After school, Dylan tells me a funny story about how in Photography he was getting really frustrated because he couldn't get his camera to focus. After ten minutes, he realized it was just because he wasn't wearing his glasses and that really, nothing was in focus.
We drive to a nearby eyeglass store so he can purchase some eye contacts in lieu of glasses. When we leave the store, I can't help but discuss the conflict I'm experiencing about the whole contacts versus glasses bit.
"I don't know how I feel about you not wearing your glasses," I say on our way towards his house.
"Why? Do you have some sort of glasses fetish?"
"No, not really? I don't know, I guess... You know how you just get so used to seeing someone a certain way, like with glasses, that when they don't look that way anymore it's just... weird?"
"So I look weird to you without my glasses?"
"Not weird, necessarily. Different."
"Different bad or different good?"
"It could never be bad, I like your face too much."
He grins, "I like yours, too."
School the next day is nothing special; it seems completely ordinary. Well, that is, until after school when Naomi and I walk together out of Spanish and into the courtyard. There are many people gathered around -- even more than usual -- and they seem to be focused on something or someone in particular. As the two of us continue to walk I see-- oh mY GOD.
Dylan and Adrian are standing together with gigantic, white pieces of paper with very colorful and large words written on them. They each have flowers in their hands, too. I can't. I start freaking out before I even read what the words say.
Why is everyone staring at us? What, people are taking videos? The very second I start reading what Dylan has written, I burst into laughter:
Anita date to formal... will you be mine?
Leave it to him to make a pun out of my name. It's cheesy and cute and so Dylan that it's perfect. Covering my mouth in surprise and happiness and bashfulness, I can feel my face heating up in a blush. I rush up to him and see the grin forming on his face at my reaction. I throw my arms around him and he hugs me back for a while until we pull away.
"Is that a yes?", he asks, looking hopeful.
"Duh," I laugh a little before concocting the brilliant idea in my head that, wow, would this be a great time to let our classmates know that we are a thing!
I pull him down to my level by his neck and tilt my head before giving him a good kiss square on the lips. He seems surprised by the action, even though he really shouldn't be, considering he's my boyfriend. A second later he's kissing me back, and I hear a few murmurs throughout the crowd of people.
"I'm surprised he had the balls to ask anyone out, let alone her!"
"Never knew he had it in him!"
"This is such a plot twist!"
"There's always that saying about the underdog..."
Kissing my boyfriend without his glasses on feels different. But it's definitely a good different; I feel closer to him now than I did before, and closer is always better with him.
When we pull away, Dylan kind of sheepishly stares around at the ground, one of his hands finding mine. He mumbles something about forgetting to give me the flowers and hands me the bouquet of beautifully assorted and colorful roses.
I smile up at him and look over to read Adrian's sign which is just as cheesy and punny as Dylan's:
I know this is cheesy, but you Naomi. Formal?
They are so stupid and I love it.
People finally get on with their lives as the four of us pose for a quick photo that Linda demands to be taken.
After all that, my best friend and I depart from our boyfriends with farewell kisses, heading towards Cheer practice. On our way, we giggle and talk excitedly about the formal. It's only three days away, so the two of us plan to go dress shopping tomorrow. Walking into the gym, I realize I don't feel very energized. In fact, a nap sounds heavenly right about now.
I push through, though, and do my best anyway as we practice one of our routines once, then twice, before Coach Sessoms stops us.
"You guys, what are you doing?", she demands. "You look like a bunch of slugs out there! You're called cheerleaders for a reason; you're supposed to be cheerful! Look alive!" Her eyes linger on me too long for me not to notice, so next time I try extra hard to put one hundred percent effort into it.
After a third, fourth, and fifth time, she says she's done with it. I think we-- rather, I-- have her a little frustrated with my rather poor performance. After a short water break, we move on to our new dance number.
It's fast-paced, high energy, and a lot of fun, but... I'm having such an off day. I'm falling behind the music, missing certain parts, and I feel exhausted after running it just once.
Coach pulls me aside, "Anita, are you alright? You're off your game today, and don't seem so well."
I nod, "I'm fine, I just feel tired."
She nods back, "Take a seat, I'm making you sit out the rest of practice. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, I need you on your A-game."
I do as I'm told and sit on the bleachers for the remaining twenty minutes of practice, watching everyone else. Afterward, I give Naomi a ride home since she drove to school with her boyfriend.
