Adorkable

Names and Negotiations

The entire day, I only had one thing on my mind. 

As I walked from class to class, as I continued to doodle my way through history and english lit, as I stopped by the ladies’ room on my way to lunch, and definitely on my way out of my last class.

The Popular Sports Boy knows my name. 

Normally, this wouldn’t phase me. Not one bit. I mean, sure his face is absolutely adorable when it’s squished against his desk while he’s asleep and he’s built like a god, but that doesn’t matter.

Okay, it matters a little.

But back to my non-existent point!

I don’t normally care about things like who knows my name- it’s barely even occurred to me that people notice I exist. And if they do, I just thought I’d be “The Adorable, Dorky Girl Who Makes Everyone Smile and Stutters Every Other Word”. I couldn’t care less if my teachers didn’t know who I was! 

All that to say, I care that Popular Sports Boy knows my name, because I never even bothered to learn his.

Am I a terrible person?

Is this why I have no friends?

Well, I have Sydney. And to a lesser extent, Colin.

Nevermind, Colin doesn’t count. 

“Lace? Lacey!”

“What?” I jump at the sound of Sydney’s voice. Well, there goes that train of thought…

“You’ve been zoning for like, ten minutes,” she crosses her arms over her Nightwish t-shirt, flicking a strand of her jet black hair over her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“S-sorry,” I try to shrug off her question, something about a metal-head, best friend or not, trying to stare into your soul just doesn’t make me want to spill the beans. You know? “I’m always spacing out on you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you are,” she laughs, rolling her eyes playfully. “So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to pry it out of you?”

“I mean, it’s um, it’s not really that big of a deal,” I brush my wispy, dirty blonde bangs out of my eyes, only to look down out of habit and have them fall back into place.

“Lace,” she arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow at me and I know I’m toast.

“Okay, I guess,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “I guess I’ve just been, um, I’ve just been thinking about something that happened in math today.”

“And that was…?”

“Well, my bench partner-”

“The athletic guy who sleeps all the time?”

“Y-yeah, him.”

“Oh, okay, continue,” She says eagerly as we sit down on the steps outside the school, resigning myself to the fact that the brick will most definitely put holes in my stockings.

“Well, I um, he, he didn’t wake up at the end of class-”

“What!?”

“N-no! Not like that, he’s, he’s fine,” I assure her somewhat successfully. “What I meant to say was, um, I had to wake him up at- at the end of class today.”

“Oh, so?”

“He, um, he remembered my name,” I look down at my paint-splattered white converse.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Sydney shoots back at me. “And why does it matter? You’ve never cared about what other people think of you, hence why you’ve chosen to spend your highschool career associated with me.”

“First, I don’t see anything negative a-about spending time with you,” I’m so sick of all my defenses sounding weak because of my stupid stutter! “A-and second, it only matters because I don’t- I don't know his name.”

“You don’t know his name?” she gawks.

“I mean, yeah-”

“He’s only one of the most popular guys in school!”

“You know I d-don’t pay attention to that stuff!”

“What about when Mr. D takes attendance? You haven’t even noticed what he says?”

“Well, he’s stopped taking attendance now that he knows our names,” I fiddle with the hem of my faded floral-print skirt, desperately trying to avoid Sydney’s less-than-impressed gaze.

“And what about before that? What’s your excuse?”

“I stop- I stopped listening after Mr. D calls my name,” I mumble into my hands, too ashamed to say it any louder.

“Oh, c’mon Lacey! Even I know his name!”

“Y-you do?” My day might just be shaping up after all! 

“Of course! And I don’t even have class with him,” she taunts. 

“Okay, okay, I learned my lesson!” I plead, “will you just t-tell me his name already?”

“Nope,” she hops to her feet, smiling. 

“B-but-”

“No ‘but’s! You’re gonna figure this one out by yourself,” she smirks, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Syd! Please, can you help me? J-just this once?”

“Even if I wanted to,” she slides down the railing, which we're technically not allowed to do. “I have band practice, so I wouldn’t be able to help you ‘til after school tomorrow, anyway.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” I huff, pushing myself to my feet. I shrug on my denim jacket to provide some protection against the late-afternoon autumn breeze. Re-securing my book bag onto my shoulder, I set out on my quest.

My quest to find out Popular Sports Boy’s name before math tomorrow morning.