Great Expectations

"This charade is never going to last." - The Academy Is...

All afternoon, I sat in class and stared into space. I drew in my notebooks. I did anything but paid attention, because my mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of a dark-haired boy with a devil smile, carrying my heart away on his stupid red motorcycle – his death machine on wheels. In the middle of my government class, while I listened to the teacher lecture about the Miranda Rights, I was hit by a stroke of pure genius.

My fingers scrambled through my notebook in search of a blank page that wasn’t full of stray physics homework or notes to Poppy that I held up behind the teacher’s back, written largely enough so she could read them from her seat across the classroom.

On the first blank page I found, I wrote quickly. I ended up filling only a few lines with my neat penmanship, but I did feel slightly better. I reread the words I had written, the plan I had outlined for myself.

Plan to get Dean to talk to me again:

1. Leave last period as quickly as possible.

2. Find Dean in the parking lot.

3. Apologize for being an idiot

4. Ride into sunset together on white stallion. Or red Ducati.

I realized that anyone who read this list would come to the conclusion that I was a pathetic girl who could not survive without a boyfriend, but I didn’t care. Dean made me careless, impulsive, and reckless – and I didn’t know if those changes were good or bad. The only thing I wanted was for Dean to want me. I felt like an 80s rock song; Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me” drifted into my mind.

“Juliet Hanson.” I looked up from my notebook to notice my government teacher standing over my desk, frowning. “Could you please tell me what Supreme Court case gave us the Miranda Rights?”

“Miranda versus Arizona,” I said, thankful that I knew about the United States government. The teacher walked away, disappointed that I hadn’t given the wrong answer. I sank down in my seat and waited for the class to end, hoping the end of the day would come soon.

When the bell rang, I left the room calmly, headed for my final class of the day. I bounced my leg through Spanish, wondering if Señora Montanez had fixed the clock so that it would run at half its normal speed. The class dragged by and I stared at the clock while the rest of the class attempted to learn subjunctive conjugations and to use them in translations.

The day finally ended and I raced out of the classroom, stopped for a few seconds at my locker to deposit my books, and flew to the parking lot.

“Juliet,” Poppy called.

“I’ve got a plan,” I said, hoping she would understand my hasty explanation. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Good luck,” she yelled as I dashed into the parking lot, my feet slipping in my sandals. I smiled to myself when I saw the bright red bike sitting in a spot as far from my BMW as possible. I walked through the students talking and laughing by their cars, stopping when I reached Dean’s motorcycle.

Suddenly, I was nervous; I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, hoping that Dean wouldn’t walk away the instant he saw me. After a few anxious minutes, Dean was walking towards me. I couldn’t read his expression; I had no idea what he was thinking at all. He stopped in front of me and raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to say something.

“Hi,” I said, my voice weak. He made me weak; he drove me insane, and suddenly I didn’t understand why I wanted him to talk to me again. His eyes were distant, watching me without emotion. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry I said I couldn’t do this. I need to stop being such a… coward.” I paused, waiting for any kind of reaction. Dean simply stood, silently; I continued to talk.

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” I said, “how much you mean to me.”

“Then prove it,” he said, breaking his silence. “Tell everyone you know how much I mean to you.”

“People already know,” I said. “Practically everyone at school has seen us together; they talk about us all the time. Who’s left to tell?” I asked the question, but I already knew the answer.

“Your parents,” he said. “Tell your parents. Tell them you’re going to this country club party with a dirty rebel boy who drives a motorcycle. Tell them you don’t care what they think. Tell them you’re going to do what you want, not what they want.”

“I know,” I said. I didn’t say I would tell them; I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell them. I knew my parents needed to know how I felt about Dean. I had known that for a long time. I just didn’t know if I had the courage to tell them.

“You know,” he repeated. “You know but you won’t do anything.” He grabbed my hands, pulling me closer to him and causing my heart to soar. “Juliet, I can’t do this in secret. I can’t hide this from anyone – not even your parents. It would kill me to let this go, but if you won’t tell your parents, then I’m going to walk away again.”

I shook my head slowly, refusing to let those words sink in. Dean would not walk away from me. I would not let him go, not now that he was so close again.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” he asked, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “Yes or no?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, unable to force my voice any louder than a faint whisper. My parents would kill me, my brain chanted. But you love him, my heart sang. I was so conflicted; I could not think at all.

Dean dropped my hands. “Come find me when you’ve got an answer,” he said. For the second time, I watched Dean walk away from me, still wishing I could run after him. My parents would never accept this, but I couldn’t live my life like this. I stood by myself in the parking lot, wishing I didn’t feel so much.