I'd Rather Be Surfing

2| And I Thought 2016 Was the Year for Realizing Stuff

Strawberry Chapstick has always bugged me.

I mean, it's a dead shot for cherry. The taste, the smell, the color. But for some forsaken reason, Chapstick decided it worked better to swap the names. Have they ever seen a cherry? Hint: they're not pink.

I pulled out my Sharpie from my boho bag (a category ten hurricane in regards to cleanliness; I threw a bunch of stuff in there I thought I might need for the first day of the school year), sticking the cap between my teeth as I tugged off the marker and scribbled through Strawberry. My left hand wrote a messy, cursive Cherry next to it. The word takes up half the tube, but it will do.

In extended homeroom on the first day, there is nothing better for me to do.

I brought the marker up to my mouth to put the cap back on. However, the cap slipped through my slick lips (thanks to the balm) and fell onto the dusty tiled floor.

Reaching down from my desk, I twisted my body back, towards the desk diagonally behind me.

My hand wasn't met with the cap of my Sharpie or the sharp coldness of the floor, but instead with the gentle hand of a stranger. That is, surprisingly, even tanner than me. But I guess that's not saying too much.

Oh curse you, Chapstick. You and your misnaming of your balms.

"My bad." His gravelly, yet smooth, voice chuckled. "Here you go." He placed the cap, which—in case you forgot—was in between my lips seven seconds ago, into my open palm, and I trailed my eyes up to meet his.

"Thanks," I said steadily, turning the corners of the mouth up, just enough to suggest a half-smile.

"I'm Alexander. Are you new?"

I consciously run a hand through my tangled hair, but it gets caught midway down so I have to subtly tug it out while talking. Typical. Revealing a hint of attitude, I say, "Yes, I'm new."

"Man, how many times have you been asked that today?"

"Including you, fourteen. I mean, I know people normally know who's at their school, but damn," I pause momentarily. "Do you guys study the year book for third period?" I set the Sharpie cap on my desk, reclaiming it's rightful place on the end of the marker.

I turn back around as he speaks and I notice how his dark brown hair shines in the sun from the windows of the chem lab. And the way his shirt is unbuttoned from the two buttons it has. And if I were boy crazy, I would say how I wish there were more and that those were unbuttoned, too. But I'm not boy crazy. "Psh. We memorized the yearbook. No need to review it when you know it by heart." He brings a veiny fisted hand to his chest, patting it a couple times.

My mouth turns up as I playfully narrow my eyes. "Now I'm expecting you to recite it. P's?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Peterson, Perry, Predlin, Pearson, Puh-puh," Alexander thinks for a moment, trying to conjure up another P name. "Okay, I'm out."

"I can't believe I'm talking to someone who hasn't memorized the whole yearbook. That should be illegal."

"Oh, it is. I'm due for eight months jail time in November for incriminating the law."

"Oh thank God they aren't making you miss Halloween."

We laugh, his brown eyes closing momentarily when he lightly tilts his head back.

"I'm Colette."

"It's nice to meet you, Colette." He plays with my name on his lips. I shift back around, slumped in my seat, grinning like an idiot.