Drama Geek, Page 2
SM Dritschilo
Chapter 2
Didn’t get much sleep last night. Tossed and turned with all kinds of weird memory flashes of Josh and I when we were little. We went everywhere together from the time we were in diapers until he disappeared right before my 10th birthday. It didn’t help when Josh and his parents were all my Mom and Dad wanted to talk about at dinner last night.
Laurel starts in the second I sit down demanding all the details in 1st period. I try to relay as much as I can without letting him know having him back is messing with my head right now.
“Wow. You were best friends for EIGHT YEARS? Geez. You and I have only been best friends for five years. Should I be jealous?” she asks me when we sit down for lunch later.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not the same thing. We were just little kids. You are I are way more best of best friends than he and I ever were,” I assure her.
“Whew. Then you won’t be mad that I invited him to sit with us at lunch today.”
That’s my Laurel. Bombshell-dropper extraordinaire.
“You did what?!?”
“Come on. Where’s your heart? He’s a new kid in school and you’re the only living soul he knows here. Are you telling me you’re not going to help a totally cute guy feel comfortable on his second day at a new school?”
I hate when she’s so logical. Her most irritating character trait to be sure. I don’t have a chance to tell her what I think because there’s a “Hey.” right behind me that makes me nearly jump out of my skin. Geez, why am I so on edge now?
I look up over my shoulder at him. Josh is standing there with such a hesitant look on his face I cave with a mental note to Google ‘BFF payback’ tonight when I get home.
“Well, sit down already before you make me pull a muscle trying to look up at you,” I tell him.
A quick half grin and he’s on the bench beside me.
The table feels a little awkward to me now, but Laurel’s chattering on to Josh bringing him up to speed on all the latest gossip. Only the second day of school and Laurel’s hooked in like the Internet. I sneak a few sidelong glances at him between bites. I don’t have a lot to contribute to gossip, but Laurel gets up to get something from the cafeteria line right when I was peeking and I meet his gaze. Dammit.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you and your friend Kat. I know it wasn’t your idea, but it was really nice of you to let me.”
Great. Instant guilt trip. It probably should have been my idea.
“Plenty of room. The guys are in Guidance rearranging their schedules today,” I tell him, “you can meet them tomorrow.”
“Who else do you eat with?”
“Just Player and Jaxon. Player’s real name is Eli. He’s a senior and a committed sex fiend; he hits on anything with a chest and a heartbeat and swore off relationships in the 7th grade. And he’s proud of it. That’s why everyone calls him Player.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” he said.
“That’s one word to describe him.”
“And Jaxon?”
“You saw him in Mr. MacGregor’s Algebra class yesterday. He was the guy sitting next to me I was talking to before you laughed.” It was a nice laugh too. Deep and throaty. The kind that makes you all warm inside and want to laugh with him. Shut. Up.
“Oh yeah. He was funny. He seemed to really like you.”
“We’ve all known each other since the 6th grade. Five years together can feel like forever.”
“So can eight,” Josh said so quietly I have to look at him to see if he really said it.
His eyes are bright green. Sitting only a few inches away from me I can see they have little flecks of blue and yellow in them. His eyes catch the light in such a weird way; as they’re flashing or something.
Across the hallway from my locker this morning, I overhear two guys in our school football team uniforms arguing.
"No way man, you're totally wrong that wasn't his first televised game."
"You're nuts. It was on just this weekend, they were running it on that Quarterback highlights show on ESPN."
They go back and forth a few more times like this getting louder, arguing annoyingly about what I have no idea, but then I hear a couple of names I recognize and then I remember watching a show with Dad this weekend that had the same names. Then it hits me, and I know they have it all wrong.
The words from the show are out of my mouth before I even realize it; I snort and say, "HA! It was the Packers quarterback who was out for some reason and Favre subbed in and chucked a 35-yard scoring strike to receiver Taylor someone or other with a minute left and they beat the tiger team by one point."
The guys stop arguing and I suddenly realize what I have just done. Way to go Katie, you just corrected a football player ABOUT FOOTBALL. A game you happen to know a sum total of ZERO about. Do you ALWAYS have to correct people? The tall one in the letterman jacket notices and he hollers across to me, “What?”
“What what?” I say.
“Did you just say something?” he asks me.
“No,” I’m trying to come off all offended like he's nuts, but I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s nuts in our little hallway improv.
“So you just snort and yell HA! out loud for no reason and start spouting off football stats like you're an ESPN broadcaster?”
