I fell in love with a flower.
There was just something so undeniable about Mia James, the way she tossed her head back when she laughed, how gently her copper coils fell in front of her face when she doodled in class. Let's not forget that smile; god I loved the way she smiled.
Not that she knew that, of course.
Because for three years, 1,095 days, I had been terribly in love with her.
And she had no idea.
It all started near the end of freshman year. The school year was almost over and I was ready for summer, to put down the textbooks, pick up a gaming controller, and sit in my garage till my eyes went bloodshot. I was sure of what my summer was going to revolve around: video games, beach days, bonfires.
You know, the usual summer stuff.
Wrong.
Because the second that green eyed goddess walked through the door of algebra class, everything changed. The moment she sat in the only open desk in front of me, everything changed.
It's absolutely mind boggling to think how one event, one icy patch on the road, one missed date on an expired can, could shift our world. Big or small, this event changed everything.
Mine was Mia James.
I remember it all so vividly; I could tell you everything, from our first kiss to the sweater she wore on Christmas. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
She whipped her thick red hair over her shoulder and flashed me a perfect smile. Okay, near perfect, she did have a slightly crooked front tooth, but who really paid attention to those kinds of details?
"Is this seat taken?" Mia asked in a sweet voice that instantly made me melt on the spot.
Was she real? Could someone this perfect actually exist? Courtesy of my parents spending the entire night in a screaming match, my sleep deprived brain convinced me that Mia was a manic pixie dream girl and I was dorky love interest in a horribly directed teen flick. But I noticed a few other kids checking her out too, so I knew she had to be real.
I was absolutely speechless.
"Uh," was all I could manage to say.
She cocked her head. I was losing her, I could tell. I had to think fast.
"Alyssa Barnett used to sit there, but then she got knocked up," I blurted.
"So, I can't sit here?" she asked, a thick red brow furrowing downward.
She stared at me, waiting for an answer, any answer. I blinked back, forgetting every single word I had learned since birth. I had absolutely no idea how to talk to girls in general, let alone this girl. The silence was making it awkwardly worse. A confused look lingered on her face, as the heat continued to rise in mine. Before I could try to save myself from looking even more lame or manage to say at least one syllable, the world's worst person had to cut in.
Brandon Roberts, also known as the spawn of Satan by some, football star douche by others.
"Don't listen to Joke." Brandon laughed.
"Jake." I muttered, even though correcting him never stopped him from calling me that.
"That seat's reserved for a special lady and it looks like you're here." Brandon grinned, ignoring me.
Relieved, she nodded. "Thanks, I'm Mia."
"Brandon." He bragged, as if his name were only allowed to be spoken by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, or in his case, star quarterback of the Philadelphia Eagles, Nick Foles.
Mia sat down and never looked at me again, never acknowledged my existence, probably never even learned my name.
I accepted it. I knew who she was and I knew who I was. We were from alternate universes. It was a typical high school crush, the wallflower liked the hot new girl. Everyone knew how it ended, the nerd didn't get the girl, despite all those cheesy high school flicks. In reality, the girl always picked the equally hot athlete. The nerd would go on to make millions and return to the high school year reunion to rub in his success and maybe donate a new wing to the library.
My whole life I believed that's what high school was, one big cliché. The jocks were meatheads, the mean girls were catty, the nerds were virgins, mostly. Nothing extraordinary ever happened to me, no life changing movie moments or cliché norms being broken.
That was until the beginning of my senior year. Something amazing happened; I was in a bad mood.
A peevish mood.
Walking to class that dreary grey Tuesday, I genuinely felt at a loss. I don't remember what put me in such a mood. Maybe it was because my mom had an episode the night before and forgot to start the dryer again, leaving my clothes feeling slightly damp to the point it was kinda irritating. Or maybe it was the two hours of sleep I was running on after studying for my AP biology exam. It felt like one of those days when nothing was going to go right.
A few friendly classmates called polite hellos and how-was-your-weekends to me as I lingered in the hallway. I nodded a hi or mumbled a meek "what's up" to satisfy them. I would literally do anything to keep out of class for as long as possible. Class really didn't feel like a good idea, though it never did when high school in general made you feel like you were in purgatory. I leaned against the lockers and wondered who designed schools. Why did they have to build them so prison-like? The door leading to the parking lot was a thirty second walk past my class. I could skip, but I never actually would. There was this kid, Jeremy, who was a year or two older than me. He started skipping and now he sells cocaine. I'm pretty sure skipping didn't lead him to the cocaine, but you get my point.
My mood only worsened when I finally forced myself to go to class seconds before the bell rang. Right on entry, I saw Brandon Roberts talking to her, flashing his perfect smile at her, wowing her. I turned away, watching made it worse. She never stopped him, instead she would touch his arm teasingly, tousle his already near perfect blonde hair.
Whatever.
Brandon was like a living Ken doll, just the right shade of tan, toned, fit, crystal blue eyes, and cocky as hell. His personality was just as cancerous as the plastic Ken was made of. I loathed him.
