clementine

chapter 11: Clementine is 17 years old

When we pull into our self-designated parking spot, Trevor is leaning across his black Maserati, which was apparently a gift from his grandfather. It's not in perfect shape, but Trevor knows about as much about cars as he does about physics.

Shannon sways over to the other two boys, and I give my boyfriend a grin. He winks, and it sends flutters through my legs, turning them into jelloid. It's safe to say that I am completely and utterly in love with Trevor Matthews. Our second year anniversary is coming up in just three days and although he hasn't mentioned it yet, I'm certain that he has something out of this world planned.

He is, dare I say, the perfect boyfriend. And I know that you're probably rolling your eyes right now, but it's the truth. He's gorgeous, and cool, and easy going, and sure, he may not be the sharpest tool in the toolbox, but he's smart in other ways. Like music. Not even the cheesy rock and roll kind, but the beautiful kind. He plays the Cello, which is kind of like a monster violin.

I jump out of my seat and he plants a kiss on my lips. It tastes like toothpaste, and I sometimes wonder how Trevor manages to keep such perfect dental hygiene at every moment of the day. Yet another thing I love about him.

Okay, I get it, your eyes have rolled into the back of your head from our puppy love, but I'm just trying to tell the truth, here.

And the ooey gooey, cotton candy flavoured truth is that I loved love Trevor Matthews. And every now and again I have to wonder that, even after everything that happened, and as much as I didn't want to, maybe I still loved him. Love him, I mean.

I guess that's just how it is. No complications yet, no boredom on my behalf, no dissatisfaction with the relationship. It was just me and Trevor. Simple as that. Everything else kind of just fell into step behind us.