I think emphasizing the snort was a little unnecessary.
We’ve picked up a small audience as his friend and a few other people nearby are now staring at me. A senior jock talking to a non-cheerleader junior? This is not good. This is rumor-starter stuff. I feel myself starting to blush. Snarky stand or run and hide like a coward? For the record, I have always thought cowards were underrated.
"Yes, that's exactly what I do every Wednesday morning at 7.48am," ok, snarky response to the huge football player it is. Surprise numero uno for the day.
He looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"It's just that play you mentioned, I was watching it with my Dad yesterday on the ESPN Highlight moments, and it wasn’t who you said it was.” Katie what the heck is coming out of your mouth right now? "Majkowski didn’t throw that pass to win against the Bengals. He was injured that game, Brett Favre chucked the 35-yard scoring strike to Taylor with a minute left on the clock.”
His eyes go wide and his mouth about hits the floor, "You like football?"
"Like is a strong word, more like tolerate sometimes for extra parent points that might lead to extra allowance this week." I don’t mention that I only remember those stats because that happened to be the only five minutes I was watching of the entire show. Oh crap. Now he's walking over here? Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
Act casual. Super cute football guy seniors always lean against your locker looking at you with awe and their adorable lips. This happens to you every day Katie; nothing new to see here folks. Breathe already! I wish Laurel was here. She’d know how to keep talking. She’s an ace at guy talk.
"So you're not a fan, you just use football to make money?" he teases.
"Doesn't everybody?" I risk a quick glance up at him while I'm trying to avoid looking like a dork stuffing books and rearranging papers in my locker for no reason. Before I have to come up with another half-witted thing to say, thankfully the bell rings and his football friend punches him in the shoulder with a "gotta go man" so I don't have to die an embarrassingly slow death in the hallway because I can't think of anything else to say to him.
“Catch you later," he said as he walks off with his friend. I turn my head just a little bit to watch him walk down the hall away from me and see him look back over his shoulder at me, and smile.
Whoa.
I close my locker, turned to head down the other end of the hall and noticed more than a few people throwing me weird looks as they all scatter to make it to class on time.
Wednesday, exactly what other surprises do you have up your evil sleeve today?
Second week of school holds almost as many surprises as the first. Lost British guy is in my 1st
period English but doesn't say very much. Just keeps to himself though he does seem to know a lot about American Literature. Maybe he'd like to argue about Hemingway or Bradbury some time? It's hard to find a fellow bibliophile who isn't embarrassed about having more books than friends and clothes put together. I make a mental note to 'accidentally' run into him sooner than later.
Sooner comes when I'm crossing the parking lot to head home after a packed day of pop quizzes and homework assignments this week, (seriously the SECOND week of school?) when I hear, "Hello! Hello kind-hearted stranger?"
I turn to look for the cute British accent guy and see him running between the cars to catch up to me.
How cute is he in a turtleneck, but he must be burning up in this late Virginia summer heat.
"So glad I caught up with you Miss…?"
"Katie."
"Oh, I thought it was Katherine in Literature class," he said trying to catch his breath.
"It is, but everyone calls me Katie."
We chat for a bit before he offers me a ride home. I live less than a mile from school, but I accept anyway. Why not, he's cute and I cannot get enough of that accent. It's like having a Harry Potter novel come to life right next to me. Too cool.
His car is kind of an old sports car with a soft top. A convertible. His Dad's he told when he opens the passenger door. He drives the 8/10ths of a mile to my house that I could have easily walked, telling me he has a five-mile driving restriction on his license from his parents so my home is well within the school perimeter.
He's quite shy and I find I'm carrying the conversation almost entirely on my own, but with some monosyllabic answers from him I do find out that his name is Liam. He has moved around a lot, has a love of books like me, and wants to start a book club at school, maybe with some author visits. That would be awesome.
He talks just a little bit about how tough it is to move to another country leaving all his friends, but he's done it a lot, sometimes more than once in the same school year. His Dad is a diplomat so he has lived lots of places and learned not to get too settled. I start to feel kind of sorry for him. Sounds like a crummy life. I cannot even picture my life without my small group of friends close by every day.
The British are definitely polite that's for sure. When we get to my house, Liam runs around to open my door and carries my backpack. I feel like I'm getting the royal princess treatment. Faster than I'd like we're walking up to my front door.
