Almost Perfect // l.s

chapter three

The next morning, I sat on a bench in the school commons, watching my few dozen classmates file in. The walls were lined with class photos, beginning with the twelve students of the Class Of 1939. If you took the time, you could find graduating pictures of your teachers, your older siblings, and your parents. In fact, Class of 1986 picture was the only place I could look at a photo of my father.

The second of three buses pulled up to the school and began spitting out students. I knew them all, even the eighth graders who, due to space limitations in the neighboring middle school, had classes in our building. I'd see all of them every day. The same people. In twenty years, their kids would be coming here.

I used to think I'd avoid that. Last spring, I'd been so damn smug. I was going to leave Boyer, go to college. I was going to get a good job and never come back to this shithole. And I was going to do it all with Brenda. We were going to go to MU together.

Now she was gone. Did I even have a reason for leaving town anymore? Why go to Columbia and be alone when I could do that at home?

"You're not doing yourself any favors, you know."

Niall Horan was in my first-hour biology class. Niall had thick blond (originally brown) hair, great teeth, and a smug way of looking at you that made you want to admit that he was right, even if you weren't arguing. Niall was skinny even if he ate like crazy. His eating exploits were legendary. I once saw him eat a thousand M&M'S on a bet. Even now, at 7:50 a.m., he was cramming down fistfuls of Fiddle Faddle from a jumbo box. He flopped his body onto the bench next to me.

"Hey, Niall. Did you see the Rams game last night?"

Niall ignored the question and stared at me with his narrow blue eyes. He would have looked rather mystic and serene had it not been for the flakes of caramel popcorn stuck to his cheeks.

"You're waiting for Brenda's bus, aren't you?" Niall could have accused me of shooting heroin and made it sound like the truth. Every year, the Boyer debate coach would beg Niall to join the forensics team.

"Of course not."

"Yes, you are. You're out here every morning waiting for bus fifteen. It's not healthy."

I turned and faced the dusty trophy case, enraged. It wasn't that Niall had been so dead-on correct, it was that I hadn't even realized what I was doing. I'd convinced myself I was just resting, and if Brenda just happened to pass by . . .

"Look, Harry, I know she hurt you. But you can't sit here every morning panting after her."

I resented Niall for his insight, just like I resented Liam for not realizing how much pain I was in.

"I'm not panting . . ." That was as far as I got. Brenda had arrived.

Brenda didn't turn heads. She was too skinny, too mousy for most guys to notice. But she had a willowy figure, with long, shapely legs and delicate arms. A soft neck that she wouldn't let me kiss. Long black hair that I wanted to run my fingers through (but she didn't like that). And that face . . . that narrow, beautiful face, behind those glasses that she could never keep clean.

That was one of the many things I loved about her. I thought she was perfect. The year before, every morning, I'd wait for her on this bench, when she got off the bus, she'd skip over to me and give me a big hug. And a smile. Christ, that smile . . . She made me feel like a king. A god. Just the way she'd look at me with those brown eyes . . . I would have done anything for her -including nothing. It wasn't easy, but I was content for over three years with just kissing her. Turns out she did want something more, just not from me.