Who are you thinking he is so far?
Chapter Seven
I was able to make it home without anyone else stopping me and cooked dinner for mom and dad. I always cook dinner at least one night a week to give them a break, or to teach me discipline or something like that. It's paid off though, I know how to make a mean casserole.
Cooking is an art. You throw together a bunch of absolutely random ingredients and somehow they come out as this delicious meal, sometimes.
Tonight was a hit. I cooked an easy meal since I have a crazy amount of homework waiting for me to cry on top of. I prepared simple tortellini with a homemade meat sauce, which happens to be my dad's favorite. He asked me all about school while we ate, and I felt comfort in the fact we could have a peaceful dinner for once without any tension between the two of them.
"Thanks for making dinner, kiddo." Dad says once we all finish. He messes up my hair and kisses the top of my head, taking my plate from off of the table.
He and mom clean up since I cooked our beautifully delicious meal, and I head upstairs to finish my homework. I run up our wooden stairs, almost slipping a few times due to my thin socks, and throw open the door to my room. I ditch my desk since the chair will probably break my back within a matter of a half hour, and I decide to sit on my bed instead.
I rip my constricting jeans off and change into a more comfortable shirt. As I hop onto my bed, I hear the clatter of nails racing up the stairs and not a second later Bruce and Angel come barging into my room and leap onto my bed. They lay on either side of me, snuggle up close to relish in my body heat.
I regretfully take out my pre-calc take home quiz, and from looking at the first question I swear my head is about to explode. It's a ten question, a-c on every question, quiz.
I get through about half of it before Bruce lets out a gruff sigh and stretches out, bumping my leg and knocking my pre-calc quiz out of my lap and onto the floor. I glance down at it, laying there next to a pair of jeans that I didn't bother to put away. I debate picking it up, but then again math is the devil.... I could get a serious migraine, pass out, and die.
I don't want to take that chance.
Sketchbook it is.
"Thanks Bruce," I say, patting his open stomach as my thanks. I would pat his head, but it's all the way down at my feet and I'm the opposite of flexible.
He grunts at me in response and I chuckle at him.
Leaning over, I open up the drawer of my bedside table and pull out my case of pencils, choosing a freshly sharpened one as well as a duller one. The new is for light shading, and the is dull in case I need more of a rugged feel to my drawing. I don't really know what it's going to be yet, but I'll think of something.
In the middle of my new sketch, my phone buzzes in my lap and scares the crap out of Angel. Her head shoots up in surprise and she starts looking around for the source of the noise. A growl starts forming in the back of her throat when my phone buzzes again, and I laugh as I pet her to calm her down.
"Don't worry girl, it's just my phone." I chuckle, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head.
She stares warily at my phone for a few seconds and then rests her head back down next to my chest, lying closer to me as means of protection.
(812)-673-9918: Meet me at the cafe in 30min ;)
My eyebrows draw together as I glance at the number in confusion. The area code is right for this part of Indiana, so at least I know this is someone from around here, but I haven't seen this number before.
From the corner of my eye, my love letter from earlier today comes into focus and realization hits me.
This is probably a text from my secret admirer.
My heart starts beating faster as I examine the text, reading it over and over again while I try to figure out who's number this is. Since I don't have the number saved into memory, I can eliminate every guy in my contacts.
My mind goes into hyperdrive as I try to think of what guys aren't in my contacts that have the possibility of being him.
I may as well ask who it is, the worst he can say is that he won't tell me.
Me: Sorry, who's this??
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I stare at the text. Was two question marks too much? The three dots pop up in the bottom left corner, saying that he's texting me back and my heart goes into overdrive.
Why is it taking him so long to type his name?
The little bubbles suddenly disappear and I bite my bottom lip so hard I'm worried I drew blood.
Here it is.
(812)-673-9918: Hayden- who else?
My giddy expression drops and I feel a pang in my chest. It wasn't my secret admirer. Disappointment knocks away my previous excitement and I drop my phone onto my lap with a dejected sigh.
