with that, we drifted off into sleep.

I was sitting on my couch watching my favorite television show, eating my favorite cereal, with my favorite guy in the entire world. We had signed out for the evening from the boarding school we attended and were at my house. We had always talked about doing this sometime but something always came up at the last minute, which was why I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“I really like the strawberries in this,” he said with his mouth still full of cereal.
“I’m glad,” I replied.
“Ok, which of the blonde women is this?” He asked, pointing at the television.
“That’s the main character. The one who is out for revenge,” I replied.
“We can change the show if you want,” I continued, knowing that drama wasn’t really his thing.
“No, I’m liking this. It’s really giving me some insight into how your mind works,” he replied.
“I’m nothing like these people. Theie rich, spoiled, and the main plot line is trying to get revenge on people,” I said.
“Oh, so there are no similarities,” he said.
I reached over and hit him with a pillow just as the ending credits rolled in.
“Ok, so it’s 10:00 already. What’s the game plan for the rest of the night,” I asked him.
“Well, I might take a shower at some point. We have the bourbon right? I might also like to try and get some cigarettes if possible. Are there any gas stations around?” He said.
“Yeah, I have the bourbon, and you are welcome to shower. I didn’t know you smoked,” I said a little bit alarmed.
“I don’t do it very often, but it takes the edge off. Do you think we could walk to a gas station at some point?” He asked.
“Yeah, I guess so, but we should probably do that soon then,” I said.
“Cool, yeah,” he replied.
“I think there are some clean towels in the laundry. If you help me fold them then you can go ahead and take your shower,” I said.
We walked into the laundry room and I handed him a ball of clothes for him to fold. I was finished when I looked over and saw him examining a pair of my jeans.
“Yes?” I asked.
“How do you fit in these?” He asked, looking from my hips to the pants.
“Those are the loosest pants I own. I bet you could fit in them,” I replied.
“We’ll just see about that,” he said as he unzipped his own pants, taking them off and throwing them into a corner.
He put them on and pulled them up to his waistline. If he had tried really hard he could have buttoned them, but they were tight.
“You look really good,” I said.
“Yeah, but I can’t feel my balls,” he said before peeling them off and folding them neatly.
“Enjoy your shower. I have some rose scented shower gel in there you can use,” I said.
“Oh joy,” he said before going in and shutting the door.
I went upstairs to get us glasses for the bourbon. I couldn’t believe that he had watched that show with me, especially sober. I was hoping that tonight would give me closure. I knew I was probably still in love with him. I had found myself a pretty distraction with good hair, and even deeper problems to keep myself occupied, but deep down I think I knew I was still in love with him.
When he was out of the shower he got dressed, and we walked upstairs. I looked up directions to the nearest gas station on my phone and we started walking. I asked him if he had any music requests and he said he wanted to hear the music I listened to. I started playing Avril Lavigne. We walked into the gas station and he asked the man at the counter if he had American Spirit cigarettes.
“They are the ones with the most natural ingredients,” he said to me as he bought them.
“Can I also get a lighter,” he said to the man at the counter.
“What color,” the guy asked.
He looked to me.
“Light blue, to match your eyes,” I said.
He paid and we started walking home. He took a cigarette out of the package and lit it up.
“You want one?” He asked.
“I think so,” I said.
He handed me one, and then handed me the lighter.
“I don’t know how to do this. Will you do it for me?” I asked him.
I put the cigarette in my mouth and he put his hand in front of the end of it. He lit it up and said “you have to suck in.”
I did so. It wasn’t very appealing. I blew out, and back in again as we walked along back toward home. We got a little turned around, but found our way back. Once I was finished with my cigarette I asked him what to do next. He said to throw it down and stamp it out. I did so and we kept walking. Once at home he asked about the bourbon.
“It’s in the back room. Come grab it with me,” I said.
We went back there, steeping over the various assortment of holiday decoration that lay on the ground. We reached the shelves and I grabbed the blue vase where I had it hidden in.
“You keep your liquor in a vase?” He asked.
“You don’t?” I responded snarkily.
We returned to our spots on the couch and started passing the vase between ourselves. I put television on in the background.
“You know what the f***ed up part of tomorrow is going to be?” He asked.
“No, tell me?” I asked.
“People are going to keep asking me, “why were you hanging out with him?” and there not even in the situation, they don’t know all the s*** that has happened,” he said, clearly already a little drunk.
“Tell me about it. People keep telling me I can’t spend time with you because I’m going to fall in love with you again,” I replied.
“Well I suggest not doing that. I don’t want to hurt you anymore then I already have,” he said.
“Can we go outside for another cigarette?” He asked.
“Let’s do it,” I said and we exited out the back door.
I live in a condominium complex on a small lake. We sat outside on the porch next to the lake underneath a tree. The sound of the water trickling was so calming. He lit himself a cigarette and then lit me another one and I sucked in the smoke like a pro. I leaned by head on his thigh and gazed up at the stars.
