Between the Lines

- 4 -

                                                                           Braden

I’ve spent so many hours imagining what I’d say to this girl if I ever got the chance. I dreamt of whole conversations with her in my head where I’d say something smart and funny, and then she’d laugh and duck a little bit, trying not to show that she was beginning to like me, even though she had a boyfriend. And I would be right there to help her figure out her muddled feelings, I’d say all the right things, show all the right moves, and when the moment was perfect, I’d tell her how she captivates my mind all the time…and we’d kiss.

But in the real world, none of that suave, verbal honey is dripping from my lips right now. It’s more like acidic verbal diarrhea. I am very literally shitting from my lips, and I hate every single syllable I’m muttering.

“Bet you’re wishing you’d gotten stuck with just about anyone other than me, right?” I say and immediately kind of regret it.

This is not at all what I want to be telling her, and definitely not how I want her to think that I look at her…and yet…it kind of is.

I mean, while she’s stupid hot, and sexy, and smart…and she has that infectious, explosive laugh that just makes me want to smile any time I hear it, there’s a lot of times that I don’t see that sweet girl I imagine, but rather a girl who whole-heartedly embraces her inner bitch. At least, it seems like that. Maybe she’s stressed-um, all the time-but I can’t tell. She’s hard to read and harder to talk to. I’m almost thinking that she is just shy, until she proves me entirely wrong and verbally pimp slaps me.

“It probably could have been worse,” she says and looks at the girl that half the school knows is making out with Kendal’s boyfriend behind the school between third and fourth hour. I feel my cheeks flush and try to banter with her as if she didn’t just tell me I’m one step above pond scum.

We throw a couple more words back and forth before I try to set up a semi-cool conversation piece when talking about Madison.

“I think she likes his grandmother.”

Kendal frowns at me, and even that is endearing. “Are you friends with her?” she asks sounding more nervous than she should for this conversation with a reject like me.

“Friends with his grandma? Na. We used to be close, back in the war. But she changed, ya know.” Here I try not to smile, because while I know she’s smart, I have no idea how she takes sarcasm.

For a moment she just stares at me, and I have no idea what the blank look means. So I try to get past the awkward silence by skipping to the assignment.

“Ok, I know, not at all my business. Out of my arena here. Sorry. Let’s just get to the assignment. I’m pretty good with most of it, but I’m not sure really how to address some of the content. She said that in a dialog story, there’s usually a conflict. The only conflict I think of that can make a five page dialog story is-um-love,” I almost mumble the last word.

Finally she responds, and while I don’t know what’s behind her thoughts, her words impale me.

“Love? Right. Not something I think the two of us can empathize on.”

I feel my cheeks singe with fresh heat because it feels like she’s saying I can’t imagine what it feels like to care about someone else. Maybe that’s not what she’s saying, I know girls have lots more thought behind their words than guys usually do, but it freakin’ feels accusatory, so without considering what I’m saying in response, I just shoot back.

“That so? Why, because I’m not like you and your beauty squad? I couldn’t possibly know about love? I have no clue what it’s like to need someone so bad that I’ve spent entire Saturdays in my pajamas lying in the middle of my bedroom floor listening to God damn Phil Collins on repeat singing ‘Against All Odds’? No. I have no clue what that’s like.  But you, of course, know exactly what it’s like to care so freakin’ deep. So, do tell, Princess.”

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