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It was the first day of the second semester of my senior year. I looked up from my desk and watched the students file in the door and sit down, chatting and giggling. Two girls walked in talking to each other. One of them immediately caught my eye. I had seen her at the library and some concerts before and wondered who she was. Tossing her ruddy brown hair out of her face, her smile lit up the whole room, making me smile, as well. She looked in my direction, eyes dancing with a million wonders. As she walked, almost floating down the aisle toward me, I watched intensely as the bottom of her stone-gray Pepsi shirt flapped teasingly about her smooth hips, hugged gently by some dark blue, loose-fitting jeans. Her backpack pulled the shirt tight across her breasts, which made me notice a small silver necklace dangling as carelessly as the slim, fragile arms at her sides. She even appeared to be of some kind of Asian descent. Maybe she even spoke Japanese, like me. Please sit in front of me! Please sit in front of me! She stepped up to the desk in front of me, looked right at me, smiled and spoke. The sound of her soft, flowing voice melted my heart. With dreamy eyes, I watched her luscious lips move. With a sigh, the tip of my tongue pressed through my lips, moistening them.
“HEL-LO?” her voice rang louder.
“Uh, yeah?” I replied, voice cracking. I was so lost in reverie; I hadn’t heard a word she said.
“Is this seat taken?” she repeated, sounding a bit annoyed.
“Oh! [ahem] Uh, you can sit here, uh, there [ahem] I mean,” I croaked, nervousness shredding my words like confetti.
“Okay, thanks,” she snickered back, looking across the aisle at the friend she walked in with. With one, smooth motion, she shrugged off her heavy bag onto the desk and sat down. I wanted to repeatedly bang my head on the desk, but laid it down, and buried it in my crossed arms instead. Way to go, dufus! She probably thinks you’re stoned or retarded, now. I knew I’d been weird lately because of my mental breakdown over losing my mother and my last girlfriend in a car wreck. I even swore off women, started wearing makeup, and thought I turned gay. Perhaps I was wrong. With a big sigh, I caught the scent of her perfume and sat straight up like a dog sniffing pork chops. I don’t know what the fragrance was, but it smelled like paradise mixed with her perspiration and natural oils. I stared at her back, examining it like a book. Her delicate hair fell about her shoulders like an auburn waterfall. Shifting with casual precision, her back muscles seemed tense as she organized her books. It took all my strength not to reach out and caress those stressed shoulders.
The obnoxious bell brought me back to my senses and I fumbled to open my book. Mr. Root stood up at the head of the classroom and declared that this was 8th hour study hall and that we were to announce ourselves when he stated our names. I knew I was last, so I listened intently to the names, waiting for her to say ‘here’.
“That’s me,” Her voice rang out. Jennifer Clearlake? That doesn’t sound all that Oriental, more like Native American. I leaned back and waited to be brought to attention for my name once again.
“Okay, you’re going to have to help me on this last name, “ Mr. Root pondered, “Is this a typo? Is it supposed to be Sarah? And I’ll never get this last name…”
Raising my hand, I sighed, “I am Basara Xiaoming.”
“Okay, say that again so I know for sure,” he imposed curtly. A few guys from the football team happened to be in the class and chuckled, knowing how often my name had been mispronounced during the season. At least she’ll know my name. I raised my head and pronounced it clearly. He mumbled something and continued on with the rules as I turned my attention back to Jen. She was sitting sideways in her seat, half listening to Mr. Root, half reading a note her friend just handed her. I bit my lip again, staring at her perfect profile. From the letter, her eyes shot right to mine, and I raised my eyebrows in alarmed curiosity. She then looked at her friend, who met her glance with a nod. Once again, she glimpsed at me with a twisted smile and sat back in her seat, tittered nervously, and fidgeted with her papers. Oh yay, she thinks I like her now. Which is true. I sighed as I adjusted my glasses, relaxed in my chair, and resumed reading my novel, breathing deeply whenever the fan wafted Jen’s celestial scent my way.
The bell rang, ending the school day. I was so deeply engrossed in my book that I hadn’t noticed the time. Everyone else was all packed up and headed toward to door. I hurled my book in my bag and leaped a desk headed for the door I saw Jen go out of. Left! She went left. I arched my neck toward the South hallway. Damn damn damn! Where’s she at!? I squirmed through the hordes of rushing students, scanning every face. The crowd stopped moving momentarily and I stood on my toes and looked around.
“Hey!” a voice rose from below. I had unwittingly put my hands on the shoulders of a shorter student in front of me, and it was Jen!
“Oh, so sorry!” I cringed, removing my hands like a scolded child.
“Heh, yeah…” she muttered, pushing others to get away. And now she thinks I’m stalking her. I huffed and continuing on toward my locker. In the southeast hall, I saw her at her locker.
“SE103 SE103 SE103,” I repeated to myself, struggling to get the pen out of the pocket on the side of my pants. I heard a locker slam and looked up. Unbelievable! I had stopped right there at her locker. To top that off, being bent over slightly to reach my side pocket, I was directly in her face.
“Can I help you with something?” she sighed, obviously exasperated with my constant bumping into her.
“Nope. Just…my pen!” I uttered apprehensively, tearing my pocket as I broke the pen pulling it out.
