A Step Behind

There was a guy in my Spanish class. When we were doing ice breakers, the instructor asked if I was working my way through college, got a student loan, or was wealthy. I told him I was a high school student. People look at you when you’re talking in a class, but this was an even more intense stare when I said that.

“High school? Where do you go?” he asked.

“Cienega – in Vail,” I said. I noticed a guy one seat up and to my left tilt his head, but didn’t have any time to waste on it when our instructor asked if I was a senior. “Junior, actually. My high school doesn’t offer a Spanish level this high.”

He nodded his head like he was impressed and moved on to the next student. The guy that had tilted his head moved back a seat, held out his hand.

“Richard,” he said. “I graduated from Cienega.”

“Oh,” I had replied. I stuck my hand out to shake his. “Gabby.”

Richard grinned and tugged on a purple lock of hair. “I like it.”

I smiled and looked down. Most people that day had gushed and squealed and giggled about how cute my hair looked. I knew it would happen, but it didn’t help me from wishing people would be a little less enthusiastic about it. Richard’s three words made my day.