Just when I think I’ve cleared my mind of Oliver for like a few minutes out of an entire day, I’m in math class jammin’ to Mr. Wite’s Pearl Jams “Wish List”, my fave. My eyes stray to Oliver in the backrow. He leans back in his chair and lip syncs the entire song perfectly while he air guitars. He looks at me like I’m the only girl in the room. My tell-tale signature crush smile forms. I swear my heart skips over these desks and lands right on his desk. I’m a total cheeseball.
He’s so beautiful….Katie Sapphire Albright! Get a hold of yourself. You can’t be caught staring at his gorgeous perfectly-complexioned face all day. Focus. And why does he always catch me drooling? Between the cleft of his chin and the dimple in his smile, I could just stare for miles….and he knows it.
A throat clears behind me. I whip around to find Mr. Wite standing over my desk, smirking. “What’s so interesting in the back row, Katie?”
“I, uh..erm..”
He taps his finger on my paper and talks quietly. “I know math doesn’t compare to a certain someone, but at least give it a try.” I keep my head down the rest of the hour in silent mortification, not daring to look anywhere else. I get lost in numbers. Time flies.
The bell rings. I shove my notebook inside my math book. Mudpie Mojo walks by my desk, bumps my arm, and drops a paper football on my desk. I pick it up and unfold it as I walk down the hall. A stick boy builds a pile of rocks, but they are all heart-shaped! I stand in the middle of the hallway. The idea that Oliver drew this while sitting in math class melts my heart. Mark Darcy, in all his romanticism, has nothing on my Mudpie Mojo!
I ask myself for the millionth time in a day why I don’t let down my hair from my high tower room so that he can climb up to my window. Then we could sit together and gaze out at the sky, listening to the birds chirping in the trees, enjoying each other’s company until the end of fairytale land, which is like never..
Bodies of students bump into me as they rush madly between classes. I wake from my dreamland and rush off to English class, clutching my paper treasure. I think the full court press just started. My teacher’s words echo from a faraway land, as I strive to tune in.
“Today is free verse poetry day. Anyone who wishes to share a poem with the class can earn an extra thirty points.” My grade is fine but I’m always up for free points! Plus, I love poetry. For the next twenty minutes, the only noise in the room is pencils scratching on paper. An alarm sounds. Our time is up. Oliver jumps out of his seat like he’s on fire.
He stands in front of me with a look I’ve never seen before—embarrassment. I’m guessing he doesn’t like public speaking. He clears his throat.
“My Red Herring
Each morning she waits for me
A promise in the wind
She runs hot and cold
Unattainable and dodgy -
Slipping through my hands
Dancing across my heart
She’s the knock at the door
Once opened—she’s vanished
Like a dream—you never want to wake
Just when you think she’s truly gone
She hovers—like a flame
Singeing—leaving scars
On my fingers, my lips
Was our meeting just a mirage?
Leave me an empty canteen
in this endless desert…of She.”
He’s staring at me. He’s staring at me. I’m falling apart. My insides are burning, and Oliver is the gasoline that feeds the flame. My hands grip the desk. I stare holes through my desktop. I can’t breathe.
I’m going to froggin’ hyperventilate if I can’t calm down. I escape to Aloha land, where the cool breezes blow.
“Gilchrist, I believe you just found your iridium flares.”
Bradley Cooper flashes his signature baby blues in response to Emma’s inspiring words. “Baby, you are my iridium flare.”
Her hand goes to her heart. “POW. I’ve just been shot.” Her voice is all soft and raspy.
His blue eyes never leave hers, and his face holds the sorrows of a lost mercenary. “Captain. I’ve been shot too. As pure and deep as a homerun ball coming off the bat.”
“Gilchrist, I can’t be just another decal on your laptop. I won’t.”
“You wouldn’t be, Captain. You’re it for me.” Oh, Captain Sexy Pants, you slay us both…
Someone’s kicking my chair. Someone’s twirling my ponytail. I know who it is. I can’t bear to look him in the eye just yet. I can’t get my bearings. The guy just won’t quit. Why am I leaning back in my desk with my hand on my heart? I sit up, straight as a board. I find my ire. Yes. Feed the anger. I turn to face him. He’s looking up at me through those half-lid eyes again. Daaang it.
My Mudpie Mojo leans to the side and sends me the smolder. I swear he practices these looks in the mirror at home. Focus. I rap his knuckles with the metal ring on the pencil. “You’ve got no right, I mean, where do you come off, going all poet on me? Where’d you find that poem, anyway? I don’t recognize the style,” I whisper shout.
He straightens a little. “What do you mean, who wrote it? I did. Those are my words.” He looks all offended.
I melt from his heat. “Well, excuse me, how was I supposed to know?”
He’s all serious and smoldering. “You should know, I wrote that poem for you.”
I snort. I’m still mad. “Yeah, right. I bet you say that to all the girls.” There. I took a stab. I’m being mean, but I have to, or else I’ll fall head over feet right here.
He gives me a cool look and shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever.” I whip around in my chair. He goes back to playing with my feet, and pretty much driving me nuts. I move my feet forward and rest one on the side of my chair. He follows. Hoover Dammit!
He leans just close enough that I feel his breath on my neck. Why did I have to put my hair up today? I practically rip the ponytail holder out of my hair to let my hair swish down. There. Try breathing on my neck now, sexy boy. He chuckles. I hear a whisper. “Am I getting to you, Ice Queen?”
I ignore him, although it’s not easy. Before I know it, I’m jumping out of my chair in retreat; anything to escape the ticking love grenade behind me. I take a deep breath and recite something I wrote in my journal when my dad left.
“LOVE
Leaves you destitute
Gasping for breath
Sucker-punched; feels like death
The necessary anchor
That kept you safe and secure
Departs—dragging your roots behind
One minute you’re grounded
The next you’re drowning
A hard fall—certain as gravity
What is left but self-preservation
As necessary as air
Jaded and guarded—you have known Love.”
As I recite, a slow burn starts in my toes and travels slowly up my frame. By the time I’m done, my whole face is aflame. I clench my fists. My hands tremble. I plop rather ungracefully into my desk. It takes all I’ve got not to rest face down on my desktop. I tell myself to breathe normally. I’m in my own world until the bell rings. My classmates’ poetry readings sound like they’re being spoken through a very long tunnel. Their voices are quiet murmurs that float out into the classroom, hovering in a place beyond my muted ears. My head is filled with Oliver.
When the hour bell rings, I rush to the hallway. Only one more class left. Gym.