And Then There Was Vince

Chapter 4: Old Secrets and New Interruptions

For the most part, the latter half of that Monday passed by without event. My classes were the same as ever, I just had a few less friends to speak to whilst passing between. I sat with an ever-changing group of acquaintances at lunchtime and watched Ashley carelessly eating with ours. I found myself jotting down ideas for the project during my free moments, and occasionally reflecting on my encounter with Vincent.

Let me tell you a little about him now.

Vincent was the kind of guy who would tease his hair and wear eyeliner in middle school. If he had to be anywhere, he wouldn't show up without some band-affiliated t-shirt on his torso and a pair of black shoes tied to his feet. He definitely didn't miss out on the fad of wearing numerous wristbands till they were halfway up his arm or writing with an uncomfortable amount of emojis online. If I'm remembering correctly, he quite vocally wished to be eighteen and hated his mother because she wouldn't let him gauge his ears.

At some point during the summer between eighth and ninth grade, he had returned more or less back to "normal". I guess that's the point at which a lot of people started to realize that maybe being emo was just a phase. He still wore a lot of band t-shirts, but the only thing that lined his eyes then were his lashes, and his hair fell down straight from the top of his head. He must have never made up with his mother, because even his earlobes completed the transformation unscathed.

If we're being honest, I had found him very attractive back then. Even though he was more or less conventionally good-looking when you peeled off all the dark layers, I had planned to take that secret with me to the grave. There wasn't a single girl outside of his friend group who spoke kindly of him back then, and anyone not engulfed by that small circle ended up shooting him down because he was creepy.

Still, it was the confidence to present himself like that that had made him that much more appealing to me. When all of the other girls had started dying their hair crazy colors and talking about such and such band, I had secretly wanted to join them.

However, I left eighth grade with a milestone first boyfriend and something sort of like popularity thanks to Ashley keeping me quiet, and he left it with an invisible name tag hovering over his shoulder that labeled him weird. In reflection, I think I was the one who missed out. There's never a time quite like middle school to express yourself.

We had been friends at one point in the past. Our older siblings had played baseball together at least ten years before, and we could always be found goofing off elsewhere around the field as neither of us wished to be spectating in the first place.

Several years later, right when we hit our preteens, we still talked occasionally, but mostly only when our schedules forced us together.

By that junior year, we no longer spoke. I'll say it once again. This wasn't because we didn't like each other. We had simply grown apart. Even if we could have been closer in the past, my greatest move for survival had been falling in step and hiding any offensive interests underneath plain but girly clothing while I painted my nails in the bathroom and pretended to be jazzed about it.

I wondered how he had found the confidence to joke around with me like that, even considering our history. I felt embarrassed and awkward in his presence. I could feel my cheeks start to flush every time I remembered our parting events.

I wasn't any less confused or surprised when he approached me in study hall, the final event my day had decided to save me. 

"Mind if I sit with you?" He asked, gesturing at the table left empty by choice.

Study hall was always held in the cafeteria due to the sheer size of classes, leaving plenty of space for students to spread themselves out. There were at least ten open tables he could have sat at, and I almost told him that so I could be left alone to read. I personally very much enjoyed going solo for the period's duration, but some part of me was screaming not to be rude to the only person who was willingly talking to me at the time.