*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*
To be honest, I’m not entirely sure when the thought first occurred to me. It must have been in seventh period English, during that dreaded midterm Ms. Pilgrim had spent all week helping us prepare for. Drumming my pencil against the edge of the desk softly, my eyes wandered curiously around the room, to no one in particular. Everyone else seemed to be having an easy time answering why Jay Gatsby was a symbol in The Great Gatsby. But me. Of freaking course.
My mind floated away from me, like it was dashing down the water pipes, slushing around with all that prescription medication pollution from Abbott labs that forbids us from swimming on hot summer Chicago days. And it stopped at its desired destination: Melody Wickens.
She sat two rows up from me in English class. We had been neighbors nearly all of our lives, from the moment she moved from Washington state to Lake Bluff. But we barely talked. Our interactions reminded me of Taylor Swift’s video for “You Belong With Me”, seeing as we only ever saw each other through windows and when we crossed paths on the way to school. There was something about her that stuck in my mind. It wasn’t like the cute little glue sticks either, the ones that make paper stick for all of two minutes before you flip it over, letting it descend to the floor. No, this was some industrial strength glue. Meaning it was hard as hell to remove from my thoughts.
She has these deep green eyes that remind me of the Lake County bike trails, when you look up through the trees on a spring day when the flowers and trees are exploding with color. And her laugh. Oh my God. Her laugh made me smile so much my face felt like it was going to crack into tiny little pieces. And she always wore these cute little dresses, the ones that I never could imagine wearing. She has perfect curves, while I had little pudgy spots–love handles, chicken wing arms, and a little too much thigh flab.
Mom told me that it was going to go away when I had a growth spurt. I told her it was going to go away when she stopped making lemon cake and giving it to me every time she thought my silence meant I was depressed. And she wasn’t too pleased with that.
“Olivia,” Ms. Pilgrim says, suddenly standing right in front of me. Half of the class stares at me. Including Melody. I turn a shade of red I’d only ever seen splattered on walls in horror movies. “Can I have your test please?” I nod, seemingly unaware that where there should be an eight sentence free response to the last question, I have only two sentences. Her lips shape into a frown and her beady eyes glance at me one last time. Then she leaves me in peace.
The bell rings. Kids stand up, shoving their books into their bags and pushing out of their desks. I move slowly, my eyes watching Melody. Her friends. And then someone pokes my shoulder.
“Hey,” Kelly says, nodding towards Melody. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I say all too quickly, turning to meet Kelly’s milk chocolate brown eyes. “I just spaced out.”
“Uh huh,” Kelly tells me, not convinced in the least. It’s the way her lip twitches on the right corner of her mouth. “So, to the library?”
“Wait, what?” I ask, earning an eye roll and an arm looping through mine. Kelly groans, tossing her long black braid over her shoulder. My best friend is the epitome of beauty, from her sandy brown tan to her golden hazel eyes. Her parents are also retired models. So that clearly helped her in the genetic lottery.
“Don’t tell me you forgot about our math midterm. You promised.” I did promise. I remember that.
“I remember,” I reply, managing to sneak past Ms. Pilgrim, who I am convinced was going to try to talk to me. But she avoids me. Good. That’s the last thing I want right now.
Kelly and I walk through the hallway, past beanie wearing musicians, varsity jacket covered athletes, and twirling around the pom pom holding cheerleaders. From English to the library, it’s only five classrooms. And one pass by someone’s locker. Melody’s.
She’s standing there with her two friends, Hannah and Amy, and chatting with them. I stare without meaning to. And Melody sees me, turning away from her platinum blond cheerleader friends.
“Hi,” she says, quietly but loud enough for me to hear. My hand lifts. All I can muster is a wave. My mouth hangs open with disappointment left on my lips. You chicken shit.
“So, I was thinking, maybe we can start with the quadratic formula?” Kelly asks me, completely unaware of my lovey dovey one sided interaction with Melody Wickens. I nod with empty enthusiasm, to which she just grins. “Thanks so much for all your help.”
“No problem,” I say and force a smile, even though it feels so much harder than it used to be. All I think about is one thing. Or person. Melody Wickens. And I don’t know how long I’ve known this, or why, but I know one thing’s for sure: I have a crush on Melody Wickens. And it’s already pretty bad. Like I-can’t-say-a-single-word-to-her-without-wanting-to-hide bad.
