It was an ordinary day for an ordinary girl at Jefferson High School. I was walking toward science class when it happened. When he happened.
By “he” I mean Bobby McIntire, the only man for me, and by “happened” I mean walking down the hall. He didn’t make eye contact, but I still glimpsed into his eyes. They were a deep shade of cerulean, darker than the sky at midmorning, but lighter than the ocean before a tempest. They contained mirth, joy, and warmth, with a slight hint of sadness. They spoke to me, and they said, “Love me. Love me Joyce Witherspoon Reed. Love me more than you’ve ever loved anyone before. Love me, cherish me, and marry me. Keep me forever. But don’t move too fast, because I’ve just gotten out of a relationship with that jerk Alice Brennerman. No, leave me enough space to recover, but put me in that special place in your heart that is reserved for me and me alone.”
As he walked closer I could feel the tension in the room rising. The hallway got hotter and hotter as if a thousand cherubs were fanning the flames of love. I could barely refrain from going up to him right now and wrapping my arms around his waist, his slender yet manly waist. Suddenly he looked at me, and I felt my heart melt.
“Hey, do you know what the assignment was for literature class?” he asked.
His tone appeared casual, after all it wouldn’t do to appear too eager. But underneath it I could detect a longing, a longing for a relationship that was meant to be, a longing for a love that was preordained since before time began.
“Um, I think it covers chapters two through four,” I replied, careful to keep the same tone, one that appeared neutral while still filled with hope and love.
“Thanks. Hey, you’re Joyce right?”
My name, Joyce. I wanted him to say it over and over again. I could have lived my entire life hearing nothing from him but “Joyce.”
“Yes,” I answered. My heart trembling as if it was an African drum, readying the hunters for the night’s chase.
“You’re friends with Misty right?”
“Yeah,” I didn’t see where this was going. Why didn’t he say what was important, what was near and dear to his heart?
“I was wondering if you could…you see…I’ve been wanting to ask her out for some time. Could you…could you give her this note for me?”
What? Misty! That harpy was trying to steal my man from me. I’d give that temptress what she deserved. Oh, she’d pay. She’d pay dearly. I was never speaking to that tramp again. And she could forget about me lending her my skirt on Friday.
“Sure, that’d be fine,” I said, not letting slip my shock at my betrayal.
He walked on by and out of my life. I was heart-broken. I would never love again. Never! Ooh, except for maybe Jason Devries, who was walking the other way at that moment.