How You Get the Girl

one|genesis.

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It was nothing extraordinary, Elliot and I had met under the most ordinary circumstances. It included a stern maths teacher, a bunch of undecipherable question and a couple of confused glances and a few snorts of disbelief. And, before you knew it we were inseparable, joint at the hip, and a friendship was born, one that would prove to be indestructible and incorruptible, but never did I imagine that it would develop into something of a greater magnitude. Something much greater than the simple elements of friendship, slowly it blossomed into an intangible knot of incomprehensible feelings.

It was the first few weeks of college, Elliot had approached me asking for some help on his AS chemistry transition homework. My patience was wearing incredibly thin as I was trying to explain the concept of nomenclature, but my efforts were proving to be futile. After a few hours of trying to get him to understand how to apply his knowledge to accurately name a structural diagram, we were finally getting somewhere. In this moment of clarity and understanding his eyes lit up brightly and he began to hurriedly explain the naming process, his arms flailing about as nomenclature finally made sense, but of course his explanations weren't complete without the addition of some wacky analogies.

'Oh my bloody days!' he exclaimed, tapping his fist on his forehead, 'How did I not understand this? Seriously I need to major help, God help me with A level chemistry.' He stared at me, like I was the reason for his sudden sense of clarity and looked at me as though I was the key for all his problems. I mean I suppose I was, the reason for his sudden sense of clarity and the reason why he finally understood nomenclature, but I was not the solution to all his predicaments.

His gaze was one that suggested that he finally saw me, like all the pieces had finally, slowly, fallen into place and that everything had finally made sense. It was a look that made me feel acknowledged, wanted and most importantly understood. Whilst I do understand that all these feelings and thoughts could have fabricated in the moment, a fruitless lie manufactured by my conscious to make me feel the feelings that I had been denied of almost all my life. However, I was certain that his gaze was genuine and the feelings aroused by such a simple gesture were like a bite out of candy floss soft, gentle and tantalizingly sweet.

A few seconds had passed before his phone had chimed with a notification, he slipped out his phone and almost dropped it as he fumbled for the power button. He stared deftly at the screen before hurriedly packing his backpack, he haphazardly threw in his belongings without sparing them a second glance and zipped his bag before giving me an apologetic glance. 'My mums in dire need of assistance,' he said melodramatically, 'I'm sorry Maria' he said before leaning in for a hug.

A hug that was quite unexpected, and as he leaned in my heart rate increased rapidly and I could hear the blood rushing past my ears and feel my cheeks gradually heating up. Though I was quite lucky as my face was buried in the crook of his neck. Before he could see my face turning an alarming shade of beet red, he briskly walked out of the room.

I let out a relieved sigh, and began to look for my phone amongst the mass of papers stuffed aimlessly in my bag. After a few minutes of looking I had finally found it stuffed inside my planner, which I probably wouldn't have usually found for a good two hours after giving up. I turned on my phone before turning on my front camera, and I wasn't surprised when I saw my face had splotches of pink and red splattered on my face, I prodded at my cheeks with my index finger before placing my palm on my cheeks and felt that my cheeks were still quite warm.

It was an unusual, foreign experience but me being idiotic twat that I am placed it down to some sort of flu or fever. For days I went by the notion that something was wrong with me and that I was probably just feeling a bit sick. I guess the idea that it was something other than a petty flu was always lingering in my thoughts but I refused to address it, mainly because the thought of being in hopeless in love with my best friend was utterly preposterous. Yes, I was finally able to identify that Elliot was behind the heart palpitations, stutters, butterflies and perspiration and beads of sweat that collected on my forehead when he was around. And contrary to popular beliefs I acknowledged this much sooner than most, but acted on it much later than any, because love, for me, is an unknown territory and people (quite rightly so) fear the unknown.

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