Candi
Talking to Andrew these past few days has been amazing. Every morning in history, we make plans to talk online when I come home from cheer practice. As we're supposed to be listening to Mr. Ferguson’s lecture, we end up passing notes back and forth to each other using his notebook.
It usually starts with me complimenting his newest, roughly sketched doodle. Today, it's a messy heart with my name in it. The blue ink he uses to scratch the heart on the paper is slightly scribbled on top of multiple faded navy lines.
“I love it.” I messily write next to the small picture in the margin by the bent metal spiral.
My view quickly moves from the notebook to the front of class, while I'm trying to keep from getting caught sending notes rather than paying attention to the roles of the legislative branch of the United States government.
On the outside, I'm trying not to seem so excited, but on the inside, I'm blushing, and it feels like my heart is about to burst out of my chest. The simple design hits me like a tether ball in the face. I think I might like Andy. More than like.
I want us to be more than friends. It's not too much of a ridiculous idea, is it?
Sure, he and I are… different. The two of us would look silly walking in the halls together.
Something about him makes me look past all of that.
I want to spend more time with him outside of class and just behind a computer screen.
“Psst,” I try my best to whisper to get his attention. He doesn't turn to look back until I nudge his bag with the white tips of my shoes. His sneaky tactic isn't fooling anyone when he reaches back and grabs the other end.
I wonder if he notices the dreamy look in my eyes when I fixate on the way he scribes out another quick thought.
“Candi…” his note begins under my messy handwriting.
“I like you… like a lot.” Can he notice the ways my eyes widen?
Could he read my notes in my head like they're written in music?
If that's the case, I don't know whether to be giddy or super embarrassed.
He slides the notebook closer to the corner of the desk, and I quickly snatch it by the bottom half.
“Candi… I like you…like a lot.” No, I didn't make it up.
He really does like me. What should I do?
Am I supposed to just play it cool? Should I tell him how I feel, too?
What would everyone think? I just got out of a relationship with Zane…
Andy bounces his knee and taps the end of his pen on the desk as he waits for my response. Come on, Candi. Just tell him. It's not like anything bad could happen if you do. It's just Andy. “I like you too.” The words flow out of me so easily.
There are only two minutes left of class, so I hold on to the notebook a little longer, and I act like I don't notice his side-eye look every few seconds. I want to tell him, not through secret notes or MySpace messages.
“Okay, class. That's it. Get the heck out of here.” My history teacher teases in time with the bell.
“So…” Andrew turns in his seat before grabbing his notebook from my desk.
“So…” I playfully parrot his words.
“About what I said… I…” He looks so disappointed as his eyes point down at his boots.
“I like you too, Andy… like a lot.” Damn that smile… Please don't ever stop looking at me like that.
Cheer practice can't end soon enough. The clock on the wall in the gymnasium seems like it's frozen in time. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it will move by quicker. Come on… please move.
“You know, practice will go quicker if we actually practice.” My best friend, Brittany, jokingly taunts with one hand on her hip and the other holding her crimson and navy pom poms.
“Ugh, I know. I guess, these days I'm more excited about what comes after practice.” My pom poms rustle at my side as we walk back to the dark blue unfolded bleachers.
“Umm… what happens after practice?”
“I-I’ve been talking to someone…”
“Who is someone?” She asks with a tone of disbelief in her voice. “It better not be that asshole, Zane…”
“No, it isn't Zane…”
“Spill…”
“Britt… the others are waiting on us…” Who was I kidding? The other cheerleaders didn't care if we were going to start. They would happily have a day off of doing nothing and looking down at their matching pink Razr phones.
“Are you serious? Look at them.” She has a point.
“Andrew…” I lower my voice, tucking my chin in so all I can see is the panther painted on the hard floor.
“Who?”
“Andrew Miller.” She looks confused, concerned, no wait. Maybe that's secondhand embarrassment.
“Who the fuck is Andrew Miller?”
“He sits next to me in Ferguson's class…”
“Wait.. you mean that guy with the pink and black hair?!” She covers her mouth and tries to hold in her laugh. Is it that crazy of an idea that I like Andy? Heat rises up my neck and onto my cheeks.
“I knew you would laugh…”
“Oh, come on, Candi. The two of you… it just seems so… I don't know… it just doesn't fit.”
“I know we don't dress similarly, or travel in the same friend groups, but he's the sweetest…”
“Stop right there. He might act sweet, but he looks scary as hell… Is he hot? Absolutely, but he’s always scowling at everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if he cut someone's throat if they looked at him wrong.”
“That's ridiculous…”
“Is it?”
“It is. Andy wouldn't hurt anyone.”
“Maybe not you, but have you seen those arms? I bet he could easily snap someone's neck.”
“Oh my gosh, Britt…”
“Listen… I'm glad you're talking to someone. I'm fucking celebrating that it's not your crazy ex. If scary Andrew makes you happy, that's fucking awesome… just be careful.”
“Thank you, Britt. It means a lot that you worry about me.”
“You know I love you, right?”
“Yes. I love you, too.” Her arms wrap around my shoulders as she still hangs on to her white pom pom handles.