"I hate my life." I say out loud as the bus I just missed passes by.
Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. I just really dislike my life sometimes.
I have good friends, a loving family, a plan for my future, a roof over my head and basically every other thing a human being needs to survive and thrive in any environment.
But I still strongly dislike my life sometimes. Especially when it involves me missing a bus I tried waving down frantically like a maniac for. Oh well, at least I have a spare first period (perks of taking two diploma courses in grade eleven). I start my fifty-minute walk to school and shuffle my favorite playlist.
It's a warm October morning in Calgary, Alberta with a slightly chilly breeze, but I can barely feel it through my favorite black softball hoodie. I remember looking in the mirror this morning and frowning at my reflection, not only because I hate my body and frizzy dark red curls (my natural color is blonde but that got boring so now it's this dark red, purply auburn color), but because there was some sort of stain on the front of my hoodie. Of course, I decided to still wear it. I just wiped off what I could with a wet towel and hoped no one looked at the logo close enough to see what I believe is either ketchup or chocolate. Meh, you can barely see anything on black fabric anyway.
I cross a busy road and make my way onto a bike path with red and yellow leaves scattered around the grass beneath half-bare trees. Since most people are either in school or at work the path is deserted and I start humming along with my music as I continue my walk. I always do this, especially with my favorite songs. Music is one of my favorite things ever and I know how tired my friends and family must be of me constantly talking about it, but I am physically incapable of stopping. When you love something or someone, it usually comes up in every interaction you have and that's just the way it is with me and my music.
I turn a corner and see a black and white cat leaping down from a fence and every other thought leaves my brain. The only thing that matters to me at this moment is crouching down and pspspspsp-ing at him until he comes close enough to sniff my hand and decide that I'm worthy enough to pet him. I look at his collar and find out his name is Tommy and start laughing because the beginning to Livin' On A Prayer just came on. I scratch underneath his chin and without thinking, start serenading him with Bon Jovi.
"TOMMY USED TO WORK ON THE DO-O-O-OCKS. UNION'S BEEN ON STRIKE- JEEPERS CREEPERS!" I jump when someone taps me on my shoulder and I rip an earbud out while turning around to see a guy my age standing right behind me.
"Sorry to interrupt but can I have my cat back?" He asks in a deep but soft voice.
Of course, I'm so overcome with embarrassment that my only response is to blink repeatedly with my mouth hanging open. Trust me, you would be standing there like an awestruck trout as well if you could just see the person standing before you. Tall, strong but still soft jawline, dark auburn hair (obviously natural, unlike mine) that's somehow messy but organized (???), obviously works out but not in an obnoxious way and these greyish-blue eyes that make you question how colors work.
My thought process at this moment is going something like this: Oh mylanta he's so pretty and tall. Why is someone as gorgeous as him talking to a weirdo like me? I wonder if he thinks I'm pretty and if he has a girlfriend. I mean, some twenty-eight-inch waisted acne-free girl probably already snatched him up. What a shame- WAIT A MINUTE. I really need to stop thinking of every tall, handsome guy that talks to me as a potential suitor. Ew, what have I become, "potential suitor"? Damn I need to get away from this guy as fast as I possibly can. Quick, say something!
"Hey." (Agh, Brooklyn, COME ON! "Hey"? Is that the best you got?)
"Hay's for horses." He says, a self-satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Dude, that's my line!" I say without thinking. (*Mentally face-palms*)
"What can I say," He says with a shrug. "You set yourself up for that one." (Holy fuck why God, why? Oh, and now there's this long pause of silence as we both just stare at each other. Great! Quick, say something else, redirect the conversation from you.)
"I like your cat." (*Mentally slams head against wall*)
"Thanks," He says, now looking at Tommy who's brushing up against my legs repeatedly and meowing loudly. I almost sigh in relief, glad that his eyes aren't on me anymore. "He really likes you. I'm glad you were there to stop him from getting too far."
"He's not an outdoor cat?" I ask, grateful that my brain is finally helping me have a conversation with another human being.
"Nope. You caught him at the beginning of his great escape." He says amusedly, his eyes meeting mine again. I smile and try to hide my giddiness, grateful when Tommy meows loud enough to catch our attention.
"I'm guessing it's not the first time he's tried escaping?" I inwardly scold myself for letting someone's stares make me this uncomfortable. I have little confidence to begin with and when this cute guy looks into my eyes, that confidence seems to fade away entirely.
"No, and it won't be the last." He says. He then puts his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants and looks back up at me with an amused smile. "It's a good thing that you were here with your rendition of a Bon Jovi classic or else Tommy here would have been a goner." I physically cringe.
"And that's my cue to leave. Nice meeting you, Tommy." I say, giving the soft cat one last scratch behind the ears before turning around and walking in the direction of my school.
"Wait!" I hear him call from behind me, but I dramatically hold up my earbud and yell "I have Bon Jovi to get back to." And put in the earbud. I don't bother looking behind me, trying to preserve the miniscule amount of pride I have left.
The whole rest of the walk to my high school is spent analyzing the whole encounter. He seemed interested in talking to me and he knows good eighties music from just one line. We didn't even exchange names or anything so why am I even going over this? He must be in university and I'll never see him again so what's the point of even thinking about it as anything more than a funny story to tell my friends at lunch?
YOU ARE READING
Timing Is Everything
Teen FictionLife isn't supposed to be interesting for Brooklyn Parell. She goes to school, gets decent grades, has a few close friends and doesn't stand out (or like to). She's never been to a party, never had a boyfriend, never had a job... the list goes on an...
