Seeing Shane Gray ✓

seven | depression

*.*.*.*.*.*

September 20

As September draws to a close, I busy myself in college applications with the rest of my friends. The student body, however, breaks out in a humdrum of gossip. Between football games every Friday and deadlines to submit applications to early action colleges, most people forget to eat or sleep.

I don't forget, though. I love food and sleep too much.

What can I say? I'm a primal instinct sorta person.

Nonetheless, Riley pesters us to accompany her to watch Carlos' football practice. Racheal spends hour after hour getting us to review her personal essay. The rest of us oscillate between the two. For Marla, the decision of which college she wants to apply to is simple. She's going to Boston U to be with Hashir and -- despite their age difference -- her parents don't have a problem with it. They know she's either going to go to university for him or elope. As absurd as it sounds, though, Hashir's a great guy. Not only does he have good grades, but he's also got his eyes set on the Senate after completing his masters in law.

"Do you want to apply to Yale? The deadline is November first." Racheal points out as I type, delete, and retype my personal essay.

I scoff incredulously. "Are you kidding? We all know I'm not getting into Yale or Harvard or whatever," I say. "Only geniuses get into those universities. Geniuses like ... I don't know, Shane Gray, maybe?"

The thought of him comes suddenly to me and I don't filter it out before speaking. Heat creeps up my neck at the realization that I've been thinking about him quite frequently over the past few days. It doesn't make any sense for me to do that, really, since he hasn't given me any signal he hasn't given anyone else. Just because he's been nice to me thrice now doesn't mean we're friends or something. He doesn't even know my name. Besides, he's nice to everyone.

After breaking his leg -- or fracturing his ankle -- Shane has tried to stay as far away from football as possible. Although he still sits at the same table as before, with Carlos and the rest of his football friends, laughing and joking, he's never there during the games anymore. The Friday after the one I found him in the library, I went there again. I told myself it's because I like the library, but in reality, I want to meet him again without people wondering why. He wasn't there, though, and after two weeks, I gave up.

I don't know what I was thinking. We're not friends because I found him in the library and he was polite enough to not tell me to leave. His absence after that tells me he wasn't looking for anything more than a brief hello. He probably doesn't even remember my name.

Nonetheless, I can't hate him. He's a nice guy with nothing to particularly dislike. You can't hate good people even if you try.

Unless you're an asshole, of course. Then you can hate whoever the fuck you want.

"Hmm," Racheal hums, picking at her nails. "We're not getting into something great, are we?"

"Nope," I answer, keeping my gaze fixed on my Washington State University application. I'm hopeful I'll get into it since the university is pretty high-ranked -- 166th according to the information leaflet its representatives handed me at the education expo -- but a part of me hopes I make it. No harm in trying, is there?

It's not fair, as far as I'm concerned, how someone can be so academically gifted and athletically inclined at the same time when normal people like myself are average to mediocre at best. Okay, my grades are mostly As and B+s and I played for the school's badminton team in sophomore year before realizing I'd rather write cheesy poems and send them to the editorial team of the school newsletter and magazine. Shane Gray, however, is not only the star player of our football team but also a high achiever with his face -- with his signature smile and flyaway hair -- plastered on every single notice board for being the 'pride' of Gordon Blake High.