"What happened today?", she asks me quite inevitably.
"I don't know, I didn't have any energy."
"Coach is worried about you?"
"Yeah, but I think I'll be all good by tomorrow."
But I'm not. At practice on Wednesday, I'm just as horrible as I was yesterday, if not worse. Thirty seconds of dancing feels like thirty minutes, and I'm always always always a beat behind. What is wrong with me? Coach notices.
She benches me again, and we have a talk while the other girls practice tumbling. She tells me that she's worried about me, about the team. We take over the football games starting next Friday. She isn't sure if I'll be able to participate if I don't nail these routines and cheers.
Thursday does it. Coach Sessoms makes a call to my parents, but about what, I am not certain of. She says it's about how she's worried about what problems I may be having at home or with my friends. I wish she hadn't called, because now my parents will want to talk about it, and long story short a whole new plethora of problems will come into play.
When all of us girls are changing after practice, Coach calls me into her office. I expect the worst, and frankly I can't blame her for what happens. I am 'suspended' from my position as co-captain. I don't really expect to get it back, but she assures me that as soon as I 'get back to my old self', the title will be waiting for me, bright shiny and new.
As I'm standing to leave, she tells me to call Naomi into her office. Way to be subtle, Coach. I close her office door behind me, seeing Naomi dressed and ready to go, waiting for me. I beckon her to come towards me with my finger. Looking slightly confused, she obliges and once we're a single foot away, I tell her.
"I'm not Co-Captain anymore," I mutter.
"Seriously?", she asks in bewilderment. I don't know why she's so surprised, exactly. She's seen me these last few days.
"My skills are not up to Co-Captain standard at the moment."
"Okay, so, are you gonna get it back?"
"Maybe, if I prove myself. She wants you in there."
"Who? Coach?"
I nod, "She's gonna make you Co-Captain now."
Naomi shakes her head, "I'm so declining. You don't even have to tell me, that's so fucked up."
"What? No! Why would you decline?"
She looks confused for a moment, "What-- it's like you lost your boyfriend, and he's asking me out and I say yes! Don't you feel like I'd be... like, backstabbing you or something?"
I shake my head now, "No, not at all. Seriously, I will never forgive you if you don't take this."
"Are you sure?"
"Entirely. If someone's taking my place, I wouldn't want it to be anyone other than you," I give her a reassuring smile.
She smiles back and heads into Coach's office where she, sure enough, gets promoted to Co-Captain. I take her home after celebratory/comfort smoothies and head into my own house.
Dinner is at seven o'clock, chicken teriyaki. Both of my parents are here. For the past few months this would only happen about one or twice a week but since my mother's newly developed worries about my health, this is becoming an every-other-day thing. It doesn't take long for the dreaded conversation to commence.
"Your coach called today, Anita," my mom says before stuffing some rice in her mouth.
"I know, she told me."
"Are you aware of what it was about?"
"I'm assuming," I begin, the lie perfectly formed in my mind. "It has to do with the fact that I've lost my Co-Captain status due to a drop in performance quality?"
"You sound so professional," dad mumbles humorously which earns him a glare from my mother.
"That is exactly what it's about. So you are aware of your lack of, and here I quote, 'energy and enthusiasm'?"
"Yeah," I say, wiping my hands on the white cloth napkin. "It was staged."
Dad tilts his head, "Come again?"
"The title of Co-Captain has kind of been stressing me out. I don't think I'm experienced enough in the world of Cheerleading to have such a position. I wanna learn more before I try to set an example or whatever, which is what the Co-Captain does."
"You couldn't have just told your coach that?", mom asks, seeming slightly irritated.
"You don't know Coach Sessoms like I do; she would have told me to stop talking nonsense, that I'm perfectly capable, and that I just need more self-confidence."
"I don't see what's wrong with that."
"I don't agree with it," I tell her. "And anyway, it's not that big of a deal. She said the position will be waiting for me whenever I'm ready."
"Sounds like a pretty good deal to me," dad says with an approving nod.
I smile at him, but my mother is not happy.
"Anita, I just don't understand why you'd want to give up something you worked so hard for," she says.
"I honestly didn't work all that hard for it. Besides, what's done is done."
"But are you--"
"Hey," my father cuts her off with a look that says 'better not'. She raises her eyebrows at him in response.
