There is no bell at this school. We must know what times to be in class. Our first class begins at promptly 7:30, and every time our teacher tells us that class is over, we have 10 minutes to get to our next class. Every time I am in the hallway, my eyes watch the floor. I’ve grown to be entertained by the way the light from the window twinkles on the red tile, like a painting of different shades and shapes blending together. I have also learned to identify each person by their bottom halves. Wyatt wears blue Vans and colorful skinny jeans. His yellow ones are his favorite, and he wears them more often than his purple ones. Trooper’s legs always look unstable, because his body is shaped like the Eifel tower turned up-side down. Britt has small feet. Blake has a red scarf that almost touches the floor. Bianca has no curve in her hips. Emilio walks with his feet pointed out, like a duck. Brendon… Brendon is wearing the same black combat boots and black cargo pants that he always does.
When I see Brendon in the hallway, I can’t help but smile. Today I can’t stop myself from turning my head upwards across his six foot four figure and to his face. He nods in acknowledgement. My heart races just a tiny bit as I hope that this is his invitation. I rush across the traffic of the hallway to be by his side. I ask how he is, and he shrugs. His aura reeks of distrust of the women and men in the hallway, always whispering about things other than themselves. We step into the dark classroom and take our seats. I face the back wall, sitting at the end of the table. He sits on the side of the table, close to me. Peter sits in between us, on the corner. Today, I steal his seat and sit next to Brendon, wanting to be closer to him. He gives me an annoyed look and takes my seat, adjacent to his original one.
Class begins and Mr. Hughes greets his class. He wears a handmade red kilt and brown boots. I open my notebook and prepare for class, as Brendon leans over his small notebook and begins to write. Within seconds, there is a small paper being slid onto my notes. His small yet precise handwriting reads: “How Are you?” I reply in a clumsy cursive text. I don’t reply with “Good, and you?” like I normally do. Instead, I tell him my sorrows, my worries, and everything else that is on my mind. He looks at me, anticipating my conclusion. I finally finish and fold the paper in half. No one else can see this paper. I quickly slide the paper back to him, dodging Peter’s playful hand trying to interfere. Peter then writes his own note to both of us. “Get a room. You can keep your secrets there.” I smirk and look at him, and carry a polite conversation with him via paper as Brendon reads my words. My heart speeds as he reads, fear that he might become disgusted with me overtaking my thoughts. My careless words with Peter continue as my worry increases by the second. After Brendon reads the paper, I see him set it down. I become immediately convinced that my fears have been confirmed, and tears struggle to stay inside the boundaries of my eyes. Then Brendon silently asks if I am alright as his finger jabs my waist. My spirit begins to lift, and I smile slightly. My mind replies “I will be” as my finger touches his leg in response. He understands and half smiles at me. He pokes me again, this time for fun. I silently laugh and begin to poke him back. Before I know it, the game has gotten out of control. He moves his body to where I can’t reach it, but I try anyway. In an instant, I have slipped off of my chair and under the table. I can’t stop myself from laughing out loud.
“Please focus, guys, I am trying to teach a class,” pleads the older man in the kilt. He looks disappointed in us. I sheepishly apologize and return to my seat. I pick up my pen and pretend to look at my notes. But instead I peek around the room. Trooper is looking at me from the corner of his eye, looking uneasy. He crosses his buff arms and fidgets in his seat, clearing his throat and looking away from me toward Mr. Hughes. I shoot my eyes down to my paper, the guilt from setting off jealousy in him sinking in. I carefully look at Wyatt next to him, who is snickering at my inelegance. I smile in embarrassment and return to my notes, first replying to the note that Brendon has left for me, simply reading:

Dork. :P


At the end of class, I gather my books. Brendon pokes me one final time for the day and silently exits the room. Trooper hides his pain and approaches me, punching my arm in a friendly tough-man’s greeting. I bump his fist, and we smile at each other, joking. He offers me a piggy-back ride down the stairs and to my next class, and I politely decline. His eyes sildntly accuse me. They seem to say “You would let Brendon give you a piggy back ride down the stairs.” I ignore his mind, and we walk together down the stairs instead. Before I enter my classroom directly to the left of the staircase, he gives me a prolonged, affectionate hug. After thirty seconds which feels like an infinitude, I shrink out of his grip and make a pathetic attempt to smile at him without blushing. I scurry into room B 101, where I sit next to Vincent, a black young boy with an afro and small, crooked teeth, and Kaitlin, who has dyed her hair blonde and is wearing a pink No Doubt jacket and round prescription glasses. They both greet me as I sit, and I smile back, mentally disposing of the uncomfortably passionate embrace that had transpired in the hallway only seconds ago. Class starts and the teacher’s voice becomes perpetual mumbling as I text Courtney about the foregoing events. Two tables away, I see her brief reactions of shock before her thumbs rapidly tell me what the fiasco must have implied about Trooper’s feelings for me. Even as I read her texts and advice, I cannot help but think about the fun I had with Brendon just the instant before the drama. I smirk as I remember the crash of the table as I fell underneath it. Class ends and I leave for lunch with Courtney, trying to contain my laughter.




