I walk along the curb, watching my steps carefully, making sure I don’t step on any cracks. I don’t believe it will “break my mother’s back,” but it gives me something to focus on. I’ve always avoided cracks, ever since I was around seven. I remember when I first started, on a walk with my family. I’ve done it ever since. Or at least when I forget earbuds, like I did today.
I realize I’m about to turn the wrong direction, just out of habit, and I force my feet the other way. A left turn, instead of my usual right. My house is to the right. It's funny that her house is so close to mine, and yet I’ve never been there. There's a first time for everything, I suppose. I’m a little nervous, but not really. Not as nervous as I could, and maybe should, be. I really don’t want to mess this up. For days I’ve rehearsed in my head exactly what I’ll say and do. So it should be fine. I hope. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. I sigh. She loves that phrase.
I check my phone as I walk, though I know my mom would be upset, and I see that I have a few more blocks before my next turn, and two text messages. One is from my dad, asking me to pick up milk on the way home, which I know I’ll forget. I tell him I will, anyway. The other text is from her. see u soon! dont be late please. I say I won’t, which is actually true. I think. It will be if I make an effort, so I start walking faster, though still avoiding the sidewalk cracks.
I hate walking fast, but I would hate disappointing her more. Her disappointment cuts like a knife. I don’t want to see it again. When she’s upset, it’s on her face, in her words, even in the way she moves. I’ve caused it only once. That’s why I'm here, I guess. To make up for it. I think back to what happened, like I do whenever my mind drifts.
“What are you doing?” I looked up, and she was standing behind me. “Is that my phone?” I hurriedly gave it back, my cheeks turning bright red, as I tried to stutter out an explanation.
“You, um, you left it on my table in fourth period. I was, uh . . .” I bit my lip. “I was gonna give it to you after school.”
Her brow creased. “That doesn’t explain why you were reading my texts. You can’t look through someone's phone without their permission.” She was right. I knew she was right.
“I saw that you had mentioned me in a text, and I just wanted to know what you had said. I didn’t mean to be nosy, I’m so sorry.” It sounded flimsy and fake, even to me. I had known what I was doing, despite trying to rationalize it to myself.
“You mean, you didn’t think I would know.” The corners of her mouth began to turn downward.
“No! I didn't — I wasn't — I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”
“Look, I’m just . . . going to go now.” She looked at me once before she left, her expression wrenching my heart more than I thought was possible.
I watched her walk away, knowing that nothing I said would make it better. That text doesn’t matter anymore, even though it had said just what I wanted. What I’ve spent weeks hoping for. And now I’ll never get to hear her say it to me.
But she’s letting me come back. Try to apologize. Make it up. Her smile is the same way as her frown. It embodies her joy. It’s not captured in pictures. She’s just so filled with joy that it spills from her shining eyes, and her smile almost splits her face, and she needs to wiggle her fingers or maybe intertwine them with mine. If you were to kiss her, your lips would come away glowing silver. I’ve seen her true smile a few times, and I’ve caused it at least one of those. All I want is to be the reason for another. Maybe that's why I’m here.
And I am here. I made it to her house without realizing it. I’m two minutes early, so I sit down on the sidewalk and lean against the wall of her house. I could knock now, but I want to gather my thoughts first. The anxiety I wasn’t feeling before has finally kicked in.
She’s just so lovely. That’s the best word for her. Lovely. And I’m not. I’m nice enough, sure, and pretty enough, and good enough, but not like she is. She's so kind, and she’s so beautiful, and she's so amazing at nearly everything she tries.
How could someone like her have cared so much for me? And how could someone as insignificant as me hurt her? Yet I’m still here, getting to try for her lovely smile one more time. And I know I’ll mess up again, and again, but a little less each time.
I check my phone, and see two minutes have passed. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I stand up and walk to the front door. I take a deep breath in, then press the bell and wait for her to answer.
I realize I’m about to turn the wrong direction, just out of habit, and I force my feet the other way. A left turn, instead of my usual right. My house is to the right. It's funny that her house is so close to mine, and yet I’ve never been there. There's a first time for everything, I suppose. I’m a little nervous, but not really. Not as nervous as I could, and maybe should, be. I really don’t want to mess this up. For days I’ve rehearsed in my head exactly what I’ll say and do. So it should be fine. I hope. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. I sigh. She loves that phrase.
I check my phone as I walk, though I know my mom would be upset, and I see that I have a few more blocks before my next turn, and two text messages. One is from my dad, asking me to pick up milk on the way home, which I know I’ll forget. I tell him I will, anyway. The other text is from her. see u soon! dont be late please. I say I won’t, which is actually true. I think. It will be if I make an effort, so I start walking faster, though still avoiding the sidewalk cracks.
I hate walking fast, but I would hate disappointing her more. Her disappointment cuts like a knife. I don’t want to see it again. When she’s upset, it’s on her face, in her words, even in the way she moves. I’ve caused it only once. That’s why I'm here, I guess. To make up for it. I think back to what happened, like I do whenever my mind drifts.
“What are you doing?” I looked up, and she was standing behind me. “Is that my phone?” I hurriedly gave it back, my cheeks turning bright red, as I tried to stutter out an explanation.
“You, um, you left it on my table in fourth period. I was, uh . . .” I bit my lip. “I was gonna give it to you after school.”
Her brow creased. “That doesn’t explain why you were reading my texts. You can’t look through someone's phone without their permission.” She was right. I knew she was right.
“I saw that you had mentioned me in a text, and I just wanted to know what you had said. I didn’t mean to be nosy, I’m so sorry.” It sounded flimsy and fake, even to me. I had known what I was doing, despite trying to rationalize it to myself.
“You mean, you didn’t think I would know.” The corners of her mouth began to turn downward.
“No! I didn't — I wasn't — I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”
“Look, I’m just . . . going to go now.” She looked at me once before she left, her expression wrenching my heart more than I thought was possible.
I watched her walk away, knowing that nothing I said would make it better. That text doesn’t matter anymore, even though it had said just what I wanted. What I’ve spent weeks hoping for. And now I’ll never get to hear her say it to me.
But she’s letting me come back. Try to apologize. Make it up. Her smile is the same way as her frown. It embodies her joy. It’s not captured in pictures. She’s just so filled with joy that it spills from her shining eyes, and her smile almost splits her face, and she needs to wiggle her fingers or maybe intertwine them with mine. If you were to kiss her, your lips would come away glowing silver. I’ve seen her true smile a few times, and I’ve caused it at least one of those. All I want is to be the reason for another. Maybe that's why I’m here.
And I am here. I made it to her house without realizing it. I’m two minutes early, so I sit down on the sidewalk and lean against the wall of her house. I could knock now, but I want to gather my thoughts first. The anxiety I wasn’t feeling before has finally kicked in.
She’s just so lovely. That’s the best word for her. Lovely. And I’m not. I’m nice enough, sure, and pretty enough, and good enough, but not like she is. She's so kind, and she’s so beautiful, and she's so amazing at nearly everything she tries.
How could someone like her have cared so much for me? And how could someone as insignificant as me hurt her? Yet I’m still here, getting to try for her lovely smile one more time. And I know I’ll mess up again, and again, but a little less each time.
I check my phone, and see two minutes have passed. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I stand up and walk to the front door. I take a deep breath in, then press the bell and wait for her to answer.