Sensing the start of yet another argument, I sigh and excuse myself from the table.
My parents forget to check if I ate everything on my plate.
I ate half.
I am not Co-Captain.
I lied to my parents.
My father sleeps on the couch.
~
Friday morning, I do not feel like going to school. I get ready anyway, and while I'm doing my hair, I call my boyfriend.
"I don't want to go to school today," I tell him.
"What? Why?"
"I don't know, I just don't feel like it."
"Did something happen?"
"Well, I lost my Co-Captain status on the cheer team, but that's not what this is about."
"Why!?", Dylan asks in bewilderment.
"I've been messing up a lot these past few practices. I might not even be able to participate in the upcoming football games, but I think I'll come back around."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I sigh, knowing I'm about to lie to him. "Just sleep-deprived."
"Maybe you should stay home and sleep?"
"As much as I want to, I can't. My parents wouldn't let me stay home."
He pauses, "Come to my house and sleep?"
"Seriously?"
"I need a break from school anyway. I've had perfect attendance so far this year."
"Won't it be kind of weird if we're missing from school but then we show up at formal later?"
"Nobody checks that stuff. Now come over! I'll be waiting for you.. with... I don't know, something."
I laugh, "Just you is enough."
I text Naomi on my way over to Dylan's house to let her know that I'm skipping school. We agree to meet at my house after school in order to get ready for the dance. Right when I pull up, Dylan opens the door and stands in the doorway, watching me with a smile on his face, waiting. As I approach him, I see he has some type of muffin in his hand.
"Good morning, my sweet," he greets me with a grin. Still getting used to his face without glasses.
"Good morning," I chirp back. "Is that a muffin?"
"Blueberry! I told you I would be waiting for you with something, and today that something is a blueberry muffin."
I take it from his hands and smile, "Where did it come from?"
"I made a few last night because I was bored," he wraps an arm around me and holds me close. "So if you don't eat it all, I will be particularly offended."
"I'm sure I won't be able to put it down," I assure him, then tilt my head back, staring at him meaningfully.
"What?"
I purse my lips and he seems to get the message, placing his lips softly upon mine. I grin at him and then we go inside, sitting at the table in his kitchen. My boyfriend eats a cereal made of colorful puff balls that make the milk turn a funny color out of a gigantic red bowl.
I sit across from him in the wooden chair, taking small bites of my muffin. It's actually a really good muffin, probably the best blueberry muffin I've ever had. He watches me closely the entire time, and I've noticed he's been doing that a lot lately. Not sure why.
I throw away the muffin wrapper just as he is slurping down the odd-colored milk. Together we put away the clean dishes from the dishwasher, though I get stuck simply putting away the silverware because I constantly would ask him where things went. He got tired of it. Once the dishes are all back home, we retreat to his bedroom where we flop onto his bed.
"Alright," Dylan begins as we lay side-by-side on our backs. "Adrian is driving us all tonight. He's gonna pick me up, and then we'll meet you and Naomi at your house before heading to the dance."
"Sounds like a plan," I say before turning towards him. "I'm so excited to see you tonight."
"You're excited to see me?", he repeats humorously, turning to face me. "I'm beyond excited to see you! But at the same time, I'm not..."
"What? Why do you say that?"
"How many times do we have to go over this?"
I smirk, "You don't mean the whole 'Anita dressing up makes me nervous' thing, do you?"
"So what if I do?"
"I can't believe that's still a thing!", I laugh. "I'm your girlfriend now!"
"Yeah, but just... ugh, you don't understand," he seems to give up, looking away from me.
"Hey!", I poke him. "I still think its cute."
His mouth turns up in a sloppy-adorable grin before he rolls over, practically on top of me and kisses my nose repeatedly.
"OhmyGodDylanIcan'tbreathe," I rush out desperately after a moment.
"Oh right, breathing," he mutters as he gets up, hovering above me. "Sorry."
Seriously, how strong is this guy? He's, like, in a plank right now just hovering his entire body over mine. Like the kind of position you get into when you're about to do push-ups, but he makes it look so easy. His face hovers just two inches above mine as I stare into his eyes, which are a bright gold color in this lighting.
I run a hand through his hair that I love so much, "You know, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."
He looks intrigued, "What might that be?"
