She was my first girlfriend; she was also the first girl to break my nose. That was in sixth grade, when I called her a stupid fatso and said that she was the reason her dad had left. She had a mean right hook back then. I deserved it.
After that, I stopped making fun of her, and we each started pretending that the other one didn't exist. When we had to do group projects, she'd talk at the air instead of me, and I'd rub my nose when I thought that she wasn't looking. That wasn't a problem after sixth grade, though, because we were lucky enough to end up in different classes in middle school. We didn't see each other around in high school either, until she and I ended up sitting together in trig in junior year.
She looked different. Older, of course, and really hot. We were doing parametric equations in class then, and she had trouble with them; she'd doodle spirals and elephants on the side of her paper. She had this habit of nibbling on her lip as she worked.
I watched her a lot, and I felt pretty bad about the stuff I'd said to her before. It took three months before I worked out how to apologize to her, and by then we weren't even sitting together. After eating a candy bar for courage, I found her in the hall at lunch; she was fiddling with the lock to her locker, swearing a bit under her breath, and I nearly lost my courage then. I mean, it clearly was a bad time. Then she looked up to me, and I had to stay.
"Um, hey," I said awkwardly, leaning against the locker next to hers. Trying to play it casual. I looked down. "I just wanted you to know... I'm sorry about what I said to you. In, um, sixth grade."
It sounded stupid when I said it out loud like that, and she must have thought so too. "Um, what?" she said. She gave me a flat look, like "what the fuck are you talking about, Ethan?". I got to see a lot of those looks later when we were dating: her brow would crease and her eyes narrow, and there'd be these little pinches at the corners of her mouth.
I knew that I should have told her why I'd apologized, maybe even added that I knew now that I'd been a lowlife piece of scum in sixth grade. Instead, I shrugged. I was seventeen and feeling ridiculous. "Never mind."
"Okay," she said, her voice low and slow.
It was her "dealing with crazies" voice. I used a similar tone sometimes on my dog when I spotted him doing something stupid, like drinking from the toilet or barking at the cars driving down the street. He was an idiot, my dog.
After that, I stopped making fun of her, and we each started pretending that the other one didn't exist. When we had to do group projects, she'd talk at the air instead of me, and I'd rub my nose when I thought that she wasn't looking. That wasn't a problem after sixth grade, though, because we were lucky enough to end up in different classes in middle school. We didn't see each other around in high school either, until she and I ended up sitting together in trig in junior year.
She looked different. Older, of course, and really hot. We were doing parametric equations in class then, and she had trouble with them; she'd doodle spirals and elephants on the side of her paper. She had this habit of nibbling on her lip as she worked.
I watched her a lot, and I felt pretty bad about the stuff I'd said to her before. It took three months before I worked out how to apologize to her, and by then we weren't even sitting together. After eating a candy bar for courage, I found her in the hall at lunch; she was fiddling with the lock to her locker, swearing a bit under her breath, and I nearly lost my courage then. I mean, it clearly was a bad time. Then she looked up to me, and I had to stay.
"Um, hey," I said awkwardly, leaning against the locker next to hers. Trying to play it casual. I looked down. "I just wanted you to know... I'm sorry about what I said to you. In, um, sixth grade."
It sounded stupid when I said it out loud like that, and she must have thought so too. "Um, what?" she said. She gave me a flat look, like "what the fuck are you talking about, Ethan?". I got to see a lot of those looks later when we were dating: her brow would crease and her eyes narrow, and there'd be these little pinches at the corners of her mouth.
I knew that I should have told her why I'd apologized, maybe even added that I knew now that I'd been a lowlife piece of scum in sixth grade. Instead, I shrugged. I was seventeen and feeling ridiculous. "Never mind."
"Okay," she said, her voice low and slow.
It was her "dealing with crazies" voice. I used a similar tone sometimes on my dog when I spotted him doing something stupid, like drinking from the toilet or barking at the cars driving down the street. He was an idiot, my dog.
