Eleven Confessions

Confession #4: I’ve never really been the type for that sappy romance stuff, but when I was with Tate, it all took on a new meaning.

“So do want to meet up after school, and work on our history project?” Tate asked, as he took a seat by me at my lunch table, in the corner, where I ate with the rest of my school’s undesirables.

I thought back to when the teacher announced that we would have to do a project, and, most awful, we would have to have partners (I always had to be paired with someone because no one wanted to be with little miss emotional), but, when the teacher had told us about our assignment, Tate had turned around, his beautiful blues filled with sincerity, asking if I wanted to be his partner. And now, here he was, throwing his social life down the toilet, “You don’t have to sit here…” I quickly put in, thinking that a guy like Tate could land a seat at McKenzie’s table.

He followed my gaze to where she was opening her bright pink lunch box revealing its contents of low fat yogurt, and that sort of Barbie food thing. “No thanks.”

“You’re kidding”, I eyed him, my hair sliding back, revealing my face, “She’s totally interested in you.”

He shook his head, his eyes dead serious, “She’s not my type. Girls like her are too high maintenance. Too much drama.”

“So what is your type?” I asked, trying to only be curious.

He shrugged, and I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes glimmered almost playfully whenever he shrugged, “I don’t know. Just not her.”

“So… what kind of people did you hang out with at your old school?” I pulled my hair back into place.

His blue eyes became thoughtful for a moment, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers?”

He nodded, as if he was glad I asked, “People who aren’t afraid to express raw emotions. People who trust their words to pass on to others. Like a writer. Like yourself.”

I nodded, taking it all in. “I get what you’re saying. My dad, he was a song-writer. Dreamer. I like that word. It describes him- us very well.”