"You know how you always talk about things you want to do 'later'?"
He nods slowly.
"Well... it's just crossed my mind that 'later' never really seems to come..."
An eager yet nervous smile overtakes his face, "So what you're asking is..."
"Can 'later' be now?"
He gives up on the plank position and collapses to the side of me before sitting up with his legs crossed.
"Sit up, please," he tells me in a cute little voice that makes me do what he asks.
"Why do I have to sit up?", I ask.
"Because I like to get a good look at you, sue me."
I'm not given an opportunity to retaliate, for Dylan puts a hand through my long hair and crashes his eager soft lips against my surprised but welcoming ones. This is nice, kissing him. Especially in his bed. A rush of a cinnamon-sugary smell fills my senses; it must be him. Why does he always smell so good? Not that I'm complaining at all, in fact it just makes me want him even more.
My hands find their way around his neck as we kiss again and again until, what do you know, our tongues are greeting each other. Whenever we make out it's not fast or aggressive, rather the movements are gentle and evenly-paced with occasional bursts of heat and rushed movement.
It's perfect. But it seems unfair that we're still sitting cross-legged in front of each other, my bare knees brushing against his jean clad ones.
As if he was reading my mind, my boyfriend removes his hands from where he was running them through my hair rhythmically to my hips. We pause the kissing for a moment as he pulls me to sit onto his lap. Guess you could say I got the best seat in the house.
We're back at it a moment later, out tongues fighting for dominance. While my hands lightly play with the hem of his bright blue shirt and occasionally rest upon the toned skin of his stomach, his hands are constantly in motion.
One minute they're running up and down my sides, the next they're exploring the lengths of my thighs, and another they're doing something with my hair. I think he likes my hair.
It's really fascinating how much Dylan's personality changes whenever we find ourselves in these sort of intimate situations. Any other time he's your laid-back, calm, rather shy kinda guy, but once he gets in the mood... He's constantly on the move, determined, and confident, and it makes him utterly resistible in a whole different way. Me like-y.
Our once slow and melodic kissing takes a turn and becomes faster paced and slightly more aggressive. Putting his hands on either side of my face, he pulls away and looks at me. His eyes look different; they look fierce in a surprisingly attractive way.
"You are so hot. Have I ever told you that?", his breathing is heavy.
He never has, I mean he's called me pretty countless times, and beautiful once or twice, but never hot. I shake my head, "This would be the first. Glad to know the feeling is mutual."
"Okay, just kiss me," he mutters, his eyes scanning over me quickly.
I push him backwards onto his bed whereupon I hover over him for a moment, taking a second to admire the widespread grin on his face and pulling all of my hair to one side of my face. I slowly lower my face to my boyfriend's as we lose ourselves in another make out session.
The feeling of his lips on mine is so addicting, it's now become hard for me to imagine a satisfying life without it. It gets too hot for me to wear my sweater anymore so I unzip it, and sweet Dylan helps me throw it onto the floor in a quick motion.
His hands begin to sneak up beneath my thin shirt, the gentle touch of his fingers on my skin sending sparks of electricity throughout me. I let out a soft moan before pulling away from him. His hazel eyes peer up at me with slight confusion and longing for me to come back.
My lips connect to his neck and a low moan emits from him, making me smile against his warm skin. His hands find their way to my back and slither lower and lower until, well, I think they've found what they're looking for. Why do I feel so hot?
Suddenly, a small amount of weight pounces onto the bed right near my boyfriend's head and makes a loud meowing sound, naturally scaring the both of us half to death. His freaking cat, Esmeralda. We freak out and have a spasm attack, jumping a foot apart and I let out a small yelping sound as he bites my tongue.
The cat then runs away into the hallway, frightened by our reaction. The irony. We are both sitting up now.
"Oh God, did I bite you?", he asks in desperation, eyes wide and a hand on my shoulder.
With a hand to my mouth, I nod. It's not bleeding, but it feels just like it does when you're chewing food and accidentally bite your own tongue.
"Oh my GOD, babe, I'm sorry!", he exclaims and pulls my entire body to his in an embrace.
"It's okay, it wasn't your fault!", I assure him.
When we pull away from each other, we stare at one another and instantaneously, I start laughing. A second later, he joins in. I mean, yeah, it kind of sucks that our moment was ruined by a freaking cat, but you gotta make the best out of situations, find the humor in them. It's an overall pretty hilarious story, if you think about it. One thing's for sure, I'll definitely remember this.
