Francis And The Saga Of Boys From Hazelville

Chapter Eight

I go into my room that night and fish the yearbook out of a box in my closet. I sit on my carpet and flick through, carefully analyzing all the boy's faces, thinking about who it could possibly be. Who would I want it to be? Or not want it to be. I don't think it's a jock, I wouldn't want a jock. I find a red marker and x out any students that weren't in the class the year we went to the aquarium.

I feel like a detective, but I get to investigate something better and more interesting and wholesome than murder. I get to be an investigator of love. And I like it a lot. But still, I have no idea who it might be. Living in my bubble, I sorta forgot everyone else existed, and it served me well then. Not so much now. I get the realization that I'm not an island after all. It's not healthy to be.

With so many racing thoughts going through my mind, I'll never sleep. I want to go over to Dubby's to go over every one carefully. I'm not sure he'll appreciate that. He loves his sleep and I don't want him getting a Francis overload, over-saturated with Francis time. I go over to my window and see his light is still on. I tell myself to have some patience and let all this process. So I get into bed, but all I do is toss and turn. I bolt up like I've no control of my body, and I'm out the door before the rest of me registrars, and only so because the cold air hits me.

I carefully, and quietly go across the street. I pick up a pebble and throw it at his tiny basement window. I whisper his name though that's rendered pointless because it's a whisper.

I throw another pebble when I sense something behind me followed by, "Hey." I quickly turn around, that voice doesn't belong to Dubby, it's much deeper. I look up to see Jules Park. He's the prettiest boy I have ever seen in my entire life. In real life for sure and probably everywhere. He looks like he should be a K-pop idol. His jawline and cheekbones are made of razors and with his hair slicked back so perfectly.

"Hi," I say. What do I do now? He's holding a basketball. He's up late, but I know he plays basketball for the school team, he's good too and tall. So tall. Stop staring. He lives down the street from me, but we haven't spoken before.

"You okay, Francis?" He asks. He knows my name!

"I'm fine," I say coldly. Jules Park could be the most aloof person on earth, but still, he could melt any frozen heart.

"What are you doing out so late? It's cold."

"I was just trying to talk to Dubby. But he's asleep I think."

"Do you want to talk to me? I mean you can if you want. I can't sleep."

What should I do? Do I stay? Do I go? "Okay, sure," I reply before I know what I'm doing. On the empty street, only lit up with the streetlamps, he bounces his basketball. Do I tell him stuff about my life or keep it vague? And funnily enough, we don't really say anything. He just passes the ball to me and I pass it back. It's fun. It's simple. It's nice. With anyone else, this would be awkward. But the silence only serves as a comfort. It settles me. And I think it does the same to him.

I don't understand my life right now. A week ago, I thought stuff like this could only happen in fan fiction and the imagination. It shocks me to believe that people actually live real lives and not just watch other fictional people living fictional lives. Even if it's only small, like passing a basketball back and forth with the handsome neighbor or a secret admirer who sends me tapes with clues on them - it's living.

My bubble is nice, but what's beyond the bubble is also nice. It makes me glow inside. And the way Jules watches me as I pass him the ball, getting lost in the moment. He asks, "Are you cold?" I am cold, but my heart is warm. He takes off his jacket to give it to me, but now I don't need it, because I've just melted. Although I take it anyway.

The next morning when I wake up, I think it was all a dream, but I see his jacket at the bottom of my bed to remind me it was all in fact... real.