The Ginger In The Alley And Desi Winters

The Enemy Within

The way I kept up my grades through most of my school career was very simple; I picked something to focus on and then I worked through it until it was complete. The way my grades began to slip midway through middle school was an equally simple story; I started focusing on the wrong things. Mrs. Burgess would be explaining the circulatory system and it would pass my mind completely. To this day, I still don't understand the heart and the basics of its mechanisms. What I do know is the way Charles Holley's eyes sparkle when he laughs and how he sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating on writing. Frankly, it's served me better in life to know that instead.

I sat behind him in biology; diagonally to his left. During most years of school, I had sat near him, us being in the same grade and all, but it was only sophomore year when I really began to notice just how excellent of a setup that could be. Coincidentally, that was also the year my sister Violet realised that even though she and Charles had been best friends since they were six, it was time to finally get over the sexual tension and just make out with him. On the one hand, seeing him in a relationship ripped my soul in two and left me a crying mess on the bathroom floor for countless nights before I got over my teenage angst. On the other hand, it was a relationship with my sister, which meant he was in my house far more often. Win some, lose some, I suppose. 

Ever since we moved from upstate Washington down to Texas, Charles had been there. He was Violet's first friend when we started kindergarten, and by extension of Triplet Law, he was my and Juliet's friend as well. The one difference was that as we all got older and made new friends, Violet just stuck to Charles like glue. She had classmates she talked to and fellow cheerleaders when Juliet dragged her into that racket, but for as long as we lived in Texas, her only true friend was Charles. At some points, I felt sorry for her. At other points, I realised she was doing better in the 'friend' division than I was. 

The day we were learning about the circulatory system in biology, my point of focus was whatever facial expressions Charles made when he was actually paying attention to the material and taking notes and taking mental notes on that instead. His tongue stuck out to the right if he was making side notes to himself of low importance and to the left if Mrs. Burgess was just about to pick up the board eraser and he still had a paragraph to scribble down as fast as his long fingers would go. Violet, who was sitting beside him, nudged her notebook slightly towards him, just as an indication that she had the notes down and that he didn't have to write in such a flurry anymore. The tongue retracted and his entire body relaxed as the blackboard was erased. I could see him silently cheering and mentally wishing he could lean over and kiss her in thanks. He wouldn't, of course; that wasn't his style. I was mentally cheering along with him. If Violet had the notes he needed, it meant he was definitely going to come over tonight. Even if I only got to see him for a couple of seconds, it would improve my mood tenfold. That was the worst case scenario. Best case? He stayed for supper and I would get to sit across the table from him. 

He held Vi's hand all during supper, frequently offering her little private smiles to be shared only between the two of them. They occupied one side of the table while Juliet and I occupied the other side and our parents on either end. There was probably a conversation going on around me, but my ears seemed to be impervious to any sort of question on the first ask unless it came from Charles. The fact we were eating spaghetti didn't help matters at all. He'd just suck and suck and suck and suck and then lick his lips. It was a miracle I made it out of the dinner without having gone to touch myself secretly under the table. 

There'd be plenty of time for that later.

He stayed over that evening, even though it was a school night. Charles and Violet had given up asking for permission to stay over at each other's houses when they were 12 and had given up even informing their parents that they were going to stay over by the time they were 15. If someone wanted to call and check, they would, but even that was a rare occasion anymore. Convenient for everyone involved. Torture for everyone who wasn't involved.