I forgot I gave him my number earlier. I should have pieced two and two together....
A part of me knew it wouldn't be my anonymous. He would have given more hints to lead me into finding out who he is. He's not that spontaneous. He has a gradual impact on people, a build-up of emotions that leave you begging for a little more that he is either too shy or too playful to give.
It's amazing that I don't even know his name, yet I feel like I know everything about him.
"Why did I get my hopes up like that?" I ask myself. "How could I have been so stupid?"
Bruce and Angel look at me and cock their heads. I sigh and pet both of them, and then text Hayden back, hesitantly putting his number in my phone.
Me: Can't.
Not even a minute later he responds.
Hayden: Why?
I roll my eyes and hastily text him back.
Me: I don't want to
I stare at the text, not even hesitating before sending it. He'll probably try to say that we need to work on it to get ahead or something, so I send a double text.
Me: We can just work in class tomorrow
I lock my phone and plug it in, placing it on the counter instead of waiting for him to respond. We have a few weeks until it's due and I don't feel like having to put pants on to go out. So instead of staying up to ponder anything else, I move all of my homework off of my bed and get ready to go to sleep.
After I wash my face and brush my teeth, I walk back into my room and grab the small envelope resting delicately on the wooden counter snug against my bed. I kneel down on my bare knees and they rub uncomfortably against my worn carpet, already leaving indentations on my skin.
My hands reach for my overly plush covers and gently grab them, feeling the light fabric squish between my fingers as I lift it up. My other hand searches blindly under my bed for a small shoe box that acts as home to the rest of my letters. I feel the sharp edges of the box glide past my fingers and grip it, pulling it out from under the bed and into the light- the converse logo smiling up at me.
I started keeping all of my letters once I got three in a row, and sometimes I like to sit in bed and read through them. I like getting that butterfly feeling in my chest- lifting me up and placing a smile on my lips.
My secret admirer doesn't place the date on his letters, but every time I read them I can remember exactly when I opened it. Even so, I still feel like it's the first time I've read them whenever I bring the shoe box out. My hand glides over all of the stark white envelopes; each with the same, imperfect heart drawn on the seal. I let the soft paper caress my skin as I shift through them, each with its own story to tell.
I pull one out, random at selection, and take the letter out of the envelope. I carefully open it up, the satisfactory sound of the paper unfolding meeting my ears, and I read it over with eager eyes. It doesn't matter that I've read it before, the thrill doesn't just go away.
Dear Beautiful,
I recently traveled to the east coast to visit family, and it was my first time at the beach since I was just a little kid. I discovered something while I was there. Loving you is like breathing in the cool ocean air. So pure and genuine.
I want to believe that being touched by you would be like the delicate sand cherishing my skin. Gentle and nurturing. Scorching my skin with its tender touch.
I wonder if being kissed by you would resemble the cool touch of the ocean. Your lips like the waves soothing the shore, powerful yet compassionate.
Maybe one day I will find out.
Love,
Anonymous
Only when I finish reading the letter do I become aware of my smile. I fold the letter back and insert it into its envelope, taking out another.
Dear Beautiful,
I'm writing this because when I saw you read my last letter, I had the sudden urge to tell you who I am. I wanted to run up to you as you read it, exclaiming that it was me. It's been me all along. I wanted to pull you towards me and kiss you with everything in me and have you kiss me all the same. But then I started wondering what would happen if we met, and I got scared.
Would you run to me and joyfully throw your arms around me? Or would you see who I am and be disappointed?
Would our eyes meet as we walk closer to one another, never looking away, a smile beginning to form, getting bigger and bigger the closer we come? The tint of a blush on your cheeks as you think through all the thoughts I've shared with you. Or would you turn and walk away without so much as a look back?
Forgive me for doubting you Beautiful, but as much as I desire to tell you who I am... the fear of heartbreak won't back down.
