Desert McGraw
Smigla, Per. 1
H. English
Toss a stone
Into the lake
Ripples echo
Storm clouds roll
Toward the shore
Consumed by gray
I stand alone
I don’t hear
I don’t see
Wash over me
I scan over my English homework before class starts. If Ms. Smigla doesn’t like it, well too bad.
As I’m on the way back to my desk, Liam passes me and turns in his homework poem. He flashes his bright blue eyes, and something in my gut flips over. With many a desk between us, he looked like your typical, everyday guy. But now, when we squeeze in and out of the same aisle, his chest looms a lot higher than mine, and he seems, well…yeah, baby!
Let me just say for the record that I have no boyfriend and plan on keeping it that way, thanks. I have absolutely no desire to cater to a grown baby’s needs this early on in my life. Brianna’s boyfriend, Gus, requires twenty-four-hour roadside assistance and takes pride in the fact that his girlfriend gives him everything he needs. Well, almost everything. And it’s only because of that almost-everything that she receives anything in their relationship. By dangling the little s-word in front of his face like a carrot in front of Bugs Bunny.
“Have you and Liam met yet?” Becca asks as I walk past her and slump into my seat.
The first few days of school I tried avoiding her, but it didn’t work. We ended up talking every day in class, and now it’s a whole week and a half later. The problem is, how can I tell her about myself when there’s an ode to my dad written on her notebook?
“We haven’t met with actual words,” I say, “but that little exchange was worth a thousand of them.”
“He wants to meet you, but I think he’s shy.”
“Shy? He doesn’t seem shy.”
“He can be. If he thinks a girl won’t like him.”
“Does he think that about me?”
“Well, you do give creepy looks sometimes. I wouldn’t doubt it if that’s how he sees it.”
“But I—Creepy looks? Do I really?” Suddenly I’m aware of the creases on my forehead, the ones my mom loves to point out.
“That’s okay. You’re stressed from the move. I know,” Becca says, remembering my excuse on the first day.
Right. Stressed from the move. From wondering how long I can keep up this charade, maybe, but not from the move. “Hey, Becca, if you and Liam are such good friends, how come you guys aren’t hooked up?”
With her dark brown hair hanging in her face as she hustles to finish her homework, it’s hard to see her expression, but I think she’s hiding it on purpose. After a snifflike laugh, she says, “It’s not like that between us.”
Inquiring minds want to know why. I would press the issue, but she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.
The bell is about to ring, and a dozen other students hurry to complete the assignment. Am I the only one who actually does homework at home?
“Liam!” Becca calls out suddenly.
“Oh, crap! Please warn me before embarrassing me like this,” I mumble, pushing back loose strands of hair, tugging at my hoop earring.
Liam comes over and crouches between us. Most of the guys at my other school would’ve stood there, staring down with a hint of arrogance. But this guy is now at just the right level to hypnotize us with those piercing eyes. My God, stop staring at him, Desert. Look away, for decency’s sake.
“Yo,” Liam says.
“Yo?” Becca rests her arm around his shoulders.
Liam laughs, and I see his smile up close for the first time. It suits him. Sometimes you see a guy, think he’s hot, then when he smiles, it’s like, “never mind.” But this…this is quite the specimen.
“Li, Desert. Desert, Li. She just moved here from LA,” Becca informs him.
“Okay, let’s leave the details of my life out of this, missy,” I hear myself say, turning my attention to Liam. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”
You have gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, my love. Whoops, did I just say that? Hope not.
“From LA, huh?” He tilts his head in interest.
The bell rings, and students shuffle back to their seats.
“We’ll talk later.” Becca shoos Liam away from her desk.
Twenty minutes into a lecture about imagery, Ms. Smigla asks us to find a buddy for an exercise. Becca’s leg kicks out toward me. “Wanna work together?”
“Sure,” I say. Like I have a choice.
I then notice Liam turned around, trying to send Becca some sort of telepathic message. Becca lifts up her palm, like saying, “What?” then shrugs and looks at me uncomfortably. “Um…do you mind working with Liam instead?”
