The Catastrophe of Falling In Love

Chapter 6

I look for Chris in the track and field. He's there, concentrated in passing and catching the football repeatedly in his sweaty muscle tee and shorts. He looks very athletic. A very hot and handsome, athletic one.

     On Chemistry, he talked to me while Mr. Gregory haven't entered the room yet. He was so abrupt, and blunted exact five words. We will talk after school was all he said, then he returned pretend-listening with his lab partner Hanna.

He turns out to be unpredictable. And the whole concept of ignoring Chris is getting out of hand, because he talks to me so often, even if we're not in speaking terms. Yesterday, he appeared at my doorway and at some point I thought he's going to say sorry, and we're going to patch things up, clear everything and get back to normal. But then I remembered I was the one who did this mess, so I should be the one saying sorry.

And this is why I'm here.

     When he sees me after catching the ball, he throws it back to his partner and comes to where I stand. "What took you so long? I said after school!"

     Exasperatedly, I ask, "This isn't after school?"

     "No, this is fifteen minutes after school!" He argues.

     "What do you want?" I ask, crossing my hands over my chest to look impatient.

     He sighs heavily, and in a low voice he says, "Just so we're clear, I don't have cliché bad boy charms."

     "What?"

     "And I'm not a cliché jock." He continues. His voice is still low but actually furious.

     "I never said that."

     "Yes you did. In your letter. How mysterious and snobby I am. Remember that?"

     What the hell? Wait. No. No. No, this is not real. I am dreaming. No. I am having a nightmare. And Christian Josh Cartier is in it, glaring at me. I close my eyes, hoping he'll disappear. Hoping when I open them back, I'll just be in my room, laying.

     "Blaze?"

     When I open my eyes, he's holding my letter in his hand. Oh, God. It's my letter, my love letter, and inside it's my handwriting and my pathetic confession. "Where—where did you get that?"

     "It came to the mail this morning," he sighs. Gruffly, he says, "Listen, it's no big deal. You like me then—"

     "Liked," I say in a split second. Rapidly, I say, "I've written that a long time ago. And I forgot what's ever written in there. I don't even know who would sent it." Lie. Lie. Brad Kavinsky sent it.

"Okay."

"Can I have it back?" I demand. I've tried to calm my nerves and tried not to go nuts. My stomach feels twisty, and I wanted to run. But I want my letter back, I want to burn it until it's gone.

He hesitates and then grins his perfect grin. "Nah, I want to keep it. I never got a love letter before."

But he does. Not technically letters, but notes. He got love notes from his locker. I even stated that in my own letter. I don't get why he haven't told me, or brag about it when we're still friends. Not that he can't keep other things private with me, but it's not a thing to hide. Chris likes to share almost everything that's happening within his life to me. Just to me. And with that, I no longer say he's mysterious to me because it feels like knowing Chris for too long is like completing a five thousand puzzle piece.

     One time, I saw him open his locker and couple of notes rained and puddled down his feet. He picked them up and stuffed it in his bag, but not every last piece. When he left, I pick the one he missed. It says, Hi Christian, I miss you. And that note was not anonymous, it has a name written with a heart scribbled after. It came from none other than the girl who rejected him, Heidi Nelson.

     "Fine, have it!" And I walk out.

—
That night after dinner, my brothers and I hang around the living room. Bliss sat down on the floor while he works on his solar system project, and Blair helps on painting the planets.

I don't contribute much help. First of all, I think Bliss have not forgiven me yet. He still thinks I told Blair about the girl he likes, but I haven't. If it was Blair who saw Bliss, he would tell me for sure. But the thing is, Blair knows how to make it up with Bliss. I mean, they're both boys, there are certain things that I can't do as much as Blair. And though Blair teases him a lot, Bliss can easily forgive him by playing video games and then they'll get along.

My Mom used to say, I should put Blair and Bliss first. That I should protect and be a big sister. So when we were kids, Blair was three, Bliss was only one, and I'm four, I always act like their big sister. When our grandfather gives us lollipops, he would give me three because I was the eldest, and he would give Bliss and Blair two. But I always give them another each, and all was left for me was one lollipop, which was okay. In that way, I was putting my brothers first, and my Mom would be happy and proud of me.

Right now, we are pretty old enough to put ourselves first. But I still do feel I need to apologize to Bliss. What I did is not what a big sister would do. Though, I think it's not the best time to do such an act. If Bliss blows up, I might blow up too, since I'm still furious about what happened earlier with Chris.

"What are you doing Blaze?" Blair asks.

"Shh. I'm writing a song." I hold up a finger to shush him. I have my notebook and pen with me, but I haven't written anything yet. It's like I can't think of anything, just a blank space.

"Why don't you go out lately? It's not so Blaze-like mopping around the night like a cat," Blair says, leaving the brush mid-air.

It's true. I don't go out often as much as I do before. I would go out with Chris to parties, to hang around our treehouse, or sometimes he would go here from dinner until midnight just to do our homework because we ended up laughing and talking about stuffs. But it's different now.

     "Not your business," I say and throw a pillow at him.

     "Why don't we invite Chris in?"

     Gruffly, I say, "No!" 

     After he was my best friend, Chris became our best friend. My family was really fond of him that my brothers treated him like their own brother, and like a son to my parents. And though we do reckless doings, my family never hated him. Because why would they if he's my only friend. And I, well I treated him like I was supposed to, until one day the tables turn and I woke up having feelings for him. And then the other day, we are no longer friends.

I'm fine without Chris, I mean, I've done that for a year. It's just so hard seeing him. Besides, he has his football team, and I got my band.

And when I wrote my goodbye, I meant it.