The Beginning of the End

A Story by Ciara Beth

Based on real events. If I write it down, maybe it'll help me shut the door.

I shouldn't be here.

As I looked around the class room filled with upperclassmen, I felt more than a little out of place. It's not that I hadn't been in classes with older kids before, but these were the cool seniors, not the ones I had contact with in my little realm of the high school world.

Mrs. Lastner had said she really wanted me to be in this class. At first I wasn't sure, but my schedule left an opening so I thought I might as well learn something. Grammar never really struck my interest, but it was better than sitting alone in study hall.

I picked a spot in the corner, next to the book shelves lining the wall and I watched the others filter in. Two jocks assumed their position of maxim annoyance closest to the door, already boisterous. A couple of their slightly more feminine counterparts joined the clan. Other people trickled in that I hadn't seen before. Without meaning to, I had already labeled them and adjusted my ideas of how this class was going to go. Friendly nerds made their way to the back. A tall, dark haired one,the pudgey bearded fellow, and another similar looking guy claimed their seats and starting talking about AP Calc. I watched as a few familiar faces came through the door. Wouldn't it be just my luck. The bell rang, and I surveyed my options. The only people I really knew were the two girls from my grade, the sickly sour queens of mediocrity. Or as they saw themselves, future prom queens.

Small class, and none of them wanted to talk to me. I didn't blame them, nor did I expect anyone to go out of their way. I guess sitting next to the book shelf was a good idea after all.

********

About a quarter of the way through the semester, I had finished two books in the series the English teacher kept stock of for the junior class. I'll be a year ahead of schedule. Classwork was cake, and by this point there was a lot of free time left. I had found a niche, a spot I was comfortable with in the class.

No one paid to much attention to me, I was relieved. I was able to throw myself in a few conversations here and there. A clever line, a spurt of random knowledge, an unsolicited option occasionally tossed into a conversation- not making friends, but being sociable enough for my own good.

I had a favorite spot to sit when we had down time. The play director had asked to store some props in the English room, so our teacher was now the proud, albeit temporary, owner of two giant arm chairs, an electric fireplace, and a floor rug. No better place to read than in a big comfy chair next to a fireplace in the dead of winter.

That was my plan anyway. But I had the best kind of interruption- I never seemed to be able to take my eyes off of Owen. I didn't know him; seniors and sophomores don't have much contact. I didn't try to notice, but I was painfully aware of him when he was sitting behind me. In a room full of everyone talking, I could always pick out his voice. He wasn't overly talkative, but he had a deep voice that stood out. Some words too, he said differently. I knew it wasn't a foreign accent, no one foreign was in this little town. It wasn't noticeable in every word he said, but you could hear it if you listened.

I never talked to him directly of course, I was too shy for that. I wouldn't even have called him a crush. He was just one person in a room full of people that happened to be much more attractive than the rest of them.

Sitting in my comfy chair, curled up with a book, I couldn't resist listening to other people's conversations. And I couldn't resist talking to them forever either.

*********

Owen and I sat across from each other in a rare moment both of the chairs in the back weren't already claimed. The further into the class we got, the less Mrs. Lastner actually cared about what we did. I spent a lot of time in the back of the room, hoping Owen would come and talk to me. Today, he did. We had similar interests in books and music, so it was easy to talk with him.

But I always chose my words carefully, nervous around him even though I knew I shouldn't be. I was just a kid with a crush at this point. Holding a conversation with him got easier when I learned it was better not to look him directly in the eyes. I lost my thoughts when that happened. I had always said green eyes were my favorite, but his were the perfect shade of brown. Not too dark, not too light, like the color of milk chocolate. His hair was almost that color too. He kept it longer in the front, and he had to sweep it out of his eyes to look up sometimes. I almost melted the day he came to school with contacts instead of his usual glasses, hair tousled, and a little bit of scruff. He was still a nerd though, with his button up shirts and his TI-84 at his side.

But I was just his friend, three years younger and two grades below him. I liked talking to him and I really liked looking at him, but I didn't want to start anything. Not like I had a chance anyway.

*********

I cautiously approached. I wanted to give the illusion of nonchalant conversation, but my nerves were betraying me. He was sitting alone, listening to his mp3 player.

So, what're you listening to?

Oh! I like them. Have you ever heard of snow patrol? They are one of my favorite bands.

Yeah, I just bought Final Straw, but I like Eyes Open better.

What? You've don,t have that one? I'll bring it in for you tomorrow, I think you'll like it.

The next day, I delievered the promised album and wished him well.

When he returned it the day after, he handed me two CD cases. He explained that he liked the album and hewanted me to listen to The Postal Service because it was one of his favorite disks. I was understandably excited.

On the bus ride home, I decided to check out the CD. When I finally dug it out of my backpack, I popped open the case and a piece of paper fell out.

I reached down to the floor and felt around until I had found it.

It was folded in fourths, so I opened it.

My hands shook and my face got cold. My legs tensed up and almost couldnt speak.

His scribbled writing was hard to read:

"Here is another CD I hope you dont hate it too much. this is one of my favorite groups and I love the lead singers somber voice. you should txt me or call me when you listen to it, cuz im afraid you would not like it.

enjoy :P Owen (*** *** ****)"