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I nervously considered all of this for a few weeks, feeling sweaty excitement every time I saw him. One morning when I was getting ready for school, I looked out the window and saw that overnight there had been a light snowfall, dusting all the trees and shrubs in my backyard with white. It looked beautiful. I felt refreshed. And I decided that this would be the day I would approach the Guy.
I got my chance sooner than I expected. I had to go to the bathroom during my first class, history, and when I walked out into the quiet hallway, there he was, at the other end of it, at his locker. The bathroom was right near his locker row, and I walked towards it and him, relishing the tension of the two of us, alone, in the hallway. As I neared him, I started feeling sick, my palms began to sweat, and I gave up on the idea. I went into the bathroom. Then for a few minutes I proceeded to kick myself for not having said anything and blowing my only chance. I’d never be alone anywhere with him again. I had no fucking gumption. I cursed myself as I washed my hands, glaring at my stupid reflection in the mirror. When I left the bathroom, he was still there. It was now or never. If I so much as stopped walking, he’d know I wanted to talk to him, and then I would be forced to. It was as easy as just stopping. And I did.
The Guy looked at me. His eyes were so blue. My stomach went through the floor. He was cute. He was handsome. He looked like Balthazar Seizure. Sure, a high school version . . . but he did. His hair was shiny. He wore all black. And he was looking at me.
“Yes?” he asked. His voice was deep! I almost gasped.
“Sorry to bother you,” I said, hoping I sounded confident and relaxed. “I like your shirt.”
He stared at me. “Bloodvomit? What do you know about them?”
“I like them,” I said. “I’m also really into Gurgol and DED. Do you know them?” I was impressed with myself, listing off other bands so casually, proving my knowledge, fitting in.
“Yeah, I know them,” he said irritably. “How the fuck do you know them?”
I could not think of a single cool-sounding answer to that question, and I was starting to lose my confidence. I don’t know exactly what I had expected, but it wasn’t this. And in no way, shape, or form was it cool that I had found out about the bands from a bumper sticker. I’d keep that little tidbit to myself.
“Oh, you know, through the grapevine,” I said stupidly, and froze. I could not have sounded more idiotic.
“Through the grapevine?” he repeated with disgust. “What grapevine? What the fuck are you talking about? Who the fuck do you know in the scene?”
Absolutely no one.
“I didn’t know there was a scene,” I said falteringly, feeling a collapse within myself. Feeling my strength just drain, standing there like a moron.
He stared at me for another moment, and then turned back to his locker. “Get the fuck out of here.”
So I was left with the horror of having to silently acknowledge my uselessness to his hemisphere, turn, and walk back up the hall away from him, back to class. I was reminded of my moment with Brandi, of fearing she was watching me run home across the schoolyard. Even though I knew he wouldn’t bother watching me walk away, I felt so dowdy in my stupid plaid skirt and tights, still wearing my pathetic winter boots, which I wore every stupid day, because they vaguely resembled the “cool” style I didn’t own. Blood pounded in my head. Even my own kind weren’t going to accept me.
The grapevine.
What a fucking idiot.
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