Love,
Anonymous
I sigh as I look up from this letter. When I first got it, I was on my way to my locker after a grueling history class. My head was pounding from the stress dumped on me between all of my classes; I had three projects due in the same week and my yearbook deadline was not too far away. However, as soon as I saw this letter peeking out of my locker, all of my stress suddenly vanished.
I smile at the shoebox as I place the letter back inside it, gently lifting the lid and covering them up. I trail my hand over the top of the box, trying to keep my smile under control.
Angel crawls towards me and rests her head on my lap, so I set the shoebox to the side and start petting her. Her soft fur gets patterns drawn into it by my fingers and she lets out a noise of appreciation as I continue to pet her.
"Hey Angel," I say, smiling softly down at her.
My dogs are probably the best blessing I've ever gotten. Someone was looking out for me when we ran across them that day of my field trip. I don't know what I would do without Bruce and Angel; they're always here for me.
Bruce appears next to me and nudges my arm with his wet nose, silently begging me to pet him. I chuckle and put my arm around him as he sits down, his posture better than mine, and I rest my head on his shoulder as I pet both of them.
"You guys are the best, you know that?" I ask quietly, cherishing the feeling of their fur between my fingers.
Bruce responds by craning his neck to lick my cheek, and Angel follows his lead. I laugh and try to push them away as I lay back.
"Guys! I just washed my face!" I exclaim through my laughter, holding them back. I'm just lucky they don't have disgusting breath like some other dogs I know.
Bruce barks once and plops down next to me, his tongue lolled out of his mouth. Angel licks me once more before laying right on top of me, making me cough from the sudden weight.
"I take it back. I hate you." I mutter, and she purposefully places her paw right on my face as she jumps off of me. "Angel!"
Knocking at my door takes my attention off of my dogs and I look up to see my mom walk through into my room with an amused smile.
"What did she do this time?" She asks, nodding towards Angel. I glance at Angel and see her sitting with innocent eyes.
I roll my eyes and throw my pillow at her, to which she lets out a small, teasing growl. "She decided to cut off my air supply."
My mom chuckles and shakes her head at them. "I swear I've never seen two dogs that comprehend what we're saying like these two do."
I laugh at her, "You always say that."
Her eyes trail from my dogs to the shoebox sitting next to me and she smiles slightly. She walks over and takes its place, my fluffy covers engulfing her thighs, and she sets the box in her lap.
"Did you get another one?" She asks, looking over at me.
I tuck my legs under me and nod sheepishly.
My mom knows all about the letters. She found out as soon as I asked her for an empty shoebox, since I had just recently cleared my closet of my own. I tried lying and telling her that the box was for a school project, but since I never actually produced a project she got curious and started asking questions. I saw no reason to lie, so I told her about them.
"Do you have any idea as to who it is yet?" She asks, leaning back on her hands, narrowly avoiding Bruce's tail.
I look down and shake my head. "Still no earthly idea."
Mom sighs and smiles at me. "You'll find out. He won't stay anonymous forever, sweetheart." She stands up and kisses my head. "Don't stay up too late." She says as she leaves my room, closing the door behind her.
I lean over the edge of my bed, my hair flailing around my face as my legs dance in the air, and I lift my covers to slide the box back under. My hands meet the rugged carpet and I push myself back onto my bed, throwing my hair behind my shoulders and out of my face.
I snuggle into my giant covers, feeling the cool underside of them as I readjust my feet to areas previously vacated.
"Goodnight Angel, night Bruce." I yawn, resting my head on my abundance of pillows.
As I drift off to sleep, Angel and Bruce at my feet, I hear the faint yelling of my parents down the hall.
Unbeknownst to them, I always hear.
---
In the morning, I notice the tensions between my parents and try to eat my breakfast as quickly as I can. I woke up in a good mood, the scent of fresh bacon wafting up through the ceiling and into my room, but the moment I stepped foot in the kitchen the atmosphere was tense and dull.