On the porch though, it's feels like the awkward end of an awkward first date. How weird is this? He is standing in front of my door totally not picking up on my jingling keys signal that he needs to move out of the way. What? Don't they have the jingly key signal in England?
"Um, I sort of need to get to the lock," I say.
"Oh, of course. So sorry."
I unlock the door and step in and turn back to him "Well, thanks again for the ride home Liam."
"Happy to return the courtesy of a kind hearted damsel," he said.
"Ok, well, I'll see you in class," I take a step back and start to close the door to end the most awkward porch moment of all time when I hear him say, "Katherine?"
My full name? Really? Great, more awkward. Kill me now.
I open the door and lean my head out to see what he wants. Before I have time to react to the fact that his face is RIGHT THERE in front of me he said, "I, uh.." then whammo! His lips are on mine for barely a three-second count and then they're gone. Liam is backing up off the front porch fast, and he is halfway across my front yard waving his arm erratically as if he's having some weird muscle spasm. What, now I have the plague after he does an ambush kiss? He's mumbling something I can only hear bits of, "school tomorrow ...need ... club .... thanks ....call ....home now...." and then he's in his car and tearing off down my street.
What the…? Ambush kiss definitely does not qualify to cross off bucket list #5. Not even remotely. Even inexperienced-kisser me knows this without verification from Laurel.
Less than an hour later, I hear the doorbell ring from my seat on the back patio. Mom and Dad are working, and won’t be home until dinner so my afternoon of quiet reading and drawing is disrupted when I’m the only one left to answer it. This better not be another computer program I have to sign for Dad, or I am going to start charging you for my time in shares of Barnes and Noble stock.
For a split second before I reach out to grab the front door knob, I hesitate, what if it’s Liam? I say a silent prayer that it’s not him and open the door to find Josh practically filling up the whole doorway.
“Hey.”
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“Out running, thought I’d stop by and say hi, see what you were up to,” he said.
“Just reading and stuff out back, you want to come in? You want something to drink?”
Josh doesn't look that sweaty, but, Mom told me to be nice to him, so I play the good hostess getting him a glass of Gatorade. With ice. That should count extra, right?
I head back out to the patio with him trailing closely behind. Shoot! I left my notebook lying open on the table with the charcoal stick. Moving quickly I close it stacking my book on top as if I’m just tidying up the table before I sit back down.
No one sees drawings except Mom, Dad, and Laurel. And not even all the time. Drawing is too private. Too personal.
Josh stands there shaking his head again. Why does he keep doing that every time he is in my backyard?
“What’s with the head shaking again?” I ask him.
He gives an easy smile that makes a little tug in my stomach. He is cute. A blind man wearing three pairs of sunglasses could see that.
“I just can’t get over the fort.”
“Tree house. And it doesn’t fit you, so don’t ask.”
He gives me a look as if he’d seriously like to challenge that assessment, “we used to call it the fort,” he said taking another drink draining the glass.
“I remember,” I say a little too fast and defensively.
“Why’d you change it?” he asks.
“I didn’t have anyone to share it with anymore, so I guess I thought it sounded stupid calling it the fort all alone with no one to defend it with me.”
My biting remark hits the target dead center when his face goes completely blank. I immediately feel like a cruel asshat. Mom told me to try to be nice and he’s been nothing BUT nice to me since the first day of school…which is the only reason I can possibly think of why I hear myself say, “Alright, if you promise not to break anything you can climb up there.”
His face lights up like a little kid on Christmas morning as he sprints off to the back corner of the yard stopping at the ladder. He certainly does have one hell of a stride when he wants to run. He covered the half-acre yard in like five lengths. Bet it would be something to watch him run a race.
He climbs up the ladder slowly crawling in through the doorway. It looks like there’s no way his shoulders will possibly fit through until he turns at an angle at the last second. He disappears inside popping his head back out a second later, “Coming up Kat?”
One eye roll later I start to climb. I feel his hand at my elbow helping me in and a little jolt of electricity zips through me. I try to inch over to the far sidewall.
“That’s the biggest beanbag I have ever seen. It nearly fills up the whole floor,” he said looking up with such eagerness all over his face.
“Go ahead. Flop down. Give it a try. Dad got it from IKEA. Everything you could possibly ever need to customize your tree house with comfort,” I say smiling genuinely at him for the first time this week.
He accepts the offer crawling onto the top of it. Seeing Josh stretched out full length on the beanbag that I have spent hundreds of hours on alone is making that tug in my stomach quite a bit stronger and harder to ignore. Having him in my tree house…not a great idea anymore.