I prayed Mia would never be the Barbie to his Ken. Everyone knows, beneath the plastic skin of a doll, it's hollow. She had to see through his fakeness, she just had to.
Even though I knew it would only make me more bitter, I snuck a peek. I don't know why I did, any flame of hope I had for Mia was long put out.
If anything, it merely flickered.
But that day was different.
That day, Mia didn't even acknowledge Brandon. Actually, she didn't seem quite herself at all. Her wild hair was usually tucked away in a bun, but that day it was free, a mop of red sitting on top of her head. She usually dressed to compliment her girl gang, but instead wore sweats and sneakers.
Still, she was the prettiest girl I had ever laid eyes on, clothes and hair changed nothing.
In a way, she looked like the same girl that walked through the door three years ago, not the product of popularity and cliques that morphed her over the years. It made my heart pound wistfully.
Taking the seat as close to her as possible, I perched myself on the edge of the chair, clinging to every word that slipped from Brandon's genetically perfect lips. I may have lost a brain cell or two in the process, but I reminded myself every war had its casualties.
"So Mia," he boomed. "Game tomorrow, wanna be my cheerleader?"
I tried to read her face, she seemed annoyed? If not by Brandon, then definitely by something. I prayed it was because of Brandon. I mean who wouldn't be agitated by someone that looked like the after picture for an acne medication advertisement? Perfect people pissed me off. Like Brandon really couldn't have been born with a huge nose or an abnormally large big toe? I leaned in closer, trying not to breathe. Brandon's cologne was the equivalent of mustard gas.
Her radiant green eyes did not meet his gaze. "Sorry, not interested."
I felt my chair slip from beneath me. I wasn't entirely sure if the shattering sound was me falling out of my seat or Brandon's ego crumbling. But the instant pain resonating from my ass gave me my answer. The entire class of seventeen witnessed him getting shut down. And me falling. But that's besides the point.
The flame crackled for the mystery that was Mia.
"Whatever," Brandon scoffed. He turned to face me. "Hey Joke, you're supposed to sit in the chair."
The class roared with laughter. My ivory face turned a vicious red and my dark mood returned. Crawling back to my chair, I stared at my scuffed grey Chuck Taylors.
Brandon dumped a bucket of water on my flame.
A faint buzz vibrated from my phone in my jean pocket, but I ignored it. The late bell rang and Mr. Charlie leisurely strolled into class. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bloodshot. He flung his worn messenger bag on the mess he called his desk. It was strewn with papers, candy wrappers, and god knows what. If someone told me it was where the janitors tossed garbage at the end of the night, I would have believed it.
The class hummed with gossip and chit chat, not quite ready to start learning. Everyone was talking about the Friday night football game, what to wear, where the after party was. Mr. Charlie ran a hand through his thinning black hair and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.
"Sorry I'm late," He apologized just like he had for the past fifty five days since school had started, "Let's dive right in my dudes. Who would like to open our discussion on last night's reading on Macbeth?"
The class fell silent.
Of course, as designated, but not self appointed nerd, everyone shifted their gaze to me. It's not easy you know, when people know you're smart, they automatically assume you're:
A. Socially awkward
B. Shy
C. Weird
D. All of the above.
I'll let you figure out which one I was. Even Mr. Charlie looked at me expectantly, but of course not Mia. I could never seem to catch her eye.
"Well um," I stammered, "I noticed when Macbeth killed the king, he felt guilt almost immediately."
I could feel my face heating up.
Mr. Charlie nodded. He was so stoned, he wouldn't have noticed if I started talking about my Dungeons and Dragons campaign. I snuck a peek at Mia, she was scribbling something in her notebook. Was she bored? Tired? Sad? She was a tough book to read. Scratch that, she was a book written in a completely foreign language.
A single coil of copper hair fell into her freckled face. My eyes followed her hand as she tucked the unruly strand behind her ear. My phone buzzed in my pocket again. The only person who would text me during class was my dad, but I knew better than to answer it in front of my teacher.
I gulped. "So um-"
"Spit it out, Joke!" Brandon bellowed.
A few classmates snickered, some shook their heads sympathetically. By then, I was used to the nickname Brandon had graced me with in the second grade. Sadly, Brandon's name didn't give me a lot to work with in the nickname department. Plus, I was way too scared of getting my ass kicked to call him anything to his face.
"Brandon," Mr. Charlie warned, "Continue Joke- I mean Jake."
I picked at a loose thread on my thrifted t-shirt. "I noticed that nature reacted to the murder. The stars didn't shine, the horses went wild."
The teacher smiled, Brandon mouthed 'Joke', and Mia couldn't care less.
"Can anyone add to that?" Mr. Charlie asked, looking directly at me.
Discreet.
The class waited on my answer.
"Jake?" He called on me again.
I stared back at his smug yellow stained smile and cracked lips that had just kissed a joint.
To be frank, something snapped in me. For almost four years, I was the smart kid. Nothing good came with being the smart kid. The smart kid carried the class, got cheated on by other students, or had all the partner work dumped on them. I didn't want to be the smart kid anymore. Or the nerd. I'm not even really a nerd, I just liked some nerdy things. But I liked other things too. Life isn't a movie, we don't have to fall into these stupid stereotypes and tropes. I wanted to be Jake, the writer, Jake the film fanatic. Anything was better than Joke the nerd. That day was the day I said-
"Nothing."