“Whatever,” she feigned a grin, renouncing my excuse and pushed past me.
“Blah!” I whined, staring at my ink-splattered hand and pants, not to mention the lockers that had also been spotted by my clumsiness, including Jen’s.
I walked on to my locker in the east hallway, tossed my bag in my locker, grabbed my gym bag and headed toward the locker room, cutting through the gym.
The jocular voice of Adam echoed around the gym, “Chow Mien versus Mr. Root!” He jumped in front of me and simulated some karate moves and yells.
“Ha ha,” I said, unaffected.
“Dude, everyone knows how to say your name,” Adam always tried to cheer me up, “Root’s just a dumb ass. Woah! What, you bleeding blue now?” I explained how my pen broke, but not where or why, and we both laughed all the way to the locker room, although I was far from cheered up. I wiped what I could off my hand and my pants and changed into my sweats. On our way to the weight room, Adam suggested that I call him, MRS. Root next time I talk to him. I probably would have, too if my mind wasn’t so preoccupied with how to get Jen’s attention and affection, if possible.
I intended for my workout to take my mind off her, but that didn’t happen. The whole time, I was thinking of her: what to say, how to act. Does she hate me or not? Where does she sit at lunch? Have I seen her with any guys? What was she buying at Musicland that one time? What was she reading in the library the other day? Was she at the concert cause it was included in the admission price to the fair or does she really like Smashing Pumpkins?
“Basara!” coach hollered, smacking me on the head with a rolled-up program, “Don’t you think you’ve been on the leg press long enough?” I looked around in a daze and noticed that everyone else had left. He began to lecture me on working out too hard, but I tuned him out as I wiped the sweat off my face, chest, and arms. “…now hit the showers!” he finished, heading back to his office. With my shirt around my neck, I walked to the locker room and got undressed. One of the guys was sleeping on the bench, I told him what time it was and he quickly left.
Alone in the shower, I lathered up and washed all the sweat, dirt, and ink away. Finished, I stood in the spray, looking at my big hands. I had touched her and I didn’t even know it. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. But I remembered her touching me: putting her hand on my arm to push me out of her way. Her hand was so dainty, like a fairy’s. I wanted to go home and paint my nails blue like hers. The silver was already beginning to chip off my index fingernails. I closed my eyes and imagined kissing her hand, then kissing up her arm, kissing her neck, her cheek, her supple lips. Holding her in my arms, lifting her up, her arms and legs wrapped around me. Her smoothly contoured body pressing against mine. Kissing her more, feeling her hands on my bare back, her breasts against my chest, her legs on the back of my thighs, pressing herself against my…
“Oh, man,” I gasped, actually comprehending what was happening. Turning the knob to cold, I rinsed my dirty thoughts away in the mist of the shower. I shook my head and scolded myself, “What is wrong with me? I like her, but…already thinking like that? I’m sick! I need to just go home and play NHL ’97 and listen to Tool…no, Alice in Chains. Yeah.” I dried off, pulled my clothes on, drove my moped home, and did just that.
After Pittsburgh beat St. Louis 5-4 in overtime, I laid in bed, just thinking of my problem.
“Okay, I’m hung up on a girl who probably wishes she were in a different school now because of me.” I reflected on the things I had done to denigrate myself in her presence. “See, this is what happens when you quit dating for a while; you forget how to act.” I flicked the lamp off and stared forlorn up at the glowing star stickers that had been on my ceiling since I was a kid.
“YOU like a girl, Sara-kun?” my sister announced, poking her head around the edge of our room divider, “Who is it? Do I know her? I thought you gave up girls and switched to guys.”
“No. Go away. I forgot you were in here,” I grumbled, rolling over, wanting to hide.
“You know you have to tell me now,” she pranced around to the side of the bed I had rolled to, flicked the lamp back on and sat down, “Cause I won’t leave you alone about it and I’ll make stuff up and...”
“I’ll tell you! Shut up!” I snapped back. Actually, I was glad to have someone to tell, so I could get a second opinion on what I should do, and aside from being my sister, Kimiko was my most trusted advisor and best friend. I explained to her my situation and after laughing at the great first impressions I had made, she suggested I simply be nice to her.
“If she needs a pen, give her one, and let her keep it. If she asks someone a question like ‘what time is it’ or ‘how do I convert the square root of ½+¼’, you answer her like she asked you, preferably before the other person does. If you see her walking on the road give her a ride, and let her wear your helmet. If you see her sitting alone, ANYWHERE, go sit by her, and make conversation!” she explained forcefully, “Don’t be a wuss, Sara-kun. Girls WANT you to pay attention to them in a nice way. Don’t tease her like a kid. That’ll just piss her off…I know.”
“Okay, so I should be a thoughtful gentleman, not a dorky jerk, right?” I clarified with sneering smile.
“Exactly!” she gibed and pinching my cheek like a granny.
I quickly batted her hand away, “Get outta here!”
“Haha! Basara’s got a girlfriend!” she sang, tripping over something on her way back to her side of the room.
“You stupid…” I chuckled, shaking my head.
“Duh duh!” she called back as I flicked the lamp off and lied back down. I drifted off to sleep with a smile, knowing now how simple it would be to get back into Jen’s good graces, or would it?