the long way home [ h.s. ]

Fourteen | 14

fourteen | 14

☓

I don't see him for most of the day, which gives me plenty of time to try and prepare myself. In the moment, I hadn't really thought about what we'd do. I'm not typically social outside of my immediate circle, and I've certainly never spent real one-on-one time with a boy before.

Not to say I'm afraid of boys. I'm just not very close with many, other than family friends and Thomas.

It's silly, but I feel a bit uneasy as I walk to my Biology class. My books feel extra heavy today and my mind is traveling a mile per minute. There's a test today, which Anne and I have been studying for.

Other than my plans, I've been worrying about school more than necessary. Ever since I got the acceptance letter, things have been different.

My parents hold me a lot more than they used to. It's like we've all suddenly realized that my room will, at some point, be completely vacant... And this "some point" is hurdling towards us, unyielding, unstoppable.

It's all set in stone. I'm not little anymore; I'm going to college.

I have to be my own person now.

As I walk, this is all going through my head. I think about how it only felt like yesterday that I woke up to my first day of high school, feeling so small, like the four years would take forever to pass. My dad had said, "Right now, you are a very little fish in a very big pond. But it won't always be this way." And now, here I am, with only about a month or so left of the year. 

It's at this moment that I see Harry for the first time since this morning. He walks up behind me, so it comes as a surprise.

"Mary."

I feel his large hand wrap around my elbow and I immediately stop walking. The simple contact sends electricity all the way up my arm; I spin around quickly, and find myself looking right up at his warm green eyes.

It's funny how much his appearance has altered since this morning. Instead of being buttoned, his black and white flannel hangs open loosely, revealing a white undershirt and a few silver necklaces. His thick brown hair isn't messy anymore. It's been pushed back over his forehead, opening up his whole face so much that I can see every detail.

A small smile rests on his lips, one that isn't sad, but content.

I try to casually adjust my clothes, which suddenly feel so out of place-- a light purple sweater and some washed out jeans.

"Hi, Harry," I say. It comes out all wrong because my throat has gone completely dry.

"Hey," he returns. I notice the way he scratches his arm-- the way he looks from my eyes to my hair to my cheeks to my smile, and back again. And for a moment, I almost let myself believe that he's as nervous as I am.

But that is impossible, for sure.

"Hi," he says again. I suppose that if it were anyone else I would think it was odd, but because it's Harry, it just goes right over my head.

He has a way of doing things. Even if it should make me ask questions, it doesn't. Everything he says rings in my ears, and it's almost like one sentence contains thousands of meanings that I'll never know.

"So listen," he continues, his voice low and gruff. "I was thinking about today? There's this little diner not far from here. I've been there a couple times, and I thought maybe we could--"