It's a Love Story

Alex's POV

I licked the mustard that was leaking out of my hot dog and looked around me. The bleachers were filled with uniform-clad students, cheering on the football team. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was there—not like I’m a huge fan of football, or anything—but I guess as a teacher it was a good way of showing school spirit, you know, showing up at the school football game.

“GO QUAKERS!!” a girl yelled right in my ear. I winced. Then I guess our team scored a goal, or touchdown, or whatever, and the entire section I was sitting in roared with approval. The next thing I knew, I was almost crushed as everyone stood up to wave their banners.

I managed to escape from a certain death by ducking down and squeezing my way out to a more empty section. “Jeez,” I muttered to myself.

“Hey, Wolff!” a girl’s voice said from beside me.

I turned. There was Juliette, wearing white Ray-Ban wayfarers, sitting with a brunette friend. Both of them were holding lemonades from the food stand and seemed utterly disinterested in the game. I even spotted a bottle of suntan lotion lying at the feet of the brunette girl. “Hi, Juliette.” I looked at the brunette girl.

“Oh, this is my friend Sophie,” Juliette said airily, waving her hand.

We both said quick hellos to each other. “So what are you doing here?” Juliette asked me. “I mean, I didn’t get the impression you were that into school activities, and all.”

I shrugged. “Oh, I’m just here for the free food, and all.” I took a bite of my hot dog as though to demonstrate.

The girls exchanged a glance. “Wolff, the food’s not free!” Juliette exclaimed.

“Oh, really?” I was genuinely surprised. “I could’ve sworn everyone was just grabbing stuff…oh well. I got it for teachers discount, then.”

Juliette laughed her intoxicating laugh, and I had to smile. Her face completely lit up when she laughed; it was something I’d just noticed. To me, it always seemed like she had this kind of inner glow, one that set her apart from everyone else. I wasn’t entirely sure why I had noticed this, but once I had, I couldn’t help but watch her.

She tossed her golden blond hair back and it glittered in the sun. “So, what are you doing here?” I asked her, dragging my eyes away.

“Watching my boyfriend,” she said absent-mindedly. She noticed my confused expression and added, “Number 3.”

I did a double take out on the field. There was a football uniform-clad figure with the number 3 printed across on his back running across the field with the football. He seemed to be the star player, from the way everyone was cheering him on. “Oh,” I said. I felt a sudden flash of—what? Disappointment? I frowned to myself. I am such a creeper. The bleachers erupted in more applause as number 3 raised his hands triumphantly and cheered. “I think your boyfriend just scored a touchdown,” I told Juliette.

“Cool,” she said distractedly. She had pulled out a small bottle of purple Chanel nail polish, labeled Rodeo Drive, and was busy brushing a coat onto her nails. Taking advantage of the fact that she really didn’t seem to care, I brought up a subject that I’d been thinking about for a week or so.

“So, Juliette, what do you think about taking a little trip?”

She glanced up momentarily before concentrating again on her nails. “What kind of trip?”

“The Guggenheim Museum’s holding a really great exhibition,” I told her. “I would love for us to go.”

She raised her hazel eyes to look dubiously at me, an eyebrow raised. And then I realized my mistake. “I mean, as in the whole photo class,” I corrected myself hastily, feeling like a complete and total idiot. “Like, as in a class field trip.”

“Oh.” She smiled at me, unconcerned. “Yeah. That would be cool, Wolff.”

I smiled back before she bent her head down over her nails again. Then my eyes lingered on her exposed, tanned legs. I loosened my tie unconsciously. That funny feeling I’d felt in my stomach the first time I’d met her came back to me.

A second later, I realized what I was thinking and forced myself to look away. Fuck, this was my student! Jesus. I hastily averted my gaze. “So, I’ll see you later, Juliette.” I tried to make my voice sound professional as I stood up.

“Bye, Wolff,” she called after me as I hurried away.

It was later that night. I swung my fridge door opened to find myself staring blankly into the empty sight I was met with. Beer, an almost empty carton of orange juice, some more beer…and some yogurt that looked like it was starting to mold. Nasty. I shut the fridge, wishing, for once, that I had heeded my sister’s advice and had actually taken some responsibility in stocking my fridge with real food. I walked over to the cupboards and opened them. Still no luck.

“Ugh,” I muttered to myself. I scratched my head, my stomach growling. It was too late to go out and get something now. An idea came to me and I strode out of the kitchen over to my front door and pulled it open, eyeing the second door directly facing me. I went over and knocked on it, leaving my door open.

“Yo, Metz, you got any food man?” I called out loudly to my neighbor.

“Shhh!” I heard someone hiss at me. I looked down the stairwell to see the old woman who lived downstairs glaring at me as she opened the door to her apartment.

“Sorry,” I whispered down.

The door to Nick Metz’s door swung open and I looked up to see him standing in his boxers, grinning. “Disturbing the peace and tranquility is not a good way to start out your first year living here, man,” he informed me, smoking a cigarette lazily. “What do you want?”

“You busy?” I asked, moving to his door.

“If you mean by busy as having a couple of girls or buyers over, then the answer is no, unfortunately,” he said sadly.

“Right,” I said, unsure on how to respond to that. “Well, do you have any food? My kitchen is kinda empty.”

Nick snorted. “Come on in, man. I just got a pizza. I was going to eat it all by myself, but…” He shrugged and gestured before disappearing inside his apartment. I went back to shut my door before following him.

Twenty minutes later, I had scarfed down three slices of pizza and was now sitting on Nick’s counter, watching him roll a couple of joints on the kitchen table.

“So how’s the job going?” he asked.

“Alright, so far—” I shrugged.

He straightened and eyed me curiously. “You know, you never told me why you moved to this shithole town, anyway,” he remarked.

At this statement, I felt an unreasonably panicked feeling, followed by the stab of pain and a wave of guilt and shame that always came whenever I remembered last year’s events, yet again. “Oh, you know.” I swallowed. “Some issues,” I managed. Understatement of the year.

Whether Nick had noticed the obvious trepidation in my voice or not, he thankfully didn’t peruse his question. “Here, man,” he said softly, generously passing me a joint.

“Thanks.” I dug into my pocket to find a lighter and lit up. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the feeling of the warm, sweet-tasting smoke in my lungs, then exhaled. I smoked for a couple of minutes before Nick interrupted my drugged haven.

“How are the slutty rich girls?” He grabbed the joint from me and took a hit.

“How are—what?” I asked him, bemused.

“The slutty rich girls,” he repeated, waving with a joint for emphasis. “I went past that school one time, and oh man, their skirts are like, up to here.” He drew a line with his hand high up on his leg to illustrate his point, a perverted smile on his face.

“That’s—not even true,” I declared, taking the joint back from him. “Are you thinking of French girls? Cause hey, they are pretty skanky.” I exhaled and felt a sudden mood swing—the weed was already having an effect on me.

“They’re all the same,” Nick reasoned. “So, any of them hot?”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied without thinking. The image of tumbling sun-drenched blond hair and sparkling hazel eyes blurred through my head. I giggled giddily.

“Hey, man, I think you should bag one of ‘em,” Nick snorted, and we both laughed hysterically at the notion.

“That’s ridiculous,” I managed between giggles. I grabbed the joint again and took a long inhale, this time keeping in the smoke for as long as I could. I closed my eyes. “Never gonna happen,” I muttered more to myself, allowing the smoke to escape my lips.

Of course not.