Annie. Morning

AN: This is part of a new project I am working on, although the characters may seem familiar; they originally appeared in a short story I wrote last August and have also appeared in several different short stories. Using those as somewhat of a practice, I am starting this new collection of vignettes. Basically, they'll all be connected but these aren't necessarily chapters. I'm just writing them in the order they come to me; it won't necessarily be the order I include them in the final story. Also, if this feels somewhat disconnected/fragmented, it's supposed to.

Morning

May 13th. A friday. Three weeks before graduation. Just another day like every other to come before it. Or, at least it seemed like it then.

On that day, it's eight-fifty am when the bell for second period rings. I come in just moments before I would have been late and see you, sitting in your usual seat two rows in front of me. You're already ready for class, just like you always are; your binder, white with lavender polka dots, is open to where you've kept the homework that's due today. Your hair is up in a high, loose bun and in your right hand you clutch your pencil. You're biting your nails, something you've done whenever you're feeling nervous for as long as I can remember. My eyes drift to your shirt. It's a dark, forest green, and in copper lettering, The Sound of Music.

“Hey,” I say, tapping your shoulder as I pass your seat. “Nervous about the play tonight?”

“Kind of,” you tell me. I notice that you're staring into my eyes like that again. It's something you did starting in freshman year, when you were still just my crush. It was one of the first hopes I had grabbed onto that you liked me back.

“You'll be awesome, just like always,” I respond. Then I wonder if the reason you're nervous isn't because you're afraid of messing up. Tonight is the last performance of the last play of your senior year. You've been a part of every play, whether in crew or on the stage, that our school has performed since freshman year. Even though you'll continue with theater at Julliard in the fall, this is going to be an emotional night for you.

You're about to say something, but then you notice Mr. Gillsite giving us, along with the rest of the class, a cold look.

“Would you mind taking your seat so we can begin class, Thomas?”

I shake my head and sit down. The rest of the class passes by relatively slowly. I'm not really paying attention to what's going on. After ten minutes I take out my sketchbook and start drawing anything that comes to mind; leaves, monkeys, smiley faces, little water droplets. Evie Marks, who sits in front of me but behind you, is absent today, so when I look up I see your back. You're hunched over, writing something in your notebook; I guess we're supposed to be taking notes, but whatever. Then class is over after what feels like forever. We both have English next, with different teachers. The rooms are right across the hall, so we always walk there together. In the halls, you don't talk much.

“Are you okay, Annie?” I finally ask.

“I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling a little, which makes me happy. “Tonight is just going to be a little sad, that's all.”

I offer my hand and yours, cool, motioned, almost instantly wraps around mine. We walk the rest of the way to class like this, and I notice that it eases you up. I notice a few freshman and sophomores staring at us, but I don't care.

“Do you want me to come to your performance tonight?” I ask.

“Sure,” you say. “I would love that. If you don't mind sitting through the same show twice in two days.”

“You know I don't,” I reply. “It's a good show, and it's especially nice getting to come watch you from the front row as the the lead.”

You're laughing, and I know why. Freshman and sophomore year, before we dated, I would always come to your plays and sit in the front row, just to see you, even if I wasn't that interested in the show itself.

“Okay,” you said. You gave me a quick hug, and the next thing I knew you're gone, having darted into your classroom. I sigh as I walk into my own class.

Just another day, right? Well. It progresses like one.

There's lunch with you and Lisa, relatively quiet.

There's the classes I'm barely paying attention to, thinking of how redundant everything seems because soon I'll be out of high school for good.

Then when school is out, I catch you by your locker. I give you a hug and tell you to break a leg. For some reason, this always makes you laugh.

Then I go home. It's homework until I go back to school to see you shine.