You Promised Me the World

Emma Thomas wasn’t the most popular girl in school; she wasn’t a nerd or a wallflower, got good grades and had a decent amount of friends. She was a cheerleader, but her name wasn’t on the lips of many people in the student body and she liked to keep it that way. She wasn’t very high on the typical high school totem pole; she was just that cheerleader who hung around with the snobby girls and asshole jocks. But Kennedy knew who she was.

He had seen her around for as long as he could remember; they had a few mutual friends, usually went to the same parties, had a few classes together and yet had never spoken once. Even though he knew who she was, he had never truly noticed her until the end of the summer before junior year.

A friend had thrown one last party to cap off a great vacation; Emma had been there with a few of her cheerleading friends and a couple of guys who had been involved in almost every single sport you could name. Kennedy had overheard her filling her friends in on her “incredible summer” as a camp counselor, which had made him realize that this was the first time he had seen her all vacation. But what caught his attention wasn’t her tales of a summer spent around campfires and in cabins; it was the way she laughed. It was loud and full, but not in an obnoxious way. It was infectious, probably the best quality about her next to the big toothy smile she always had painted on her face. She was a happy girl, sweet, kind and focused, she really took him by surprise. From that day on his crush had been born.

On the first day of English class junior year, Emma had run into the room just after the late bell rang, apologizing profusely to their teacher and laying out her excuse. She had an early cheerleading practice that much was obvious. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, black rimmed glasses falling off her nose, and the too tiny black shorts mixed perfectly with the t-shirt that had the schools name scrawled across the front.

The teacher only smiled at the breathless girl and told her to find a seat. Kennedy’s heart sunk when he realized that she would be taking the only seat left in the room, the seat located right in front of him.

There was something about Emma that just made his knees weak, made his heart race with just a tiny look. Kennedy noticed every little thing about her, and now with her sitting in front of him he knew this would be a distraction.

He spent every day for the next couple of months noting the way her auburn hair fell just above her chair, or the way it curled ever so slightly when she couldn’t be bothered to fix it in the morning. He noticed the way her brown eyes sparkled when she was happy, or when they got a little darker when she was in a bad mood. He noticed how she smelt like the perfect mix of laundry detergent and lilacs, noticed that she only used vanilla chap stick and chewed peppermint gum obsessively.

He loved the days she would come to class wearing her cheerleading uniform, convinced that the gods of cheer had made the skirts on those things short just so guys like him would drool over them.

His friends teased him over all of this, ones who would look in and see him staring at this girl who sat one seat up from him. “Why don’t you just ask her out?” They constantly asked, and he constantly brushed them off. He would say she was too pretty, or that he was too shy, but the truth was Kennedy was scared.

Kennedy was scared of rejection; he was scared of her laughing in his face when he asked her out on a date, scared that she would tell all of her friends and he would become the butt of a huge joke passed from classroom to classroom. So he just went on pretending like he felt nothing, while secretly having a crush on a girl who was out of his league.

Kennedy Brock sat behind Emma Thomas in English class for half a semester before he got up the nerve to talk to her.

The teacher had waltzed in the classroom that day and announced they would be doing group interviews. Their partners would be assigned by seating, and whoever sat directly ahead of you was the person you would be interviewing.

As the kids groaned loudly, Kennedy’s eyes grew wide for the second time when he realized who his partner would be. There was no getting away from it, and before he could protest Emma was turning her desk around. The bright smile that had reeled him in on that warm summer night was spread generously across her face as she settled back down.

“So did you want to go first?” She questioned immediately.

“Uh…um,” Kennedy stammered, caught off guard.

He could feel his mouth moving, but his brain had virtually blocked anything from coming out. This was his chance to talk to Emma, the girl he had practically been falling over for months and he was blowing it. He wanted to punch himself square in the face.

And then she did something that made all of the nervousness melt away, something that would change everything between them; she laughed.