********
It has been three months since that routine now, and Brendon no longer sits next to me, and we no longer poke each other. He pokes another girl now, who has been his friend for longer. He claims that he is going to “figure out his feelings” about me and that we will become more than friends, but until then he avoids me. I don’t understand this. But I have accepted it for three months. And now I am starting to believe that he has made his decision and simply failed to let me know. So, as hard as it is, I will try to move on.
In those three months I met a tall blond curly-haired boy, with a nice smile. His name is Anthony, and he has grown to like me as much as I like him. Today, during a lunch hour that I used to spend with Brendon and Courtney, I find him alone. He is wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, with a light blue plaid shirt over a t-shirt that reads “THE WHO” in big red letters. He is leaning against the pillar in the middle of the basement that is painted to look like an old Egyptian artifact, and he is playing his acoustic guitar. I sit next to him in silence for a moment as the guitar finishes speaking in its beautiful voice, and then everything becomes still. He looks at me and smiles in greeting. The air seems to be daring me to say something. My mouth opens to speak.
“So… I might like you a little bit.” My words come out before I get the chance to think. He laughs and before I know it we are boyfriend-girlfriend. We smile and hold hands through the hallway the entire rest of the day.
It’s been two weeks since that day, and Brendon has seen Anthony and me kissing in the hallway. He now refuses to do anything as simple as acknowledging me, and I am confused and hurt. I grab his wrist and ask what his problem is. He only growls in response. He looks at me with eyes of hatred, silently warning me to release my grip before I get hurt. I hesitantly remove my hand from his wrist, and he walks away from me as if I were never there. Later, I text him; I am begging him to respond to me. He does. He is angry. He feels betrayed by me. He feels betrayed because I am dating another while he has explicitly told me to wait while he figures out his emotions. I text him back. I tell him that I know his decision, and that it is not fair for him to make me wait for something that will never happen. He becomes confused. He tells me I am misunderstanding his actions. He does not reply or talk to me after he makes this statement. I fall asleep crying under my sheets.




*******
It has been a week since he last acknowledged me. I cannot take it anymore. I pull Anthony to the side and end our relationship, hoping we can still be friends. The next week proves that we cannot. Soon, there is a rumor stating that I sleep around.
Brendon sees me crying in the hallway in the middle of class. He asks me what is wrong. This is the first time he has spoken to me in months. I tell him about the rumor. He hugs me, and rocks me. He strokes my hair. He tells me that it doesn’t matter what people think. We stay together the rest of the hour, sitting in the giant elevator as I cry and he holds me. We hear people outside of the walls, and know that class is over. I wearily step out of the elevator and make my way to my locker, Brendon following closely behind like a dog guarding his human. I hear Anthony’s voice. I always hear Anthony’s voice, and it hurts me. But this time it cuts me. It cuts me because I hear him telling all of my friends about who I have supposedly slept around with. My eyes lower from the floor to my feet, and Brendon puts his warm hand on my shoulder. I tense to his touch. He lets go, and I turn to look at him. But he is barely there. He lunges at the blond guitar player named Anthony and pins him against the locker. He lifts him by the shirt. He puts his face close to Anthony’s and growls,
“Leave. Her. Alone.”
He throws Anthony to the side and wraps my waist in his arms, leading me away from the crowd and to class. We sat next to each other that day, and for the first time in months, I felt his finger poke my waist. Tears fill my eyes, but these are different. They are tears of peace and satisfaction, the likes of which I have not felt in what seems like a long time.




********
It has been two years since that day. We no longer attend the same school. He lives in Greeley, and I in Littleton. We talk over the phone only on occasion. We see each other only on 16th Street or school dances, which he attends only for my sake. But my heart still races at top speed when he enters my mind. I can only hope that when I think of him, he is thinking of me. But I do not have to hope that our friendship remains strong, and it warms my spirit to know that we will always have a place in each other’s hearts and lives.