Your Hand In Mine

"Your tests are graded and sitting right up here," my professor said in a cheery mood, motioning to a stack of papers on a table in front of the class. "Don't forget, y'all have a minimum of fifty frames containing people--in groups, individuals, similar, different, white, black, purple, whatever--to turn in to me next Thursday. Have a good weekend everybody," Mr. Sunny finished--totally appropriate name, I suppose. The guy was like, sixty something and was happy as a clam, all the time.

I groaned, thinking about my test score and the project I hadn't even started. I stood up, along with everyone else, and tried to wait patiently behind everybody so I could dig through all the papers to find mine.

Four minutes and thirty-nine seconds later--yes, I had counted--I had finally found my test, and it wasn't pretty. Count four letters into the alphabet, and what do you get? D. I got a fucking D. At least the little plus sign meant I was close to getting a C, right? Whatever. I had never done that bad on a test, never. But then again, I did take this test three weeks ago, a few days after my brother died. So I guess it was understandable that my mind wasn't exactly focussed, or that I probably didn't study, or that I didn't even know I had a test until I walked into class that day. I wasn't using that as an excuse, though; I should have done better.

I looked at the big, red sharpied "D" inside the thick, red sloppy circle Mr. Sunny made one more time, just to make sure I wasn't seeing things. I wasn't. I let out a long sigh, then shoved the stapled papers into my book bag. I pushed the big wooden door open and walked out of the classroom and then out the front doors of the building.

"Hey, bitch! It's me, Lex! Pick up your phone! You and I both know that deep, deep, down inside of you, you want to talk to me! So pick up-"

"What?"

"Um, would it be alright if we met with the caterer in a half an hour instead of an hour?" she asked me.

I raked my fingers through my hair and let out a small sigh. "Yeah, that's fine. But did you really have to call me to tell me that? I'm perfectly fine with texts," I told her as I started to walk towards my car.

"I just wanted to hear you voice, babe," she said, attempting to sound like a guy.

"That was actually really creepy," I laughed. "I'm gonna stop at Panera, you want anything? It's on me."

"Uh..," she drifted off, leaving silence on the other of the phone.

"I don't have all day, you know," I said as I reached my car and unlocked it.

"Sorry. Just get me a strawberry smoothie."

"Okay, I'll see you in thirty."

We said our goodbyes then hung up as I drove the short distance to Panera. When I walked inside, the amount of people with that little flightless bird somewhere on their body was amazing. Tonight was Game 2 against the Habs, figures. Of course, the city had more black and gold throughout it when the guys had a game. But normally, you'd see a few Pens shirts here and there no matter what day it was, but when there was a game on that night, chances are you couldn't escape all the black and gold--not that I wanted to. I loved seeing everyone cheering on our team, it always brought a smile to my face.

I ordered myself some potato soup and half of a sandwich, along with Lexa's smoothie. Then I found a vacant seat in the corner and sat down with my food. I kept my eyes focussed on the people around me, mainly the ones wearing Penguins jerseys, and tried to guess whose shirt they were wearing. It was a game Josh and I used to play when we were little. Well, we played it here and there when we were in the city or at a game even when we got older. It was stupid, I know, but it was something I'd never forget or stop doing. That was when a tear rolled down my cheek, followed by a few more. I didn't bother wiping them away, though.

A guy walked through the door wearing a jersey as another girl walked out. I guessed that the girl in her teens was probably wearing Sid's, and the guy with the creepy grey beard had on Flower's. I was wrong. They were both wearing number eleven, Jordan Staal.

I sighed, taking a sip of my water. I hadn't seen or talked to any of the guys since they showed up at Josh's funeral. That was almost a month ago. Truth be told, I missed them. I missed being around them, I missed all the stupid pranks they would pull, I missed their funny accents, and I missed how they made me feel at home, like I was one of them.

Yeah, they were busy guys, but when you had the time to hang out with them, you never wanted that time to end. They always left you with a smile on your face and another memory you'd never forget. They could get your mind off of anything and cheer you up. They were all immature and rarely serious, unless they had to be. Some of the stuff they did or said didn't always turn out right, but they always had the best intentions. They were the kind of people you wanted to call your best friends and get together with every Friday night.

I finished up my soup and sandwich within fifteen minutes, still playing the guessing game. I got most of them wrong, though, just like my test. Then I took Alexa's drink and headed out to my car.

Yeah, that was what I had planned on doing.

What actually ended up happening was some asshole came bursting through the doors just as I was about to walk out, and the next thing I knew, it was like Hello Bright Pink Freezing Smoothie Sliding Down The Front Of My White Fucking Shirt! Oh, yeah, I looked real good now. That is, if you thought a dark purple bra with orange polka dots under a soaking wet white t-shirt and sticky smoothie in curly hair looked like the next big thing to hit Fashion Week in New York City.

"I am so sorry!" he said louder that necessary, catching everyone's attention now. Sure, I'd look and probably laugh and feel bad for the poor girl who got her smoothie knocked all over her, it'd be hard not to. But when you had the idiot who was in a rush announcing what had just happened, you weren't going to look away.

I let out a little laugh as I answered the guy. "It's okay, really. I'd like to say it happens to me all the time, but it doesn't." I reached over to the table and picked up a few napkins and started to wipe myself off.