He props up on his side using his elbow to hold up his head looking around taking it all in. The boo
k shelves on the wall, lots of my favorite books lined up by author and genre (he smiles to himself), then at the window, and then the little dark green side table with a lamp and bottles of water stacked on the shelf underneath it. Glancing at the table, I sneak a quick peek at his eyes wondering if I subconsciously choose that particular shade of green because of his eyes. I remember nearly throwing a fit at the hardware store when I was younger when Dad was trying to talk me into pink instead. Josh is still looking around the tree house, almost absorbing every detail when his eyes come to rest on the tree trunk that runs up through the middle of the wall to our left.
My heart involuntarily slams against my chest and I stop breathing for a second. Crap. I forgot. Crap. Crap. How could I forget?
He gets up on his knees on the beanbag and crawls a little closer to it reaching out to touch the picture frame.
He sees our initials carved into the tree, KO + JD with a smiley face at the bottom in a picture frame that Dad nailed up around it last year when we renovated. Josh slowly traces over all the scarred marks in the tree where he carved away the bark for our initials seven years ago. The marks are still there plain as day.
He pulls his hand back saying softly, almost under his breath, “I can’t believe we both used to fit in here for sleepovers. My feet almost stick out the doorway now.”
“Yeah, you’ve grown taller. Shocker. Can we go now?” I turn my head away to start moving on my knees along the narrow floor space between the beanbag and the long wall toward the doorway to climb out. I don’t want him to see the tears I can feel brewing at the edge of my eyes, when his voice stops me before I have moved half a foot. His voice is barely above a whisper now.
“Do you hate me Kat?”
The question blindsides me and I’m not ready for it, or the pain I feel behind it, so I go on the defense, “I don’t know you Josh.”
“Yes you do.”
“No,” I say turning around to face him, “I knew a 10 year old kid half my lifetime ago. The guy in front of me, I have no clue about him. How could I?”
He stares at me for a long hard second before he said, “Fair enough,” folding his hands behind his head leaning back to stretch out on my beanbag again, “ask me anything. Anything you want. I won’t lie to you,” he said.
Bold as brass.
“This is silly.”
“Fraidy Kat. Fraidy Kat,” he teases with a smile playing on his lips.
Is he seriously taunting me? “I’m not afraid of you. I just….I wouldn’t know what to ask that’s all.”
“Ask me whatever pops into your mind. What do you want to know about me? Ask me anything at all,” he flashes that lopsided grin, “I’m an open book.”
Thinking for a minute while he lays there staring up at me, only one question comes to my mind.
I can’t quite breathe but, I swallow hard before I whisper, “did you ever think about me?”
He doesn’t hesitate for even a second before answering, “every day Kat. Every day.”
My death grip on my emotions is about to slip. I let a small sniffle escape and Josh is up on his knees in front of me reaching out to pull me into a hug before my first tear can hit the floor.
I can feel his arms so tight around me and I hear him murmuring something into my hair but I can’t understand it over my sobbing. I start to cry harder wrapping my arms around his back. He’s really here in our fort and I can’t believe it. I remember dreaming about it for so long after he first left and now it’s come true.
“I missed you so much Josh. So much. It hurt so bad when you left,” I cry. I can't stop. Thoughts and feelings I locked away long ago for self-preservation come pouring out of me in a tidal wave that I am helpless to stop.
Josh is real. Josh is here. Josh is back. Josh is real. Josh is here. Josh is back.
“I know Kat. I know. I’m so sorry. But I’m here now and I’ll never leave you again. I promise,” he swears.
“I didn’t understand. One day you were here and the next day you were just….gone. My parents wouldn’t tell me anything. At first I thought…I thought you died or something and they just weren’t telling me!”
Josh’s arms squeeze me even tighter, “Oh God Kat. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out.
Now we’re both a crying, hiccupping heap of entangled arms, childhood pain pouring out of both of us with each falling tear and gasp for breath.
No idea how long we stayed like that holding each other, sobbing, but eventually both our legs started hurting in that kneeling position so we curled up together on the bean bag, lying there quietly, both emotionally spent; neither of us knowing what to say next.
Josh takes a big cleansing breath and finally breaks the silence saying, “you know, the fort could really use some Oreos.”
I start laughing against his side letting myself remember the hours we spent stacking and eating our favorite Oreo cookies up here, and I feel him start chuckling too at the shared childhood memory.
Just like that, I have my old friend back.