“No, not really.” So much for being shy.
Liam comes over and switches seats with Becca, who takes off to pair up with Kuntz. “Hi again,” he says. “Okay if I sit with you? If not, I’ll be on my way.”
“No, it’s cool,” I answer, looking at his fine form. Yes, indeedy. I like him much better here than there.
Ms. Smig writes MESSAGE in all caps on the whiteboard then turns to face the class. “Message,” she says dramatically, like she missed out on Broadway and is now trying to make up for it.
Liam and I exchange a quick glance and try not to laugh.
“A message is what you want to convey through imagery. Take a minute to come up with a few words powerful enough to create a clear message. It can be about yourself, someone else, a place, anything, but don’t reveal what it’s about.”
Blah, blah. I check out Liam’s arm. Strong. Tanned.
“For example,” Ms. Smigla continues, “fragile, porous, alive, colorful—all adjectives to describe a coral reef, but feel free to use any part of speech you like.”
Nails. Clean. Groomed.
“When you finish, trade with your partners and see if they can guess what you’re describing. Go ahead.”
Liam and I take deep breaths and get to work. What the heck do I write about? All I can think of is him sitting next to me. I can’t write about him. What do you know about, Desert? Think. I start scribbling verbs.
reaching
begging
What else, what else. These girls in the audience, they’re always…
pleading
crying
trying to connect
There, that’s good for now. I glance over at Liam posed like Rodin’s The Thinker, desperately trying to get his thoughts down. He sits back and surveys, lunges forward, scratches out, and rewrites. Then he looks at me, and I see that shyness Becca was talking about.
“Done?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Okay, let’s switch.”
He scans my paper. “Awesome,” he says, like my imagery is the best he’s ever read. “Is this about someone who needs help?”
“Actually, no. It’s a crowd at a concert. You know, up at the stage, trying to touch a rock star like he’s a god or something.”
“Oh.” He sighs, eyes still on the page. “Yeah, I see it. That makes sense now.”
I glance at Liam’s paper. His handwriting is nice and neat. I tell you, he is racking up the brownie points faster than you can say “gaga.”
He’s written
golden-haired, beautiful, interesting,
honey-eyed
What on Earth? “Honey-eyed?” I ask. Okay, so his adjectives need a little work.
“Yeah.” He shifts in his seat and nibbles on his thumbnail.
Oh, wait. This isn’t about his mom. Or his dog.
He looks me square in the face. “Your eyes. They’re honey brown. Very pretty,” he says softly.
Now, there comes a point in a girl’s life when she must differentiate between a guy’s rap for the sake of pure conquest and his honest-to-God sincerity. And I’ll be damned if Liam is faking this just to get a date.
“Um…thanks. Yours are even better.” What? Nice comeback, Des.
“That’s all right. You don’t have to reciprocate.”
Reciprocate? Great word! “I’m not reciprocating!”
He pretends to be taken aback by my answer, palm at his chest.
“I mean, I am, but not because you wrote that, but because it’s true. Your eyes are the first thing I noticed about you.”
Get a grip, Desert!
We sit there, staring at each other for a few seconds—something Marie says you should never, ever do. Brush off the compliment, keep up a casual conversation, anything, but don’t stare at each other. He’ll think you’re desperate. Funny, but with Liam I don’t feel that way.
Ms. Smigla yaps some more about the openness of imagery and what a powerful tool it can be. Ms. Smigla has never yapped truer words. And Ms. Smigla never seems to stop yapping.
Liam takes his paper and adds something else to his list. He pushes it back at me, and I read
See you at lunch, Desert?
There’s a goofy face next to my name. Thank God he spelled it right. Last year Dylan, this guy I went out with, wrote Dessert, and I was like, holy freakin’ idiot, Batman! It just ruined everything.
“I have first lunch,” I whisper.
“I know,” he mouths. His hand covers a smile as he waits for my reply.
From across the room I spot Becca watching us. She smiles a sad sort of smile. What’s that all about? Before I could consider the implications of this little hookup, my pen writes
Sure. Save me a seat.