We spend the next few hours watching a hilarious criminal investigation show with witty dialogue. At one point I venture to his kitchen to make him three ham and Swiss cheese sandwiches, as he asks me.
He devours two of them in minutes, and demands I eat the third one because I am 'the best girlfriend ever'. He tries to teach me how to play some first person shooter game, and I turn out to be pretty good. He stills beats me every time.
Eventually I begin drifting off, cuddled against his chest as he plays a one player assassination game that has him jumping on roofs and stealing peoples horses. The last thing I hear is animated voices from the television speaking Italian before I'm entirely asleep.
I wake up at two thirty in the afternoon from the sound of my phone ringing. School has been out for half an hour by now. I sit up groggily and blink the sleep away. Dylan is laying asleep on the bed with an arm around my torso. He's so cute when he's sleeping... and all the time. I answer the phone in a quiet voice.
"Hello?"
"Girl," Naomi says on the other end. "Jazz class sucks without you in it, can I just say? Hope skipping the day with your bae was worth it because I don't want this to become a regular thing."
I laugh quietly, "It won't. So what's up?"
"You might wanna head home because Adrian's dropping me off at your house in, like, fifteen minutes."
"Alright, I'm heading out now. See you soon."
I fall gracefully back onto the bed and turn to my dozing boyfriend.
"Babe," I call quietly, running a hand through his silky hair.
"Hmm?", he returns, though his eyes don't open.
"I'm leaving."
"Okay," he mutters in a tired voice.
I give him a kiss on the cheek, "See you at seven thirty."
When Naomi and I went dress shopping together on Wednesday, we virtually had no idea what we were looking for. Venturing to three different boutiques, two hours later we purchased these beautiful identical dresses, though hers is a light purple color and mine is pink. They're quite gorgeous if you ask me, and the price would tell you the same thing.
My school leaves that automated message about absences on our answering machine: Hello, this is Chatsworth High School calling to notify you that your daughter, Anita Katherine Burns, was absent from--
I stop it from continuing and delete the message so my parents won't hear it. My work here is done.
Naomi and I start getting ready at three thirty. Some people might say four hours ahead of time is way too early, but sometimes it takes a while to make yourself a certain kind of pretty. We do our makeup to match each of our dresses, Naomi spending a good ten minutes making her eyelashes their crazy long, usual length.
She re-curls sections of my hair to ensure their perfection, but then we decide it would look better straight for a change. I straighten her hair before we collectively decide it would look better in beach waves. Needless to say, we spend a significant amount of time on hair, but it's worth it. We look the bomb dot com.
Next is deciding what shoes and accessories will work with our dresses which doesn't take long; collectively we have a lot of jewelry. Shoes aren't difficult either, because I kinda have a shoe obsession and therefore have probably fifty pairs.
That combined with the fact that Naomi and I wear the same size shoe makes it all a breeze. Our ensembles are perfect, all that's left is to actually put them on. By seven thirty we are good to go and wow, do we look freaking amazing. After gushing over one another and fixing little bits, my best friend and I take what I would estimate to be a hundred selfies.
We're gathering our things into our small purses when a knocking comes from the front door. Giving myself props on my ability to walk down the stairs in heels with ease, Naomi and I throw open the door and hit a model pose for the boys.
"Look at you!", Adrian roars, making his way to his girlfriend. He's looking adorable in his suit and tie that matches Naomi's dress.
"I made myself hot for you!", she exclaims in response. "Now we match!"
"Girl, you came that way."
Meanwhile, I lean on the door frame and raise my eyebrows at my boyfriend in a suggestive manner, "Hey there."
"Hi," he says softly with a shy smile. For crying out loud, why is he so perfectly adorable? Not to mention he's wearing this suit that just, ugh, makes me want to kiss him BUT WAIT. I can do that now.
Closing the front door behind me, I saunter over to him and kiss his lips, and it takes him a second to kiss back.
"Nervous?", I ask him with a smile. Even in my heels, he's still several inches taller than me.
"You smell good," he says instead. "Like strawberries."
I giggle and interlace my fingers with his, as we turn to face our friends. After approximately fifty group selfies, we pile into Adrian's car and head off to our Winter formal.