______________________________________________________________________

Kennedy had been doing this for days, replaying various memories over and over again in his mind. It was tearing him apart, remembering all of the good times they had shared together, remembering just how long he had cared about her.

The guilt that had built up during his time on the road was eating away at him; he barely got out of bed or left his room, appeared at dinner and made it to practice. But he didn’t go out with his friends, he barely said two words to his mother, and ignored calls from his band mates.

He didn’t understand why he felt like this, and his social circle didn’t get it at all. More than once they had called him a girl, told him he was acting like a bitch because Kennedy was the one who broke up with her. Sure he was allowed to feel bad, hell he was allowed to even shed a few tears, but not this bad. Right?

Finally Garrett Nickelsen had taken just about all he could. He was sick of Kennedy moping around, half assing it in practice, and always making some lame excuse to bail on hanging out.

He barged through Kennedy’s bedroom door and yanked open the curtains to let the light pour in. Kennedy was laying perfectly still on his stomach, buried beneath the soft white covers, staying silent and not even acknowledging that Garrett was present.

“Get up,” Garrett said firmly.

Kennedy only grunted.

“Kenny lets go, get up,” he said again.

Kennedy only grunted.

“I’m serious Kennedy, get out of the fucking bed,” the bassist shouted yanking at the covers.

“Go away,” Kennedy mumbled, plucking his covers back from his friend.

“No, get up,” Garrett pressed, making it known that he wasn’t going to retreat.

The guitarist huffed dramatically. “Why?” He asked in a childlike tone.

“Because you stink, you’ve been in your room for like two weeks, you haven’t hung out and you suck at practice,” Garrett shot back. “So get up,” he continued before Kennedy could protest once again. “Go shower, we’re going to Max’s tonight and it’s not a request. You’re coming whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck off Garrett,” Kennedy sighed, shoving his face into his pillow.

Running a hand over his face in frustration, Garrett shook his head. “I don’t get you man, you dumped her,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Kennedy bellowed, his voice echoing against the walls.

“Why are you hiding from something you started?” His friend questioned through clenched teeth.

“Shut up,” Kennedy snapped, lifting his head off the pillow for a moment to shoot a look of warning at the boy standing at the end of his bed.

“You’ve locked yourself up in your room dude, stop acting like a fucking girl. Emma’s taking this better than you are and that’s pathetic,” Garrett continued, ignoring Kennedy’s words. “I saw her at Max’s the other night with the biggest smile on her face, think about that Kennedy.”

His words were harsh; they brought a tinge of guilt up to his stomach. Garrett was doing this for Kennedy’s own good, he was trying to be the best friend he could and he knew that being nice wasn’t going to get Kennedy’s attention.

“Shut your fucking mouth Garrett,” Kennedy growled, flopping over to glare at his friend. “Don’t alright, you don’t even get it.”

“Oh no I get it; you’re hung up on some high school crush…”

Before Garrett could finish his sentence, Kennedy had cut him off. “If you say one more word about it you can consider yourself a guitarist short.”

The sad thing was, deep down Kennedy knew Garrett was completely right. He needed to just suck it up and be a man; hanging out with his friends would be a good thing. He would be having a good time; he wouldn’t be beating himself up over something he needed to move beyond. But the stubborn 20 year old wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Fine,” Garrett nodded, holding up his hands to let Kennedy know he was surrendering from the subject. “Now get up.” But not surrendering from the fight.

Kennedy moaned dramatically and threw himself back down on the bed. “No,” he shouted.

“I will pull you out of this bed dude, don’t make me,” Garrett warned.

“Will you shut up?” He whispered, hoping that Garrett wouldn’t hear him.

But he did, a smirk forming on his lips before he nodded his head. “Yeah, when you get ready and roll to Max’s with me.”

“Fine,” Kennedy grumbled, as he reluctantly threw his legs over the side of his bed and made the first step towards getting back to his normal life.