Didn’t get much sleep last night. Tossed and turned with all kinds of weird memory flashes of Josh and I when we were little. We went everywhere together from the time we were in diapers until he disappeared right before my 10th birthday. It didn’t help when Josh and his parents were all my Mom and Dad wanted to talk about at dinner last night.
Laurel starts in the second I sit down demanding all the details in 1st period. I try to relay as much as I can without letting him know having him back is messing with my head right now.
“Wow. You were best friends for EIGHT YEARS? Geez. You and I have only been best friends for five years. Should I be jealous?” she asks me when we sit down for lunch later.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not the same thing. We were just little kids. You are I are way more best of best friends than he and I ever were,” I assure her.
“Whew. Then you won’t be mad that I invited him to sit with us at lunch today.”
That’s my Laurel. Bombshell-dropper extraordinaire.
“You did what?!?”
“Come on. Where’s your heart? He’s a new kid in school and you’re the only living soul he knows here. Are you telling me you’re not going to help a totally cute guy feel comfortable on his second day at a new school?”
I hate when she’s so logical. Her most irritating character trait to be sure. I don’t have a chance to tell her what I think because there’s a “Hey.” right behind me that makes me nearly jump out of my skin. Geez, why am I so on edge now?
I look up over my shoulder at him. Josh is standing there with such a hesitant look on his face I cave with a mental note to Google ‘BFF payback’ tonight when I get home.
“Well, sit down already before you make me pull a muscle trying to look up at you,” I tell him.
A quick half grin and he’s on the bench beside me.
The table feels a little awkward to me now, but Laurel’s chattering on to Josh bringing him up to speed on all the latest gossip. Only the second day of school and Laurel’s hooked in like the Internet. I sneak a few sidelong glances at him between bites. I don’t have a lot to contribute to gossip, but Laurel gets up to get something from the cafeteria line right when I was peeking and I meet his gaze. Dammit.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you and your friend Kat. I know it wasn’t your idea, but it was really nice of you to let me.”
Great. Instant guilt trip. It probably should have been my idea.
“Plenty of room. The guys are in Guidance rearranging their schedules today,” I tell him, “you can meet them tomorrow.”
“Who else do you eat with?”
“Just Player and Jaxon. Player’s real name is Eli. He’s a senior and a committed sex fiend; he hits on anything with a chest and a heartbeat and swore off relationships in the 7th grade. And he’s proud of it. That’s why everyone calls him Player.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy,” he said.
“That’s one word to describe him.”
“And Jaxon?”
“You saw him in Mr. MacGregor’s Algebra class yesterday. He was the guy sitting next to me I was talking to before you laughed.” It was a nice laugh too. Deep and throaty. The kind that makes you all warm inside and want to laugh with him. Shut. Up.
“Oh yeah. He was funny. He seemed to really like you.”
“We’ve all known each other since the 6th grade. Five years together can feel like forever.”
“So can eight,” Josh said so quietly I have to look at him to see if he really said it.
His eyes are bright green. Sitting only a few inches away from me I can see they have little flecks of blue and yellow in them. His eyes catch the light in such a weird way; as they’re flashing or something.
Across the hallway from my locker this morning, I overhear two guys in our school football team uniforms arguing.
"No way man, you're totally wrong that wasn't his first televised game."
"You're nuts. It was on just this weekend, they were running it on that Quarterback highlights show on ESPN."
They go back and forth a few more times like this getting louder, arguing annoyingly about what I have no idea, but then I hear a couple of names I recognize and then I remember watching a show with Dad this weekend that had the same names. Then it hits me, and I know they have it all wrong.
The words from the show are out of my mouth before I even realize it; I snort and say, "HA! It was the Packers quarterback who was out for some reason and Favre subbed in and chucked a 35-yard scoring strike to receiver Taylor someone or other with a minute left and they beat the tiger team by one point."
The guys stop arguing and I suddenly realize what I have just done. Way to go Katie, you just corrected a football player ABOUT FOOTBALL. A game you happen to know a sum total of ZERO about. Do you ALWAYS have to correct people? The tall one in the letterman jacket notices and he hollers across to me, “What?”
“What what?” I say.
“Did you just say something?” he asks me.
“No,” I’m trying to come off all offended like he's nuts, but I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s nuts in our little hallway improv.
“So you just snort and yell HA! out loud for no reason and start spouting off football stats like you're an ESPN broadcaster?”
I think emphasizing the snort was a little unnecessary.
