Butterflies

413.

Sophmore year, Jenny Gilbert transferred school. She was between me and Andrew Giles. Then this year, Andrew was unlucky and the system gave him a locker in the sophomore hallway. The computers at this school were the stupidest things; they seemed to always be delaying the bells or giving students lockers and homerooms in the wrong hallway. Typically, I was usually the one getting the short end of the stick, those bell delays would make me late for class and every year my schedule lacked a lunch period. This mistake however, proved that luck might actually be on my side for once.

Andrew Giles was never attractive and I’m pretty sure he never would be. He had a pug snout and wheezed when he breathed. However, I can’t say much seeing as his football player status got him higher than me on the high school social ladder and he was always nice to me. So, naturally I felt bad on the first day of Spanish class when he told me about the system’s error. He’d have to be in the sophomore hallway all year, leaving his locker, 413 open to the next student in alphabetical order after him.

John Gomez called that locker his now. Now, John Gomez was no Andrew. In fact, John Gomez was anything but unattractive. He was tall and lean, his smile was infectious, and his green eyes were soft and kind.

John was perfect. John was flawless. John was utterly incredible and I was pretty sure I was in love with him. The day he stumbled into my freshman English class 10 minutes late on the first day of high school was the day I realized it. He was so funny, so smart, and just so damn cute that he was impossible to resist.

He was 413. I was 412. I was right beside John Gomez. It made it easy to know everything about his day. The stuff that typically took me a few weeks to figure out, took me days this year. I could watch what text book he’d grab or which binder ended up in his arms and then know where he was going. I knew within days to walk down the science hallway to get to my Literature class so I could sneak a glance at him in Mr. Travis’ Biology class. The day after we got back from summer, I learned that if I wait two minutes before heading to the cafeteria for lunch I could watch him walk by on his way to Precalculus. Gwen always called me a freak for knowing he had American Lit when I had my psychology class, but I couldn’t help it. He was John.

It was rare we’d be at our lockers at the same time. He would usually get to his before I’d get to mine and switch his books before I could even twist the lock open. He’d be pulled away quickly because his large group of friends would be in some rush to stop in the gym before heading to class. I’d stand there, with him beside me for those few seconds and try to remember how to act normal and then, when he’d rush off, and I’d watch him walk into the crowds of people.

“You’re drooling.” Gwen leaned against locker 411, which was empty since Lacy Fredricks never used it. “I don’t think John’d like to date a girl known for drooling.”

He looked perfect today. His mom just made him get a haircut the weekend before. I overheard his conversation with her on the phone Friday before he left the building, he wasn’t too happy about the trim. He looked great though, his long, shaggy hair was now short, making his green eyes easier to see. He was wearing the white v-neck I loved him in and a pair of tight pants. He was known for his unique style; while most boys pants were big enough for two people, John’s were tight, making his skinny legs that much easier to admire.

“Must you make fun of me about this everyday?” I looked away from him, glancing at her, before reattaching my eyes to his figure walking down the hall.

“Yup.” She scoffed, picking at the nail polish she painted on the night before. “You make it so easy too.”

Gwen and I had been best friends since the 7th grade when she smack Tommy Davis for calling me a bitch. That was she always was for me, an older sister, a protector. She was my exact opposite from me too. I was quiet, timid; most kids in the school barely even new who I was other than “Gwen Mitchell’s friend”. I couldn’t help it; people just, made me nervous. I was always freaking out over the idea of looking like the idiot. I lacked eloquence and charm. Gwen was, one the other hand, perfect. She was smart and athletic. Pretty much everywhere she went, she knew she had a friend to socialize with. Honestly, I never understood why she stuck beside me for so long.

“I wasn’t drooling.” I tried my hardest not to watch him, looking at all the contents on my locker and the pictures covering the door.

“I still don’t get why you don’t just go talk to him.” She ignored my comment, continuing in the speech she gave me everyday. “I mean, you act like he is going to jump out and bite you if you say a word to him.”

“But I have talked to him—”

She groaned, slamming the back of her head into the locker she was leaning again. “I mean an actual conversation, Charlie. Like one where he says more than ‘hi’ or ‘can I borrow a pencil’.”

“It’s not that easy.” I mumbled, glancing at him as he greeted another group of friends, all of whom seemed to light up in his presence. That’s what he did; he brightened people’s days. Even the teachers would mention John Gomez and chuckle, retelling the story from earlier in the day when he made the classroom laugh. He was charismatic, his smile was infectious, and everyone who knew him loved him and everyone who didn’t, wanted to.

