Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Looking back, I really shouldn’t have thought that. I should have known that luck wouldn’t be on my side, not when it comes to him. That despite it being a large school, we’d run into each other at exactly the right time, in exactly the right second.
That’s just how it works with us.
I feel him before I see him, the former familiar sensation returning strong. I wasn’t intentionally looking down the hallway that sits in front of the main office, but it seems my eyes knew where to go all on their own. They meet his at exactly the right moment, causing us to both freeze abruptly. The air is sucked out of my lungs, and I’m tingling all over, my body reacting purely on old instincts. My heart is re-starting itself. It’s felt dead this whole time, but it’s beating again strong! Crap, is it going to rip out of my chest?
His lips part and I watch as his chest rises and falls with each quickening breath. He has facial hair now, a small amount of stubble around his mouth, and down his lower cheeks and chin. His dark hair frames his forehead, in desperate need of a cut.
It’s sexy as hell.
His blue irises shine; matching the shirt he’s wearing underneath his suit jacket.
I’ve always loved him all dressed up.
He looks far more professional than I remember - older, more authoritative; yet somehow still exactly the same, like nothing’s ever changed. My fists ball automatically, the need to run my fingers through his messy strands is overpowering.
He’s still as desirable as ever.
He shakes his head and blinks, like he thinks he’s imagining me. I wonder if he’s hoping for me to disappear, or praying that I’m real.
Neither of us is smiling. It seems we both don’t know what to do, but we’re locked onto one another, his eyes intently matching mine, full of surprise, hesitation, and something else, something more.
The bell rings and students swarm into the hall out of nowhere, like a massive tsunami. The loudness and commotion is only a light buzz around us. We’re forever planted in our own world, boring into the depths of one another from this small distance. I want to both run from him and to him, but my legs are stuck in place, glued, as senior year hits me like a ton of bricks, replaying in my head from the very beginning.
CLASS OF 2002
By mid-August, I knew my schedule would arrive in the mail any day now. I chat on AIM with friends on how I hope we are in the same lunch period, and I spend my days walking around the mall with my best friend, Chloe, scoping out all the new clothes we’ll get for senior year, all while trying to avoid my little sister, Gracie. She’s always tagging along with her friends in that annoying sisterly fashion.
Like previous years, I swore this one would be different - that I’ll get amazing grades, make new friends, become really popular, and even finally get a boyfriend, maybe - hopefully. Of course, I promise myself this exact same thing every year, and by week two, I usually end up hating school, I’ll have gone through all my new outfits already, and it'll be just like every other year.
It’s funny how we think wearing new clothes, dating the hottest guys, and becoming popular are all that matters, as if it’s important. While my peers don’t yet realize it’s not like this in the real world, I learn the lesson much sooner. I go into senior year wanting the same exact things they do, but come out a completely changed and different person.
I swore to myself though, this year, things would be different, and not just because it’s my last year in this small, New York town, or because it’s some of last times I’ll step through the halls of the strangely odd, but unusually large, Maple Tree High School. The school where four elementary schools bleed into two middle schools, and whose two middle schools graduate into MTHS. With over 1600 students, 410 will (if the year goes well) be in my graduating class. Change is on the horizon.
"Luci," Mom yells. I type ‘brb’ to everyone, put up an away message, and head downstairs.
Nowadays, every time I leave my room I’m hit with a ping of sadness. How many more moments will I walk out of my door before it’s no longer my door? How many times will I come home, to the place I grew up in, and still think of it as where I live? Hundreds? Thousands?
I look out of the large window over the stairs on my way to the kitchen. All the other houses on the block look exactly the same as ours, minus some color changes, and the interior, obviously, because inside, ours, while clean, has never made it past the 70's, which is when my parents purchased it. Something about the shades of brown and orange, the crazy mirrors, and shag carpets, are oddly comforting. It's home and I’ll love it forever. The truth is, I actually feel bad about leaving next year. I love my parents and get along with them really well. They’re beside themselves over the fact that I don’t want to stay local for college. Granted, I’m unsure of exactly where I want to go, or what I even want to major in, but I do know I want to experience something outside of this boring town.