Neither of them would say a word to each other, and as I left for school I noticed a pillow and blanket draped on the couch.
"Morning, Reagan." Mr. Duncan smiles as I walk into his room. "Coffee is already on your desk." He says, nodding over to it.
I smile tiredly at him, "Thanks Duncan."
It took me awhile to get to sleep last night since I could hear parts of mom and dad's argument. Their yells were hushed, but there were times that their voices rose, and it just made the argument worse as they yelled at one another to quiet down or else they may wake me.
Mr. Duncan must notice the pure exhaustion under my eyes, because as I sit down he examines me closely and comes over to me.
"You okay?" He asks, eyes dotted with concern as he sits down.
I sigh deeply and shrug, fiddling with my coffee cup. "I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
He frowns and pulls me in for a side hug, placing his arm comfortingly around my shoulders. "I'm sorry, Reagan." He says, because he knows that's not all there is to it. "What can I do to cheer you up?" He asks, looking down at me.
Some people would probably be worried about our relationship, but Duncan is purely like a brother to me and I'm purely a sister to him.
He's very observant and is always there for me, but never oversteps the line of the teacher student relationship. Sure, we're closer than most teachers are with their students, but neither of us would even think to go further than brother sister love.
I smile gratefully at him and briefly rest my temple on his shoulder. "Thank you, but I'm really okay. The coffee will wake me up."
"If you're sure..." He trails off, and I pull back.
"I'm sure." I finalize, and he sighs, taking his arm away from around my shoulders with a defeated nod.
I take a small moment to glance over what he's wearing; a white button up under a nice blue blazer and a red bow-tie pulling it all together.
"What's with the red bowtie?" I ask, raising a brow at him.
He tries to look at it, forcing double chins to appear, and he smirks at me. "I like it."
I awkwardly look away, my eyebrows raised and eyes wide to show my distaste, and he scoffs. "To think you were my favorite student..."
I laugh and nudge him. "It looks cute. Is there some other teacher you're trying to impress? Maybe Mrs. Love?"
He chuckles at me, "She's absolutely gorgeous, but she's also married to a marine."
"Oh yeah, didn't he propose during one of her classes?" I ask, tilting my head.
He sips his coffee and nods, "Yep, my first year of teaching."
I sigh, obviously she's out. "Okay, how about Ms. Kush?"
He gives me a look that has me biting my tongue before I could spit out my next guess.
"Stop guessing."
I huff, "Fine."
He takes a sip of his coffee. "So, have you and Hayden met up yet for your project?"
I scowl at him over my Wawa mug. "You had to ask me that? I was almost in a good mood." I say, and he chuckles. "No, we haven't met up." I answer with an eye roll.
Mr. Duncan tilt his head, "Why is that?"
"Because he's on my list of people I wouldn't mind running over with my car."
He starts laughing, throwing his head back with the first burst of laughter. "Who else is on that list?"
I smirk as I drink my coffee. "I really just made it for Hayden."
He continues to chuckle, "How come you hate him so much?"
I scowl at the table and glance at Mr. Duncan. "Because he's just so careless when it comes to girls. He doesn't care about any girl he's been with."
"I don't know, I think he's cared about at least one." He muses.
I give him a flat look.
"But then again, maybe not." He chuckles, placing his hands up in surrender.
I look up at the molding ceiling, a few missing tiles, and shake my head. "I can't believe I'm having a boy discussion with my art teacher."
I feel his broad shoulder nudging my own and I shift my gaze from the seemingly sagging ceiling to him. "Consider me your shrink."
The bell rings and ends our conversation, and he heads back to his desk as his students start flooding into the room.
All except for Hayden.
The one day I actually want him to show up so we can work on our project, and he skips.
Great.
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Also- I'm sure you caught that Silently Falling reference ;) This story is based in Indiana, not Chicago, but I couldn't resist the reference! ð