Status: An evolving idea
I Got the Boy
September 3rd, 2004
“Callie,” my father sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing his large hand on my back, “You have to get out of bed.”
“I don’t wanna,” I mumbled into the comforter, burying my face further into its fluffiness.
“It’s your first day of senior year, Cal,” he encouraged, “Everyone loves this day.”
I groaned, “I don’t love this day, dad.”
“That’s the spirit, Cal!” his voice dripped with sarcasm, but I could still hear the smile in it.
I rolled my eyes dramatically, before throwing off my comforter and swinging my legs around. Seeing that I was officially awake, my father stood up and started for the door. When he got to the doorway, he turned around and sent me a small smile. “Jonathan’s waiting for you downstairs,” he added, before quickly shutting the door behind him.
At this, I huffed, rubbing a hand down my face. If Jonathan were already here, I would have to start moving quickly. Jonathan always liked being early to events, especially the first day of school.
Each year, we’d be the first ones in the parking lot, waiting for the first janitor to unlock the doors and talking aimlessly. We would talk about our fears for the upcoming year, our goals that we wanted to achieve in the next 180 school days, and our excitement for different events.
“Finally!” Jonathan groaned from his seat on the couch, as I slowly descended the staircase.
“Oh, shut up,” I dismissively waved a hand at him, reaching into the front closet for my backpack, “Let’s just go.”
Jonathan nodded excitedly and nearly sprinted out of the house, waiting for me at the passenger’s door to his truck. When I neared him, he opened the door and scooted me inside, before hurrying around to the driver’s side. “I’m so excited,” he let out a low chuckle, “First day of our last year.”
While he drove to the high school, we chatted mindlessly about what classes we were taking, where we would meet up for lunch—though this hadn’t changed in the last four years—and who we were excited to see again. Jonathan and I had very different schedules, except for the honors French class that we were assigned together. His classes were the general ones that all students were required to take—calculus, U.S. history, and chemistry; while my classes were more centered on my passion of art—art history, geometry, and sculpting. His free periods were filled with extra hockey practice, while mine were occupied by different art teaching positions I had applied for.
“I can’t believe it’s our last year,” he murmured again, as we pulled into our usual parking spot, “It feels like such a short time.”
“I know,” I agreed and leaned my head onto his shoulder, peering at our familiar surroundings. The school hadn’t changed much in the four years we attended it. It still had the same brick facade that it had when it was built; the top of the front entrance was adorned with the school's name; acres of green fields expanded behind the brick building; and wide picture windows indicated where one classroom ended and another began.
“Our last year of normalcy.”
Jonathan’s shoulder sagged slightly, “Be excited; don’t be sad.”
I shook my head, “Just bracing myself for the changes.”
Hearing this, Jonathan quickly dropped his shoulder and turned towards me, catching my face in between his strong hands. “Look at me, Cal.”
My gaze flickered up to his, catching onto his hazel eyes, which appeared more golden in the morning sunrise.
“A lot is going to change, Callie,” he started, his thumbs rubbing small circles on my cheeks, “But this is not going to change. We—you and I—are not going to change.” He dropped his lips down to mine for a quick, hard kiss, “I love you and that’s never going to change. That is the one thing I can promise.”
The corners of my mouth twitched, turning upwards into a small smile. Since Jonathan had confessed his feelings for me, that night on my front porch, our friendship has bloomed into a relationship. It felt right, like it was what we were supposed to be doing the entire time. And there was no chance that we would just call it quits; it was our last year of high school, but it wasn’t the last year of us.
“I love you, too, Jon. And I always will.”
A large smile spread across his lips, his cheeks causing his eyes to squint. “Good,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s get to French class.”
“I don’t wanna,” I mumbled into the comforter, burying my face further into its fluffiness.
“It’s your first day of senior year, Cal,” he encouraged, “Everyone loves this day.”
I groaned, “I don’t love this day, dad.”
“That’s the spirit, Cal!” his voice dripped with sarcasm, but I could still hear the smile in it.
I rolled my eyes dramatically, before throwing off my comforter and swinging my legs around. Seeing that I was officially awake, my father stood up and started for the door. When he got to the doorway, he turned around and sent me a small smile. “Jonathan’s waiting for you downstairs,” he added, before quickly shutting the door behind him.
At this, I huffed, rubbing a hand down my face. If Jonathan were already here, I would have to start moving quickly. Jonathan always liked being early to events, especially the first day of school.
Each year, we’d be the first ones in the parking lot, waiting for the first janitor to unlock the doors and talking aimlessly. We would talk about our fears for the upcoming year, our goals that we wanted to achieve in the next 180 school days, and our excitement for different events.
“Finally!” Jonathan groaned from his seat on the couch, as I slowly descended the staircase.
“Oh, shut up,” I dismissively waved a hand at him, reaching into the front closet for my backpack, “Let’s just go.”
Jonathan nodded excitedly and nearly sprinted out of the house, waiting for me at the passenger’s door to his truck. When I neared him, he opened the door and scooted me inside, before hurrying around to the driver’s side. “I’m so excited,” he let out a low chuckle, “First day of our last year.”
While he drove to the high school, we chatted mindlessly about what classes we were taking, where we would meet up for lunch—though this hadn’t changed in the last four years—and who we were excited to see again. Jonathan and I had very different schedules, except for the honors French class that we were assigned together. His classes were the general ones that all students were required to take—calculus, U.S. history, and chemistry; while my classes were more centered on my passion of art—art history, geometry, and sculpting. His free periods were filled with extra hockey practice, while mine were occupied by different art teaching positions I had applied for.
“I can’t believe it’s our last year,” he murmured again, as we pulled into our usual parking spot, “It feels like such a short time.”
“I know,” I agreed and leaned my head onto his shoulder, peering at our familiar surroundings. The school hadn’t changed much in the four years we attended it. It still had the same brick facade that it had when it was built; the top of the front entrance was adorned with the school's name; acres of green fields expanded behind the brick building; and wide picture windows indicated where one classroom ended and another began.
“Our last year of normalcy.”
Jonathan’s shoulder sagged slightly, “Be excited; don’t be sad.”
I shook my head, “Just bracing myself for the changes.”
Hearing this, Jonathan quickly dropped his shoulder and turned towards me, catching my face in between his strong hands. “Look at me, Cal.”
My gaze flickered up to his, catching onto his hazel eyes, which appeared more golden in the morning sunrise.
“A lot is going to change, Callie,” he started, his thumbs rubbing small circles on my cheeks, “But this is not going to change. We—you and I—are not going to change.” He dropped his lips down to mine for a quick, hard kiss, “I love you and that’s never going to change. That is the one thing I can promise.”
The corners of my mouth twitched, turning upwards into a small smile. Since Jonathan had confessed his feelings for me, that night on my front porch, our friendship has bloomed into a relationship. It felt right, like it was what we were supposed to be doing the entire time. And there was no chance that we would just call it quits; it was our last year of high school, but it wasn’t the last year of us.
“I love you, too, Jon. And I always will.”
A large smile spread across his lips, his cheeks causing his eyes to squint. “Good,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s get to French class.”