The Boy Captured My Heart with a Single Photograph

Chapter One- Viva la Resistance

 That clock is ticking slower than molasses dripping down a sloth’s creepy clawed hands. I swear, in all the history of clockery and time itself, that stupid second hand has never moved slower. It’s like a sick parody of slow motion, a satire of my desperate need for this dull history class to end.

No one is even paying attention to Mr. Windsor (he is unaware that the entire student body has nicknamed him Mr. Wheezer, on account of his tragically horrific sinus issues). As Mr. Wheezer drones and sputters the unfortunately boring downfall of Napoleon Bonaparte, I think he is unaware that almost every student is thinking of Napoleon Dynamite. I even hear Garret mutter “Tina, you fat lard, come get some dinner!” and then a few snickers from the desks around him. Ah, the quirks of public high school. The clock ticks on in slow motion. Tiiiiiiick, tiiiiiick, tiiiiiiick…

After what seems like eons, the bell trills an irksome briiiingg!, and the students are off to lunch. I am the last person in class, because unlike the rest of my class I didn’t have my bag pre-packed ten minutes before class ended. I stuff my writing implements into my bag. I wasn’t in a rush to eat lunch; I had just wanted the torture of history class to end. Sighing dreamily, I reached for my sketchpad when my hand brushed another.

“Do you mind?” a quiet voice asks while gesturing to my tan leather sketchpad. Shy blue eyes, full naturally pouted lips and a camera slung around his neck. It could only be one person.

“Yes, Milo Granger, I do mind. Give it back.” I snap while snatching back my sketch journal. Stupid Milo, with his dastardly good looks and charmingly adorable bashful frown. Half of the girls already had a crush on him, but not me. No sir, my heart is not on the menu. Tossing a long auburn wave of hair over my shoulder, I turn to leave.

That is, I would have left if I hadn’t stepped on my foot and promptly flailed until impacting with the putrid fifty-year old school carpet. My sketchbook is airborne before it lands a few feet to my right. There’s an awkward pause as Milo watches my tangled pretzel limbs and chuckles, “Ah…”

“That was supposed to happen, Granger.” I announce haughtily, but it’s muffled because my face is squashed into the dingy 1960’s school carpet. I hear Milo stifle a laugh at my outrageous situation. “As sexy as this position must be,” I say while shifting my leg off my back, “I think I’m going to get up now.”

“Why do you always call me by my last name?” he asks, a frustratingly precious strand of hair flopping into his curious dark blue eyes.

“Touché!” I cry out as I stand and almost lose my balance again. Milo reaches out and grasps my elbow, steadying me once more. One of his hands is on my elbow and the other is touching my hip. I don’t think he realizes that his fingers brush the bare skin where my shirt has hitched up. His face is about 1.5 feet away from mine, and my heart is doing this really erratic spazzy twitch thing against my rib cage. A look of concern passes over his face, his eyes darkening into that shade of the dark depths of a choppy sea. My breath catches and my eyes dart to his perfect pouty lips, then to his entrancing eyes, before snapping to somewhere less romantic, like his left eyebrow. Nope, I don’t have a crush on Milo. What would possibly give you that crazy notion? The absurdity of it all.

There is a moment of silence and it feels like the air is being sucked out of the empty classroom before Milo asks in a husky voice, “Are you staring at my left eyebrow?”

“Well, I uh, it is a quite possible possibility that I am… HYAH!” While his defenses are lowered I chop him in the gut and flee the classroom, snatching up my army messenger bag backpack in my mad dash.

“Lela!” he calls out behind me whilst wheezing and clutching his recently-chopped gut. But I am long gone.

Tasha is so. Going. To. Hear. About. This.

***

“And then I karate chopped his kidneys,” I tell Tasha over the mouthful of fries I have shoved into my mouth.

“Oh, right. So did he propose to you before or after he caught you staring at his left eyebrow?” Tasha made a stupid face and crossed her eyes, and then laughed. “You know, Leels, it might actually help to just tell the poor boy that you like him.”

“But I don’t like him!” I exclaim, causing the tables surrounding us to swivel their heads towards the source of my outburst. Blushing, I say at a more reasonable volume, “I don’t like him. We’re too different.”

“Really, Lela?” Tasha arches a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow at me. “You’re the only two hipsters at school.” I frown and look down at my vintage clothes.

“Well, I thought I looked pretty foxy today,” I grumbled. “Excuse me for having unique and respectable tastes, mademoiselle.”

Tasha ignores my comment. “You both have unique art forms,” Tasha ticks off the similarities on her fingers, “you both have messenger bags, you both doodle all class, you both are insanely weird, yo—,”

“Hey, I’m not weird!” I protest while stuffing a mouthful of fries into my mouth followed by a squirt from the catsup bottle. Tasha shudders and says, “You’re the least lady-like person I’ve ever met.”

“Feminine behavior is for saps,” I snort while finishing the last bite of my soggy school burger. Go puggers. Nothing says ‘school pride’ like undercooked meat.

Tasha rolls her eyes and we begin to talk about the irrelevant wheezing of Mr. Windsor when Milo walks into the cafeteria. I gasp and hit Tasha’s arm.

“Ouch! What the French toast was that for?” Tasha whines while rubbing her arm. “You’re acting so weird!”

I tug her sleeve and try to gesture nonchalantly towards the entrance, where Milo looks like he’s trying to find someone.

“Leels, you look like you’ve fallen into coronary arrest. Just tell me what’s on your mind!”

“Garsh dang it, Tash! Milo just walked in!” I whisper-panic, hurriedly gathering my things.

“Jeez, Lee! I’ve never seen you so panicked… Why is it so weird for Milo to be in the cafeteria again?” Tash laughs as I start to gather up her things, too.

“Because,” I toss Tasha’s unopened cafeteria milk into her fuchsia bag, “Milo eats lunch in the photo room! Always! He’s come to tell me what a failure dork I am and charm me with his Camera of Doom!”

Tasha looks at me seriously for a moment before exploding into laughter. “You… stalker! I knew,” laugh, “you liked,” laugh, “him! You even know where he eats lunch!”

I hiss like someone just tossed holy water on me and punch Tasha in the arm again. “Tasha! He wants to eat my heart and then regurgitate it and then snap a photo of it! The photography horror!”

Tasha performs one of her copyrighted eye rolls. “Leels, Leels, Leels… I don’t even think he’s looking for you.”

At that moment it was like the gods opened up heaven and made Milo look into my general direction. He smiles and waves at me. I shriek and flee the cafeteria, Tasha and our book bags in tow.

“Try to eat my heart now, Granger!” I bellow into the empty halls as I sprint and drag a protesting Tasha behind me.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Wait. Where the eff is my sketch journal?