𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 before Earth became the world as we know it, it was a disc of dust and gas, orbiting the sun. During this orbit, Earth collided with a massive object. The world lost a piece of itself. But with that missing chunk...
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F O R D
I NEED A minute. I need a goddamn minute.
Even a few seconds would be fine.
I just need a break.
A moment to spare.
It's unfair really, how someone can have such a deafening pull on another.
It's been difficult every day. Super difficult; that time at the pool. But for some reason, it's almost excruciating today.
We're sitting on the pair of motorcycles, waiting for the three second countdown before the animated race prompts us on the screen.
I should be watching and readying myself when the timer runs out, but my eyes are stuck with glue onto Clarke. I feel insanely guilty, like I'm oozing with sins.
Her face is lit with a perpetual grin that hasn't fanned from her lips this entire time. She's sitting on the motorcycle. The positioning and posture is causing the hem of her shirt to lift up the small of her back. It didn't take me a single nanosecond before I found the thin line of white lace peeking from the waist of her deep red, almost purple shorts that have little flowers and flying leaves embroidered on the back pockets.
Her outfit is nothing but modest. Even the swimsuit she wore was shielding, but despite that, I catch myself staring anyway.
Everything about the girl is insane. Her eyes. Her lips. Her teeth. Her moles. Her hair. Her voice. Her curves. That gentleness and constant grace that battles that inappropriate humor of hers on the daily.
She's like a living irony. A damn venn diagram.
And the way she was so concerned for Mikey. The way she bounced him and held him like a mother.
I like all of it.
My whole life—before I knew what it meant—I haven't stopped liking her.
I've fawned over her little mannerisms and giggles and her puffy cheeks and almost constantly furrowed brows for forever.
Clarke hasn't changed, but she's gotten even more beautiful.
It was thoroughly heart-wrenching when she hinted that she didn't fully think so. She doubted it.
If I wasn't so shy about it, I would've chanted at her, maybe even screamed just to make sure she knew and never thought anything different from that moment on.
But I'm a scared loser who has no idea how to talk to girls.
Maybe I got through to her last night at Wendy's. I'm hoping so. Praying.
My mama hasn't seen her yet. I suppose that's why she's so adamant they come to dinner.
Clarke's parents don't post her on social media. Their Facebook is filled with pictures of mountains and the ocean shore but not icy gray eyes and hands covered in sterling silver and stones.