We’ve picked up a small audience as his friend and a few other people nearby are now staring at me. A senior jock talking to a non-cheerleader junior? This is not good. This is rumor-starter stuff. I feel myself starting to blush. Snarky stand or run and hide like a coward? For the record, I have always thought cowards were underrated.
"Yes, that's exactly what I do every Wednesday morning at 7.48am," ok, snarky response to the huge football player it is. Surprise numero uno for the day.
He looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"It's just that play you mentioned, I was watching it with my Dad yesterday on the ESPN Highlight moments, and it wasn’t who you said it was.” Katie what the heck is coming out of your mouth right now? "Majkowski didn’t throw that pass to win against the Bengals. He was injured that game, Brett Favre chucked the 35-yard scoring strike to Taylor with a minute left on the clock.”
His eyes go wide and his mouth about hits the floor, "You like football?"
"Like is a strong word, more like tolerate sometimes for extra parent points that might lead to extra allowance this week." I don’t mention that I only remember those stats because that happened to be the only five minutes I was watching of the entire show. Oh crap. Now he's walking over here? Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.
Act casual. Super cute football guy seniors always lean against your locker looking at you with awe and their adorable lips. This happens to you every day Katie; nothing new to see here folks. Breathe already! I wish Laurel was here. She’d know how to keep talking. She’s an ace at guy talk.
"So you're not a fan, you just use football to make money?" he teases.
"Doesn't everybody?" I risk a quick glance up at him while I'm trying to avoid looking like a dork stuffing books and rearranging papers in my locker for no reason. Before I have to come up with another half-witted thing to say, thankfully the bell rings and his football friend punches him in the shoulder with a "gotta go man" so I don't have to die an embarrassingly slow death in the hallway because I can't think of anything else to say to him.
“Catch you later," he said as he walks off with his friend. I turn my head just a little bit to watch him walk down the hall away from me and see him look back over his shoulder at me, and smile.
Whoa.
I close my locker, turned to head down the other end of the hall and noticed more than a few people throwing me weird looks as they all scatter to make it to class on time.
Wednesday, exactly what other surprises do you have up your evil sleeve today?
Second week of school holds almost as many surprises as the first. Lost British guy is in my 1st
period English but doesn't say very much. Just keeps to himself though he does seem to know a lot about American Literature. Maybe he'd like to argue about Hemingway or Bradbury some time? It's hard to find a fellow bibliophile who isn't embarrassed about having more books than friends and clothes put together. I make a mental note to 'accidentally' run into him sooner than later.
Sooner comes when I'm crossing the parking lot to head home after a packed day of pop quizzes and homework assignments this week, (seriously the SECOND week of school?) when I hear, "Hello! Hello kind-hearted stranger?"
I turn to look for the cute British accent guy and see him running between the cars to catch up to me.
How cute is he in a turtleneck, but he must be burning up in this late Virginia summer heat.
"So glad I caught up with you Miss…?"
"Katie."
"Oh, I thought it was Katherine in Literature class," he said trying to catch his breath.
"It is, but everyone calls me Katie."
We chat for a bit before he offers me a ride home. I live less than a mile from school, but I accept anyway. Why not, he's cute and I cannot get enough of that accent. It's like having a Harry Potter novel come to life right next to me. Too cool.
His car is kind of an old sports car with a soft top. A convertible. His Dad's he told when he opens the passenger door. He drives the 8/10ths of a mile to my house that I could have easily walked, telling me he has a five-mile driving restriction on his license from his parents so my home is well within the school perimeter.
He's quite shy and I find I'm carrying the conversation almost entirely on my own, but with some monosyllabic answers from him I do find out that his name is Liam. He has moved around a lot, has a love of books like me, and wants to start a book club at school, maybe with some author visits. That would be awesome.
He talks just a little bit about how tough it is to move to another country leaving all his friends, but he's done it a lot, sometimes more than once in the same school year. His Dad is a diplomat so he has lived lots of places and learned not to get too settled. I start to feel kind of sorry for him. Sounds like a crummy life. I cannot even picture my life without my small group of friends close by every day.
The British are definitely polite that's for sure. When we get to my house, Liam runs around to open my door and carries my backpack. I feel like I'm getting the royal princess treatment. Faster than I'd like we're walking up to my front door.
On the porch though, it's feels like the awkward end of an awkward first date. How weird is this? He is standing in front of my door totally not picking up on my jingling keys signal that he needs to move out of the way. What? Don't they have the jingly key signal in England?