Gwen and I went through this whole conversation often, practically daily. We’d meet at my locker and she’d watch me as I drooled over the kid. I couldn’t stop myself and in the brief few seconds he would stand near me, it was like Gwen was never there. I would freeze and they would talk over me, Gwen and John smiling and greeting the other, mentioning how hard their math homework was or how crazy the parties the weekend before were. Gwen had tried on a few occasions to pulls me into the conversation but I would always freeze more, not even able to turn my head completely to see him.

“But it is that easy, Char. You say ‘Hi John, I’m Charlie, we’ve been locker neighbors since the dawn of time. Sorry we’ve never talked.’ And he’ll smile that big ol’ grin you love and maybe chuckle and start talking. See? That was so easy.” Gwen had this warped idea that somehow John Gomez would be interested in me. I mean, I loved her for thinking that, fueling my ridiculous fantasy of growing old in his arms, but I knew the truth. I wasn’t anything special; I took ordinary to a new level. My eyes weren’t some amazing blue and my hair was gorgeous and wavy. I couldn’t play an amazing game or score an incredible grade. Why would a guy like John be into a girl like me? Gwen always said I was something special and foreign, having unique qualities that “she just knew” John would love.

“It’s not that easy.” I repeated, ignoring her again to steal a glance of him over her shoulder.

They were acquaintances; John and Gwen both hung out with the same group of people at parties. And of course, being a true friend, she was always tried to drag me along or somehow trick me into attendance. And me being me, I always refused, telling her it would end my life if I went. So she’d still go and come back, telling me all the details of John that I never get the chance to see because I was, in her terms “chicken shit”. John was sweet to everyone, even while drinking apparently. He never tried that “scoring with as many girls as possible” stuff that his friends did. He’d laugh and talk to people. He had that trait where no matter who you were or how long you knew him, he’d treat you like his best friend.

“Fine.” Gwen scoffed again, pushing off the locker behind her and stepping forward. “I have to go meet up with Henry anyway. Don’t drool too much.”

“Don’t make out with him too much.” I joked, turning to her.

“At least I have someone to mack on.” Gwen was quick, walking away before I could gather the words to say anything else. We were close, practically sisters at this point. I was used to her cruel words and teasing about John; we’d been doing it since she found out about the crush freshman year.

Life was so much easier when Gwen was younger; when she was just as shy and naive as me. I mean, she was never as shy as me. Gwen could talk to the boys she liked without tripping over her words. Even when we were just little freshmen and she’d have crushes on seniors. It took nothing for her to introduce herself and begin a discussion on a topic she hardly knew anything about. And I sometimes hated her for that. With me, I could probably prepare a speech for John and I’d still turn it into a mess in front of him. I hated myself for that more.

When we were freshmen, while I was spending my the hours I was at school admiring, talking, and thinking about John, Gwen developed her own little fatty crush on a Gomez. John had an older brother, Stephen, who, in her terms, was far more mature and attractive than John. He listened to real music and went to real parties according to her. Gwen even had the courage to talk to him a few times. Never once did she stutter out a weird variety of greetings, her cheeks didn’t turning pink when she realized how stupid she sounded or her heart would start beating so loud that she was concerned that Stephen could actually hear it. Nope. Not Gwen. With her charm and eloquence she could waltz right up to him, talking vibrantly about music and sparking conversations with him. I’m sure he considered the idea of fooling around with her a few times, but he never did. According to Gwen, it was because he was already on to dating college girls, his standards were too high. I never really understood what she saw in him. Stephen was a jerk, we’d heard plenty of stories about how he treated his girls and we saw the group he spent time with. He obviously took all the awful genes so John could be the sweetheart he was.

The noise from down the hallway was what dragged my attention away from the contents of my lockers. There was a commotion, which was unusual when there was only another 30 seconds left until the last bell would ring and everyone was expected in their class. It wasn’t until I glanced over my shoulder that I saw him walking over, his book bag hanging from his hand. This wasn’t part of our routine. He wasn’t supposed to exchange his books out until after my lunch and before his. I would already be sitting in European History with Gwen, listening to her rave about Henry’s kissing and thinking about him. But not today, something was different. He obviously was trying to kill me.

