10 Years Ago
10 YEARS AGO
I teeter as I walk, pushed off-balance by the stack of newspapers I clutch between both arms.
They are piled up to my nose, almost too tall to see over. There are ten other students in my journalism class, but for the second month in a row, I’m the only one who volunteered to distribute the papers around school. If I had help, it would probably take thirty minutes to drop the papers off in front of each classroom. Alone, I’ll be lucky to get home before dinner.
Students stream past me, their animated voices floating by as they head out the gates. Part of me wishes someone would catch my eye, offer to help take some of my load. But no one ever does. And, honestly, I’m not sure what I’d say if they did. I’m comfortable wearing a permanent invisibility cloak. Keeping my head down means I have more time to do the things I like. And journalism—despite the very heavy fruits of my labor—is one of the things I like the most.
I make it halfway down the steps to the lower level of the quad before my worst nightmare comes true. The toe of my shoe misses the cement, and I skid down the next three stairs, barely catching myself before my chin slams into the ground.
Newspapers come tumbling down around me, their twine ties doing little to keep the pages from flying apart. I hear snickers in the distance, but the buzzing in my ears does its best to drown them out. Heat floods my cheeks, likely darker than the pinpricks of blood already pooling in my scratched palms.
“Hey, are you all right?”
I don’t immediately reply, embarrassment stealing every word off my tongue. The only thing worse than face-planting in front of all my peers might just be one of said peers taking pity on me.
White sneakers step into my field of vision as the student crouches down beside me. Tanned hands reach out to collect the nearest papers.
“That must’ve hurt. I’ve nearly fallen down these steps a couple times myself.”
It takes all my courage just to press my lips into a shadow of a smile. I lift my head, saying, “No, I’m fine, really—”
And then I stop. Blink. Blink again. The boy beside me is gorgeous. From the curling ends of his hair, to the full lips currently lifted in a kind smile.
“Is it awful to say I’m glad it was you and not me?” He looks up, wincing when he realizes what he’s admitted. “Okay, don’t answer that. It was awful. Have I mentioned I have this terrible tendency to put my foot in my mouth?”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, busying himself with stacking my newspapers in a neat row. I think and think about the right thing to say. Boys as cute as he is don’t tend to go out of their way to talk to me. I’m not sure I’ve even held many conversations with not-cute boys.
The best I can come up with is: “Ha. That’s funny.”
“I see you must’ve hit your head after all.” He flashes me another smile, and I think my heart might actually skip a beat.
He gets up, hurrying over to collect the last of my scattered newspapers. I take a moment to study the rest of him. He’s taller than most of the guys in my grade, lean muscle cording the backs of his arms. I don’t recognize the red jersey he’s wearing until he drops back down in front of me.
EAGLES is emblazoned across the front in gold letters. Our jerseys are a deep navy, our mascot a plucky raven. He’s not from our school, then. Vaguely, I recall a varsity basketball game being announced over the speakers this morning. We’re due to face off against our biggest rival—Arroyo High, I think. Not that our home team puts up much of a fight. We haven’t won a game in the two years I’ve been here at Valley Glen. I highly doubt much will change in the next two.
“Do you work on the paper?”
I choke a little when his eyes flicker to mine. The boy is still here…talking to me. I’m tempted to pinch myself. “I’m a staff writer,” I murmur, mustering up a shy smile.
“No way! I’ve always wanted to work on one of these.” His grin is a little uneven, adding a hint of mischief to his handsome face. “If I could have two electives, journalism would’ve been one of them.”
Do I laugh? Ask about his other elective? I’m certain it’s basketball, judging by his jersey and the fact he’s here…steps away from our gym. I’m so busy figuring out what not to say, I lose my chance to say anything at all.
“Do you need help getting anywh—”
“Hedlund!”
We both turn. A figure in a red jersey is waving his arms, gesturing for the boy to join him by the gym.
“Looks like I’m being summoned,” my savior says with a wry smile. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m good,” I confirm a little breathlessly. “Thank you for…” I wave a hand at the newspapers he’s stacked for me. “Um, everything.”
He stands up gingerly, brushing some of the dirt off his gym shorts. And then he reaches out a hand, offering to help me up. I swear time moves in slow motion as his fingers curl around mine.
I notice his hand is kind of rough, at least twice as big as my own. And then he’s stepping back, waving at his waiting friend.
He’s off before I can stammer out a goodbye. I stare at his retreating figure, memorizing the name emblazoned on the back of his jersey. Hedlund.
I have spent the last two years doing my very best to blend into the background. I haven’t cared about dating or being noticed. But one boy and his perfect smile have changed everything.
A feeling takes root deep in my chest. A hope I can’t shake.
Somehow, someway, I will meet him again.