"Um, I sort of need to get to the lock," I say.
"Oh, of course. So sorry."
I unlock the door and step in and turn back to him "Well, thanks again for the ride home Liam."
"Happy to return the courtesy of a kind hearted damsel," he said.
"Ok, well, I'll see you in class," I take a step back and start to close the door to end the most awkward porch moment of all time when I hear him say, "Katherine?"
My full name? Really? Great, more awkward. Kill me now.
I open the door and lean my head out to see what he wants. Before I have time to react to the fact that his face is RIGHT THERE in front of me he said, "I, uh.." then whammo! His lips are on mine for barely a three-second count and then they're gone. Liam is backing up off the front porch fast, and he is halfway across my front yard waving his arm erratically as if he's having some weird muscle spasm. What, now I have the plague after he does an ambush kiss? He's mumbling something I can only hear bits of, "school tomorrow ...need ... club .... thanks ....call ....home now...." and then he's in his car and tearing off down my street.
What the…? Ambush kiss definitely does not qualify to cross off bucket list #5. Not even remotely. Even inexperienced-kisser me knows this without verification from Laurel.
Less than an hour later, I hear the doorbell ring from my seat on the back patio. Mom and Dad are working, and won’t be home until dinner so my afternoon of quiet reading and drawing is disrupted when I’m the only one left to answer it. This better not be another computer program I have to sign for Dad, or I am going to start charging you for my time in shares of Barnes and Noble stock.
For a split second before I reach out to grab the front door knob, I hesitate, what if it’s Liam? I say a silent prayer that it’s not him and open the door to find Josh practically filling up the whole doorway.
“Hey.”
“Hi. What are you doing here?”
“Out running, thought I’d stop by and say hi, see what you were up to,” he said.
“Just reading and stuff out back, you want to come in? You want something to drink?”
Josh doesn't look that sweaty, but, Mom told me to be nice to him, so I play the good hostess getting him a glass of Gatorade. With ice. That should count extra, right?
I head back out to the patio with him trailing closely behind. Shoot! I left my notebook lying open on the table with the charcoal stick. Moving quickly I close it stacking my book on top as if I’m just tidying up the table before I sit back down.
No one sees drawings except Mom, Dad, and Laurel. And not even all the time. Drawing is too private. Too personal.
Josh stands there shaking his head again. Why does he keep doing that every time he is in my backyard?
“What’s with the head shaking again?” I ask him.
He gives an easy smile that makes a little tug in my stomach. He is cute. A blind man wearing three pairs of sunglasses could see that.
“I just can’t get over the fort.”
“Tree house. And it doesn’t fit you, so don’t ask.”
He gives me a look as if he’d seriously like to challenge that assessment, “we used to call it the fort,” he said taking another drink draining the glass.
“I remember,” I say a little too fast and defensively.
“Why’d you change it?” he asks.
“I didn’t have anyone to share it with anymore, so I guess I thought it sounded stupid calling it the fort all alone with no one to defend it with me.”
My biting remark hits the target dead center when his face goes completely blank. I immediately feel like a cruel asshat. Mom told me to try to be nice and he’s been nothing BUT nice to me since the first day of school…which is the only reason I can possibly think of why I hear myself say, “Alright, if you promise not to break anything you can climb up there.”
His face lights up like a little kid on Christmas morning as he sprints off to the back corner of the yard stopping at the ladder. He certainly does have one hell of a stride when he wants to run. He covered the half-acre yard in like five lengths. Bet it would be something to watch him run a race.
He climbs up the ladder slowly crawling in through the doorway. It looks like there’s no way his shoulders will possibly fit through until he turns at an angle at the last second. He disappears inside popping his head back out a second later, “Coming up Kat?”
One eye roll later I start to climb. I feel his hand at my elbow helping me in and a little jolt of electricity zips through me. I try to inch over to the far sidewall.
“That’s the biggest beanbag I have ever seen. It nearly fills up the whole floor,” he said looking up with such eagerness all over his face.
“Go ahead. Flop down. Give it a try. Dad got it from IKEA. Everything you could possibly ever need to customize your tree house with comfort,” I say smiling genuinely at him for the first time this week.
He accepts the offer crawling onto the top of it. Seeing Josh stretched out full length on the beanbag that I have spent hundreds of hours on alone is making that tug in my stomach quite a bit stronger and harder to ignore. Having him in my tree house…not a great idea anymore.