“So what about me do you find attractive?” He asked out of the blue.
“Your eyes, your hair, you have a pretty nice stomach. I especially like the little thing between your toes,” I said, moving so I could look into his eyes.
“My birthmark?” He asked.
“Yeah, it’s cute” I said smiling.
He took off the shoe on his right foot, and then the sock. I reached down and felt where the birthmark was. He jerked his foot up as apparently I was tickling him. We had another cigarette, and then we went inside.
I grabbed a blanket for him and he settled in on the couch. He leant up suddenly, put his hand on my shoulder, and said “you know I really do find you attractive.” Thinking back on it now, I could have leaned in and kissed him then. I could’ve had the experience I always wanted with him, but It wouldn’t have been real, and it wasn’t what either of us really wanted. Instead, I said to him “wait, you said the only time I would ever get you to sing is when you are drunk.”
“I just want to go to bed,” he said.
“Nice try. I just want you to sing the chorus to banana pancakes with me, then you can go to bed.” I said.
“Fine, how does the chorus go?” He asked.
“Can’t you see that it’s just raining, ain’t no need to go outside,” I sang for him.
“Can’t you see that it’s just raining, ain’t no need to go outside,” he sang in a deep melody.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He entered a little bit of a coughing fit before finally laying his head down on the pillow. It was about three in the morning when I finally heard snoring from beside me. That was my cue to lay my own head down on the same pillow as his and turn off the television. As I drifted off into sleep, I could smell the smoke on his breath and I was reminded of the evening we had shared together, that would not soon be forgotten.

The end was finally here. I had just graduated high school, one of the biggest events in my life, and I couldn’t even celebrate that because it meant leaving him. Leaving the love of my life. Leaving the boy with crystal blue eyes. I knew he was leaving any moment and so I took my spot on the picnic bench, staring out into the sun.
I looked really good. I was wearing a blue shirt with white polka dots that looked like paint splatter. I had done my makeup perfectly so it looked like I was just naturally beautiful. My hair, which I had just recently dyed red, was straightened and combed to one side. I looked like I was ready to say goodbye.
Earlier that day he had given me the rock I requested. I told him I wanted something to remember him by and for some reason I had chosen I rock. He had gone searching for one and came back with a long Stonehenge looking like one.
“The ones over there were too small, and the ones over there were too ugly, so you’re getting a small one,” he said, analyzing me to make sure it was ok.
“It’s perfect,” I said looking up at him appreciatively.
He had already said goodbye to everyone else. After graduation people generally leave in a hurry, but I had waited. I knew that we had to have a special goodbye. I didn’t know if I could get through it without crying, but I hoped so. If I had shown my emotions it would have made him uncomfortable. I had chosen my spot on the picnic bench just so. The sun was shining on my hair so it looked amazing and I was just close enough to the front entrance to let him know I was waiting for him, but not make it look like I was rushing him into saying goodbye.
After I had been there for about ten minutes he came out. He had changed since graduation. Then he had been wearing a brown and blue striped shirt, and a vest. Now he was wearing a black tank top. His hair was still gelled back in an obvious attempt to look cool. He was sweating profusely.
“I’m heading out,” he said as he approached me.
“Okay,” I replied in an attempt to be nonchalant.
“I’m pretty sweaty, but I’ll hug you anyway,” he said.
“Because I mind your being sweaty so much,” I said.
I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his firm back. I felt so safe in his arms. I never wanted it to end. I finally let go and looked into his eyes.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, and I swear as he did my heart broke.
“I’ll miss you too,” I replied.
“I know,” he said, sticking his tongue out at me.
“F*** you,” I said in a mach macho tone. I didn’t mean to, it was just an automatic response.
He laughed a lot.
“Ok, now we have to do this again, because the last thing I say to you can’t be f*** you,” I said.
He hugged me again.
“That was actually a good hug, I’m proud of you,” he said.
I resisted the urge to say f*** you again replacing it this time with “thank you.”
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye,” I replied.
And with that, I watched him walk into the sun. I watched him walk towards his family’s car. I watched him get into the passenger seat. I watched it pull away. I watched four years of my life vanish in a black sedan. I watched the love of my life drive away without so much as a glance back. I sighed, jumping off of the table and heading back to my dorm room to finish packing my own things. As I entered my room, I smelled something strangely familiar. I walked across the hall to where he used to live. I entered the room and a cloud of his cologne welcomed me into it.
I climbed atop what used to be his dresser and I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I started to cry. I started to think about what could have been different. I started to think about what could have happened if he had loved me, if we had spent the last four years in a blissful relationship. I started to think about all the things I would have changed. I held the rock he gave me and I pressed it into my skin so hard it hurt, and I tried to think about what I would have changed if I could have, and I realized I wouldn’t have changed a single thing. I fell in love with a quiet boy with crystal eyes four years ago, and even though it was a rollercoaster, I wouldn’t have gotten off at any point. I sat atop of that dresser, breathed in his cologne and realized, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.