On My Side

A few days ago, I had been talking to Floyd in French class about how Symphony seems to enjoy treating me like nothing, and still expects me to act like nothing is wrong. Today, she had been flitting around in her usual fashion, following around our young, good-looking history teacher. (Every girl's dream, except when he sings Lady Antebellum in class and burps in your face while checking your work) After his class, I had been leaving with Floyd and David as she had been entering, for whatever reason. She had said hello to me, and I greeted her in return, but all I could think of is how she had ignored me the night before when I had tried to talk about something other than her for a change. I waved and smiled anyway and heard Floyd mumble something behind me. I slowed down and fell into step beside him.

"What was that?" I asked, smirking. I was greeted with that mischievous look he wore so well.

"I said, ‘get the fuck out.’ You know, not to Symphony or anything…" I grinned a little.

"...my thoughts exactly."

"That’s what I do. I say the things that no one else does." We smile at each other. He's right. Always right. He’s like the missing piece of me, the part of me that never has the guts to come out. He’s the edgy, harsh, rude, I-don’t-have-time-for-your-bullshit side of me that I’m too yellow-bellied to reveal.

Then at lunch, he lets another impudent comment about Symphony slip as she leaves for the classroom of the man of her dreams. Brooke and Elaine grumble something about how rude he is, with matching eye rolls. He gestures my way with his eyes and says,

"She doesn’t like her. Therefore, I don’t like her." I look down at my lunch tray to hide the pride showing in my grin.

I take your side and you take mine? Sounds likes a plan.

And now again I’ve found myself so far down, away from the sun that shines into the darkest place, I’m so far down…

We both sing under our breaths as the shop teacher blasts music for us as we work out in the shop, building our Popsicle stick bridge. The teacher has a great taste in music, always playing things Floyd and I find ourselves singing along to. And as "Away From The Sun" plays for us, I glue and tape and measure Popsicle sticks absentmindedly, thinking about how close we’re standing. I hold a stack of sticks together for him to tape, and as he does, his hands are touching mine. Not just a brush here and there. I can feel how warm his hands are, and I wonder if he’s thinking about holding my hands like I’m thinking about never letting go of his.

When I was younger, when we would toss a Frisbee around in my backyard sometimes, passing the time as our dads and moms talked, I would’ve never suspected I would end up wanting to be his girlfriend when I was fifteen.

Life is full of surprises.

What Am I Doing Wrong?

"What does a guy look for in a girl, anyway?" Michelle asks out of curiosity. What a question. We all wonder. We barely ask.

"Boobs," David says with a laugh.

"Smart man," Floyd says matter-of-factly, with one of those mischievous grins on his face. He had found his opportunity to irritate Michelle or the day.

Floyd and Michelle argue for a while about it. God, everything is an argument with them. Michelle just wanted advice of some sort and it turned into another frustrating forty-five minutes of not enjoying my food and blasting my music.

"I think you’re desperate," Floyd says to her. Looks to me for my reassurance, my egging on, my taking his side, my agreement. I avert my eyes and hope he gets the message.

"Someone please tell me you don’t agree with him," Michelle groans. No one speaks up, for fear of falling into this dispute as well. "I’m not desperate. I just wanted to know, what am I doing wrong?"

"Everything." He’s smirking and I want to slap him now. Why must he be like this?

Yes, Michelle should know that’s not a question you ask a straight guy (or even a gay one) below the age of eighteen. You just don’t, because you are not going to hear what you want to hear. Yet she ventures into that territory, fearless and determined, the same way she is about anything and everything. Does it hurt her when he says that? Probably not, but

I know it hurts me.

It hurts me that this guy who is supposed to be my Superman is being the villain.

Michelle and I both don’t have much luck with guys. Actually, I may even have less. (I can clearly remember when she was dating a fellow saxophone player in middle school) And here she is, being told she’s doing everything wrong by the guy I try to do everything right for. Does he think the same about me? I mean, he doesn’t despise me the way he despises her, but maybe I’ll never be good enough for him because I’m not pretty enough. I spent the rest of the day in frustration, for more reasons than one.

I felt almost like a gay person who’s pondering coming out of the closet. But I'm perfectly hetero, since I am a female, and the problem is a male. But the thing is, I’m revealing my secret, but not to the people around me. No, not them. Not yet. I’m letting it escape from my brain and fill me completely. I’m getting used to the fact that I’m letting myself be attracted to this guy. This guy, who isn’t nice to anyone but has never said anything rude to me. This guy, who everyone looks down on but I look up to, in the sky as I see him shed his Floyd Disguise and become Superman, flying away and saving the world. Why can't anyone else see that? Why is it so hard to see that today?

In French class, when he brought up how "hilarious" lunch had been, I told him that what he said to Michelle was very offensive, and I know that if it were being said to me, it would really hurt my feelings. He responded with silence. The next day, only a few mildly sarcastic comments slipped past his lips, nothing harsh enough to make us all cringe. I was pleased, and I pondered if that had been his intention.

I don’t know what I was doing wrong before with Jordan (everything?), but right now, I’m trying to do everything right, anything possible to make this work out. I don't want to get my hopes up. I don't want to overanalyze. I just want to let it all happen. And hopefully, it will happen with the intention of turning into what I’ve been waiting for for way too long.