He props up on his side using his elbow to hold up his head looking around taking it all in. The boo
k shelves on the wall, lots of my favorite books lined up by author and genre (he smiles to himself), then at the window, and then the little dark green side table with a lamp and bottles of water stacked on the shelf underneath it. Glancing at the table, I sneak a quick peek at his eyes wondering if I subconsciously choose that particular shade of green because of his eyes. I remember nearly throwing a fit at the hardware store when I was younger when Dad was trying to talk me into pink instead. Josh is still looking around the tree house, almost absorbing every detail when his eyes come to rest on the tree trunk that runs up through the middle of the wall to our left.
My heart involuntarily slams against my chest and I stop breathing for a second. Crap. I forgot. Crap. Crap. How could I forget?
He gets up on his knees on the beanbag and crawls a little closer to it reaching out to touch the picture frame.
He sees our initials carved into the tree, KO + JD with a smiley face at the bottom in a picture frame that Dad nailed up around it last year when we renovated. Josh slowly traces over all the scarred marks in the tree where he carved away the bark for our initials seven years ago. The marks are still there plain as day.
He pulls his hand back saying softly, almost under his breath, “I can’t believe we both used to fit in here for sleepovers. My feet almost stick out the doorway now.”
“Yeah, you’ve grown taller. Shocker. Can we go now?” I turn my head away to start moving on my knees along the narrow floor space between the beanbag and the long wall toward the doorway to climb out. I don’t want him to see the tears I can feel brewing at the edge of my eyes, when his voice stops me before I have moved half a foot. His voice is barely above a whisper now.
“Do you hate me Kat?”
The question blindsides me and I’m not ready for it, or the pain I feel behind it, so I go on the defense, “I don’t know you Josh.”
“Yes you do.”
“No,” I say turning around to face him, “I knew a 10 year old kid half my lifetime ago. The guy in front of me, I have no clue about him. How could I?”
He stares at me for a long hard second before he said, “Fair enough,” folding his hands behind his head leaning back to stretch out on my beanbag again, “ask me anything. Anything you want. I won’t lie to you,” he said.
Bold as brass.
“This is silly.”
“Fraidy Kat. Fraidy Kat,” he teases with a smile playing on his lips.
Is he seriously taunting me? “I’m not afraid of you. I just….I wouldn’t know what to ask that’s all.”
“Ask me whatever pops into your mind. What do you want to know about me? Ask me anything at all,” he flashes that lopsided grin, “I’m an open book.”
Thinking for a minute while he lays there staring up at me, only one question comes to my mind.
I can’t quite breathe but, I swallow hard before I whisper, “did you ever think about me?”
He doesn’t hesitate for even a second before answering, “every day Kat. Every day.”
My death grip on my emotions is about to slip. I let a small sniffle escape and Josh is up on his knees in front of me reaching out to pull me into a hug before my first tear can hit the floor.
I can feel his arms so tight around me and I hear him murmuring something into my hair but I can’t understand it over my sobbing. I start to cry harder wrapping my arms around his back. He’s really here in our fort and I can’t believe it. I remember dreaming about it for so long after he first left and now it’s come true.
“I missed you so much Josh. So much. It hurt so bad when you left,” I cry. I can't stop. Thoughts and feelings I locked away long ago for self-preservation come pouring out of me in a tidal wave that I am helpless to stop.
Josh is real. Josh is here. Josh is back. Josh is real. Josh is here. Josh is back.
“I know Kat. I know. I’m so sorry. But I’m here now and I’ll never leave you again. I promise,” he swears.
“I didn’t understand. One day you were here and the next day you were just….gone. My parents wouldn’t tell me anything. At first I thought…I thought you died or something and they just weren’t telling me!”
Josh’s arms squeeze me even tighter, “Oh God Kat. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out.
Now we’re both a crying, hiccupping heap of entangled arms, childhood pain pouring out of both of us with each falling tear and gasp for breath.
No idea how long we stayed like that holding each other, sobbing, but eventually both our legs started hurting in that kneeling position so we curled up together on the bean bag, lying there quietly, both emotionally spent; neither of us knowing what to say next.
Josh takes a big cleansing breath and finally breaks the silence saying, “you know, the fort could really use some Oreos.”
I start laughing against his side letting myself remember the hours we spent stacking and eating our favorite Oreo cookies up here, and I feel him start chuckling too at the shared childhood memory.
Just like that, I have my old friend back.