"God, I feel terrible. Let me buy you another drink, or a new shirt?" His voice was deep and slightly raspy, and I sort of liked it. But not as much as I liked the way broken English mixed with Fren- JESUS! I wanted to slam my head against the wall.

"No, no, it's fine," I smiled, finally looking up at the guy who ran into to me. And man, was he good looking. He was probably a year or two older than I was and about four inches taller than me. He had shaggy brown hair and green eyes. I bet he had some ridiculous muscles, too. But for some reason, I almost felt.. guilty looking at this guy the way I was.. Like I shouldn't be thinking about him like that.

"It's just a shirt. I've got a hundred more," I said, looking back down to my dripping wet t-shirt as I wiped away the rest of the strawberry goodness. I figured I'd be nice. I mean, there wasn't much you could do about a smoothie all over you.

"Can I at least buy you another smoothie?"

"Absolutely not," I told him with a slight smile.

He seemed taken aback. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," I said. "Sorry for running into you. Have a nice day," I finished, pushing open the doors after I made sure there was nobody coming in through the other side, not bothering to get Lex another smoothie. She had a wedding dress to squeeze into, she didn't need the extra calories.

I was just about to get in my car when the gorgeous guy came bolting out of the doors. He really needed to stop doing that, somebody was going to end up in the ER sooner or later.

"Wait!" he called, making his way over to my car. I didn't say anything, just stood behind the car door, waiting for this guy to say whatever had me still stuck in the parking lot. "Would you like to get lunch? Wow, that was stupid. You probably just ate lunch, right?" he rambled. I laughed at his attempt to ask me out and gave my head a nod, indicating that yes, I had just eaten lunch. "So, um..," he said, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "Could we get lunch some other time?"

At first, I didn't say anything, and I didn't really know why. That guilty feeling was making its way to my stomach and throat, almost as if I would say yes to him I'd throw up. But why couldn't I go out with this guy who nearly killed me? Maybe, I'd do just that--die. He was probably lucky he was still alive. So I said the first thing that came to my mind. "I'm not into men."

As soon as I said the word 'men', his eyes got huge. "You.. you're not.."

"Nope. Sorry, buddy," I smiled, laughing on the inside as I got in my car, leaving this guy shocked and his mouth wide open in the middle of the parking lot.

~!@#$%^&*()_+

"Where the fuck's my- whoa, what happened to you?" Lex asked, somewhat surprised.

"Some guy ran into me as I was walking out with your smoothie. It spilled all over me. Then he asked me to get lunch with him. I told him I wasn't into men. I forgot a hoodie, too, so it's not like I can cover this mess up," I explained with a frown as I pointed to my damp shirt, cutting down the story as I opened the door to catering place.

"You told him you were a lesbian? What's wrong with you? Wait, was he a complete freak?" she said, almost walking backwards into the building so she could talk to me and figure out why I didn't agree to go out to lunch with the guy.

"Actually, he was really hot. But.. I just, I don't know. I couldn't say yes," I shrugged.

A knowing look appeared on her face. "Kris," she stated. "You're not over him, not even close. If you were, you would have said yes to that guy in a heartbeat instead of telling him that you like girls."

"But I got this horrible, guilty feeling when I actually looked at the guy. Like I shouldn't be doing it," I tried to explain.

"Not. Over him."

She was right.

"Oh, shut up," I smiled, shaking my head and giving her a slight push. In the back of my mind, there was no doubt that Kris was the only reason why I didn't want to go out with the guy who spilled a smoothie all over me. But, that was in the back of my mind.

We found the caterer just as Ryan was walking in then sat down at a pretty big, wooden table.

"First thing's first," the caterer, Todd, said. Thank God that guy wasn't French like the guy making their cake was. I wouldn't have been able to sit in there, either. "Do you want to have dinner buffet style, or have waiters place each course in front of your guests?"

Ryan and Alexa looked to each other. It was simple; whatever Lex wanted, she got it. And Ryan seemed to be okay with that. After all, he was marrying the bitch.

"I think the waiters should serve each course. Is that okay with you, babe?" Lexa said.

"Yeah, I actually prefer that, too," Ryan replied, wrapping an arm around his future wife. Barfing over here! Seriously, my potato soup is going to come back up, I swear! I wanted to make fake puking sounds like I usually do when I see PDA, but I didn't. PDA didn't really bother me, unless the couple went all out and shit--that was just gross--I just sometimes liked to make people feel slightly embarrassed and feel like they got caught. I don't know. I just always thought it was funny.

The two lovebirds eventually decided on the following:

Those cool little trays of food that the people decked out in white shirts and blacks pants with sweet aprons carried, yeah, those were going to be full of bruschetta that had an awesome name and beef in teriyaki sauce on those sharp sticks that are in fact pointy enough to cut skin, otherwise known as skewers. There was going to be bread in pretty little black baskets--we were sticking with a theme, here--with butter already on the tables. Then you could pick from three main dishes. Filet Mignon, some kind of salmon, and Ravioli. You got one of those and a salad. And, of course, for dessert there was cake.

This Todd guy, he really knew how to sell his food. My mouth was watering just hearing about it all. And then we got to watch him make everything. And we got to eat it.

"Hey, Lex," I said as we were walking out of the catering place.

"Yeah?"

"Anytime you ever need help deciding on what food you want at your wedding again.. call me," I told her with a grin on my face as I pushed the doors open.