When he stepped into our hallway the butterflies attacked. Those nasty things were what constantly kept me from talking to him or asking him any questions. Anytime he stood beside me, our shoulders on inches apart, those little jitters held me back. They’d start in my stomach, fluttering around and then if I gained any courage and actually glanced at him, they’d flutter a little higher, they’d start their way up my stomach and esophagus, keeping the words from forming. They’d go for my heart too, beating it to the point where I’d began to worry that the people around me would hear. I hated those butterflies. Gwen said they’d disappear with time, hers did. Mine seemed to take up permanent residence within me though.

I tried not to stare. I really did. I’d glance over every few seconds as he twisted the combination into the lock. I knew the first number was twelve, and I knew how weird it was to know that. It wasn’t that I was going to break into the locker either, it’s just what happens when you stare in one direction long enough. I loved watching him put his combination in; he’d become so focused for the fifteen seconds it took him to open the door. His green eyes would grow serious and his tongue would sometimes stick out as he twisted the knob.

His voice startled me. “You like The Starting Line?” He pointed at the poster of The Starting Line hanging in my locker.

Me, being the moron I am, turned around. He could have been talking to someone behind, like maybe Gwen came back and suddenly they were chatting like old friends. But there was no one behind me. I think at that point, I would have preferred someone behind me whom he was talking to at this point. My face was already bright red and my breathing was erratic and my butterflies had turned into birds now. “Yeah.” I said meekly, trying to hide the reddening on my face with the locker door.

He moved backwards a little and of course I assumed he was going to run off, scared of me. But he turned towards me, glancing again at the sticker before refocusing on my face. “Favorite record?” He questioned.

John sounded skeptical, as if he thought I made it up just to impress him. As much as that does sound like something I’d do, it wasn’t. My stepbrother introduced me to the magic of Kenny Vasoli and The Starting Line. Sure, I’d expanded some, exploring the rest of the Drive Thru collection, enjoying The Early November and Hellogoodbye, but The Starting Line was my default music. I’m sure even my parents knew all the words Hello Houston and A Goodnight’s Sleep by now. “Say It Like You Mean It,” I managed to choke out, avoiding his eyes. “I mean, not that I don’t like the others, but it’s a classic. My favorite record ever, hands down.”

Gwen would have been so proud of me. I used real words and spaced them properly. I’d done what she told me to do a million times before. So far, there hadn’t been any backlash either. John didn’t give me any crazy looks or walk away while I was talking. He smiled at me even, which probably gave me a heart perpetuation. With how rapidly my heart was beating, I was surprised he hadn’t heard and called the ambulance.

I watched, being careful to not stare or drool, as John shook his head with one of those little half smiles I’d seen so many times when he was talking to his friends. “Finally,” He twisted back around toward his locker, shuffling through the textbooks and papers in the bottom of it. “Someone in the place with a decent taste in music.”

I laughed, or tried to, it sounded like a sort of choking cough. He didn’t seem to notice, or decided to ignore, as he turned back to his locker for a moment, shuffling through the mess. “Did you see them when they were here last Spring? Or at Warped?”

Part of me just wanted to give up there, run away and celebrate this victory. But I was channeling my inner Gwen, forcing myself to stay and see where this was going to go. He might ask me to marry him right then and there. Sure, it wasn’t necessarily likely, but I certainly wasn’t going to disappear in case it did happen. “No,” I managed again, so proud of myself. “The tickets sold out too fast, and my mom wouldn’t let me go to Warped.”

He pouted, killing a small part of me. “Shit, that sucks. My mom’s the same way—so clingy. My brother went though, so I got to see them with him. They were awesome.”

“Lucky.” Even I was surprised that I was more upset over the fact that I could have seen John in public then I was over missing The Starting Line. Maybe Gwen was right about my priorities.

When he slammed the door of his locker shut and, twisted the metal knob on the locker to reset it, he broke me away from my trance. “It’s Charlotte right?” He mumbled, resting his shoulder against the door of it, watching me as I made another attempt to hide behind my door.

“Charlie.” I said, a little too quickly. “I mean, I go by Charlie.” I tried again. This time slowing down as to not freak him out.

His eyes twinkled. Yes, twinkled. I know, it sounds stupid, but that’s what his eyes did when he smiled in your direction.“Oh, well it’s good to meet you. I’m John.”

He didn’t need to introduce himself, I’d known him since 9th grade when his green eyes graced Miss. Turners’ English class. Hell, I’d been in love with him since he walked into that classroom.

“Well I have to get to class. It was nice talking to you.” He grinned. “Charlie.” He chuckled again, before leaving.

Oh my God, he was perfect.