Reveille

I want to get mad at you for giving up so soon, but I can’t. I want to—your head suddenly turns in my direction as if you heard what I was thinking. Now you’re smiling mischievously and rolling your chair towards the door, towards me. Why are you smiling? Why only now? A lump is forming in my throat. I take back what I thought before—you’re not one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen—no, you’re at the top of the list.

I decide to say them now: those three words that no 15-year-old guy would ever seriously dare to say. Even though you’re the most spoiled brat I’ve ever met. Even though you told me you had a crush on that lifeguard at the beach. Even though you’ll probably laugh at me and tell me I’m being ridiculous.