"Huh?" Mr. Charlie sputtered, his smile fading.
I shook my head. "No, I'm good. I have nothing to add"
The silence that followed was deafening.
But how could I, Jake Morrow, designated nerd, avid lover of director Wong Kar Wai and French toast bagels, notice when the girl I sat three seats away from since the beginning of the school year turned her head to look at me. Or how her smoldering eyes and thick red brows furrowed in intrigue.
And then she spoke. "Even Banquo noticed something was wrong." Her musical voice filling the silence, her beautiful eyes never leaving my face.
The class gasped. Well, they didn't, but I internally did.
---
Gazing out the window, I daydreamed; I dreamed of the boy everyone doubted doing something extraordinary and getting the girl; I dreamed of him slaying dragons and witches; I simply dreamed. Watching the overcast clear, the sun peeked from the clouds and I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Mr. Charlie clapped. I jumped in my seat as I returned to reality. I glanced at the clock above the classroom door. It was almost time to head to my next level of Hell: Honors Chinese.
"Alright class," He said, writing our names on the white board, "I'm pairing everyone off for your projects. I want a ten slide power point on imagery or symbolism or whatever in Macbeth by um next week? Yeah next week..." His voice trailed off.
I watched him write Jake in chicken scratch. I felt my stomach drop to the basement of the school as he wrote an M, then an I, and finally an A beside my name.
No way.
I had wished and prayed for this moment for years. I couldn't bring myself to look at her. The bell rang, ending class. Everyone filtered out, but I couldn't find the courage to move. Did I just go up to her? Before I could decide, a pair of bright white sneakers approached my desk.
"Hey, Jake." Mia smiled, standing inches from me.
I gulped and took a quick glance of the classroom. Everyone was gone, Mr. Charlie had run off to take his munchie break.
I couldn't meet her gaze without losing the ability to speak, so I fixated on a particularly large freckle above her eyebrow. "H-hi, Mia."
I was surprised how calm my voice was during the biggest moment of my life.
"You're the only one who doesn't call me Joke," I added timidly.
Mia pondered for a moment. "Why would I call the smartest guy in our grade a joke, huh?"
I ran a hand through my hair and stood up. I was at least a head taller than Mia, but her hair gave her some height. Still, it gave me a shred of confidence.
She looked up at me expectantly. I was going to melt and she would forever remember me as a puddle of lame.
"When are you free to work on the project?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. Did I offend her? I was ready to tie the noose then and there.
"Ugh, I literally did this project at my old school." She glanced at the clock, "Come on, let's walk and talk, I can't be late for AP Art or there won't be any good brushes left."
I forced my feet to walk.
"So um if you did this project," I said, "Won't it be easier for us?"
We weaved through the crowded hallway. I was walking in the opposite direction of my class, but I was with Mia, talking in full sentences. Who cared if Jing Laoshi gave me a late detention or not?
"Ten slides though? That's crazy. My teacher in New York made us do like four." She sighed, "Charlie literally just wants to stall so he doesn't actually have to teach. When is the school going to fire that man"
I laughed, "When isn't that guy high though? Imagine if he came in completely sober. I don't think we would recognize him."
She giggled. "Oh my god, could you imagine?"
She stopped in front of the art room and tilted her head. "Hey, what are you doing Friday night?"
My stomach felt like a washing machine on a rinse cycle.
"I'm filming the football game for the school's TV station." I nervously toyed with the strap of my backpack. "Do you want to like hang out with me during the game? Filming isn't that boring- okay well a little boring but..."
Without hesitation, Mia laughed and said, "No thanks."
"Oh wow." The words slipped out before I could stop myself.
I expected it, but still, it stung getting rejected by my dream girl.
Mia patted my back.
Her touch caused nervous goosebumps to prickle up my spine, spreading down my arms. It was a sensation I had never felt before. I shuddered.
"I hate football. But I'll be at your house after the game. We can watch the Macbeth movie and work on the project." She smiled.
Mia didn't ask, she stated.
I was awestruck. I searched for words, but came up empty. Mia grinned, flung her expensive little white purse over her shoulder and went into her class.
I, Jake Morrow, designated nerd who somehow had a sorta date, stared open mouthed as the door closed shut.
It was at that moment, I realized something. I was one step closer to solving the mystery that was Mia James.
---
It was later that day, I found the note in my locker, confirming what I thought I had imagined was real. Written on an expired frozen yogurt punch card in neat purple letters was Mia's number. I held it in both my hands as if it were gold, as if it were a signed first edition of my favorite book. It smelled sweet, fruity. I leaned against my locker in complete disbelief.
The flame roared with hope and desire.
Digging in my pocket, I pulled out my phone to text her. But waiting on my home screen was a bunch of missed calls and texts:
Dad @ 9:06 AM
Heads up, your mother won't take her meds. I won't b home till late, lots of work in the office. Please take care of her.