And I swore, too—because he never would have jumped in so quickly if it hadn’t been for my mistake.
It wasn’t go-time yet, but I knew that very soon I’d have to put my plan into action.
I couldn’t wait.
* * *
1. Romantic: One who ruthlessly believes in love in its finest form and impresses those feelings onto his or her various relationships. May result in scaring off partners, falling for the wrong person, and desperately trying to turn life into a movie with glamorous Old Hollywood actors. May also result in some of the best, most inspiring, and deepest relationships around.
the second-worst day of gael’s life
Even though Gael was lugging his huge tenor sax, his steps felt light as he headed to the band room before school.
It was Tuesday, October 2—two weeks exactly since Gael told Anika he loved her (yes, he was counting). The leaves were beginning to turn and the temperature was starting to drop. Everything was as it should be: The world had not imploded due to his premature declaration.
Sure, Anika may not have said the words back yet, but she seemed to say it in other ways: when she texted him last thing before she went to sleep; when she reminded him of the AP calculus homework whenever he forgot to write it down; when she laced her fingers in his and gave his hand the tiniest squeeze . . .
(Difficult truth time: If people want to say “I love you” back, they will.)
Gael and Anika sometimes drove to school together, but she told him yesterday that all week she’d be getting there a half an hour early to practice her flute—she was going for first chair and the tryouts were on Friday. Today, however, he’d decided to surprise her and drive in early himself—and with flowers, no less. Red carnations. Anika loved red.
Gael crossed the mostly empty parking lot and headed through the courtyard and the back double doors, whose squeaks seemed extra loud in the morning quiet. The school felt weirdly calm this early. The hallways looked bigger in the absence of people; the lockers were all uniformly shut. Footprints in the dusty linoleum provided the only proof that hundreds of kids were normally packed in. Gael headed toward the main hallway and took a right toward the band room, flowers proudly in hand, but the bright, cluttered space held only a couple of guys on trumpet—no Anika. Gael put his sax away, adjusted the straps of his backpack, and looked at his watch. He was sure she said she’d be here by now, and he wondered if maybe she’d left something in the car.
Gael’s steps were still light as he headed back through the double doors and traipsed across the concrete to the parking lot. It was brisk but sunny, a good day to be in love and do something nice for your girlfriend.
Anika’s car was a few rows behind his—a beat-up butter-yellow Volvo that suited her perfectly—but she wasn’t in it.
By the time he got back to the band room—where Anika still wasn’t—more people were arriving and the halls were slowly and sleepily coming to life. He decided to try her locker.
Gael spotted her from down the hall. Her hair was down: long and loose and wavy. Anika’s ever-changing hair was one of the things that delighted Gael most about her.
As he picked up the pace, he saw someone standing behind Anika. Tall and muscly, with wide goofy eyes, shaggy hair, and a slightly slouched posture—Mason, Gael’s best friend. Mason never got to school early. He was normally five to ten minutes late to first period and somehow got away with it because he was Mason, and everyone loved Mason.
Mason and Anika were looking at each other as Anika shut the door to her locker. She was so focused on him that she didn’t even see Gael standing just a few feet away.
Gael had never been in a car wreck, but it was exactly how people described it—everything slowed down, all the details stood out—the time on the clock and the auto-tuned voice on the radio and the drawn-out screech before the crunch of aluminum and the smell of burning rubber and the flash of white.
That’s how it was when his parents had told him they were separating.
And that’s how it was now.
There was the slam of other lockers, clacking one after another; there were the piercing shrieks of a group of freshman girls; and there were Gael’s eyes locked on Mason, as Mason leaned in, slowly, surely, and directly—like the swing of a pendulum going farther than it ever had before—and kissed Anika right on the lips.
(For what it’s worth, I’d tried to soften the blow for dear Gael. The fifteen-minute warning bell rang exactly twelve seconds earlier than it should have, and at about twice its usual volume. But it didn’t make a difference. Anika and Mason couldn’t take their eyes off each other.)
After countless agonizing seconds of kissing, Anika pulled back and said, “Stop it. I didn’t talk to Gael yet.”
Gael’s body was rigid, and the words were out of his mouth almost without his control. “I’m right here.”
Anika and Mason whipped around like misbehaving schoolchildren.