Love Rival

Holding Hands

      "Jean Pentrest?"

   Startled, he stood slowly from his seat that was hidden in the back corner of the classroom.

      "Well, are you here or not?" The teacher questioned his silence.

       His stomach was caving in slowly as the stares of students suppressed his words.
      
    "He-here." He whispered faintly.

      Students snickered as he sat back down.

           He was best known for his quiet voice. It was rumored that he was strangled as an infant but, you can never trust anyone in Junior year. They called him "mouse". Call it a nickname or an insult. Did Jean care? No, he was too withdrawn to notice. In fact, "mouse" was normal to the point where his family would also call him that. 

  There, he would look outside the windows of the High school, and watch Class A's Gym period. he was in Class B. It was a sunny and pleasant day to go running along the track; In contrast to inside the building with its  cold and cool air. As if winter came early in the summer. If you could exhale hard enough, you could faintly make out a fog of breath. Unfortunately, for Jean, he wasn't wearing his uniformed sweater. He envied the luck of Class A.

  Goosbumps appeared and his skin craved the warmth of the sun. He rubbed his cold arms with his cold hands, almost shivering as they touched. He took a look back outside and caught a glimpse of his best friend and his childhood neighbor. 

   Alice. A dark haired beauty, that was intelligent and unlike Jean, had a gift of captivating people's interest without having to be the one to start the conversation. With a single step into their presence she had the power to create crowds to surround her, friends to ask her "how was you day?". Day after day, boys confess their undying love for her and girls praise her friendly nature. She even had a talent in drawing. A prodigy of the arts.

    Jean smiled.

      He remembered when they were young and the drawings  they would exchange each other whenever it was the others birthday. His stick figures would always look like trash beside her highly detailed cats. Cats that were sometimes patterned with stripes, or different textures. Coated with vibrant colors that opened the eyes. Her drawings always touched the heart. She was really a gift, No, a mere blessing that Jean had the privilege of  having her as his neighbor, 

     Their windows to their room were across from each other. And they used this as a gateway for communication whenever they were apart. Tough times, bad days, good days, and exciting passion, contained into this overwhelming surge of feelings that were bursting to be shared; They picked up a bold marker, drifted words across paper, and held it against the glass pane for the other to see. 

     Everyday, Jean would wake up ready to write and tell or read and listen to the window pane across from him. Abundant of stories told and drawn between the two. Feelings strong enough to color worlds to life. Every moment spent was lively and vivd. She made the world brighter in Jeans eyes.

     Then there was Oliver. A blonde headed Prince. Why Prince? Because he always strutted that aroma of royalty and importance. Everyone saw him as someone they'd want to reach but can never touch. He could be likened to a piece of artwork in a museum or a sentimental vase that your grandmother told you to never touch. Either way, he was a most marveled person indeed.

    Jean had no purpose in marveling him from afar, they were best friends after all. Oliver had a natural born gift in sports. Compared to Jean, who couldn't make a ball into a hoop or a soccer into a net even if the life of humanity depended on it. Oliver would spend hours  telling him to try  again until giving up once Jean complained about pulling a muscle. At first impressions, Oliver can be stubborn and adamant at times. But once you break that shell, he'll open up sides of him that can make moment after moment exciting and memorable. His kind heartedness, his determination, and many more. 

      One time, they spent a camping trip together. It was dark and they snuck out with the winds of expedition calling them. As childish and imaginative they were at that age, they sought to find a monster they assumed dwelled deep in the woods. Jean, who was shy and timid was easily lured by Oliver's passion for adventure and thrill. Unexpectedly, Oliver, as tough as he may seem, bruised his knee by falling on some hard rocks. 

      Jean could remember his cries and shrieks of pain. Without hesitation, he rubbed his bruise and soothed the pain away. It was a memorable moment for him, since the person he always admired was in the hands of his care. Even though a monster was never found that night, they found something even better. 

        Both had a special place in his heart.

         He watched them hold hands tightly, outside in the sunny scenery.

        They didn't really have time to make those kinds of memories anymore. They now had responsibilities  that only couples can fulfill. Without him, obviously. He was overjoyed when they decided to date, it was a pleasurable surprise.  They were perfect for each other. He knew that Alice would have to limit her time at the window, so he kept his stories to himself. He also knew that Oliver wouldn't have time to practice with him and his lack of ability in sports,  So he never once had to say "I pulled a muscle." 

         He began to grow distant with his close friends, not only that, but he's never found himself  in a class with  Alice nor Oliver. So he would always catch himself gazing off from afar at the two  on school days. A sense of loss would take over his body and bundle him into that corner in the back of the classroom. 

       Jean's smile faded.

        Their hands were still held tight. Not before long, he started thinking how that would feel, If his hands were held. He stopped rubbing his goosebumps and gazed at his hands. Intertwined them together. He checked back at the window to see if he was doing it right. Then looked back at his hands.

       It looks the same, But I'm sure it feels more startling, much more breathtaking.

      He thought.

     He looked back again to see their holding hands, instead, the couple were gazing from below  at him. 

      It was a sudden moment, and for the longest time he wanted them to see him. To notice him and remember the times they've spent together.  How come he was all nervous and jumpy? He smiled awkwardly. Teeth grinning and eyes closed. 

      Alice waved excitedly and laughed as Oliver gave him a sweet smile. Once Jean pulled away from the window, the two turned faces and smiled in deceit. They continued holding each others hand, both gripping harder, and bearing nails into the sides of their skin. With blood piercing from the their overbearing strength. 

      The moment was much less breathtaking and more of a hasty, indecent, desire to take each others breath away. In other words, death.