This is first in a new breed of stories I'm going to call Spaige. Inspired by the comic Zits. enjoy. don't forget to review.
As I bend down at my locker Monday morning, I heard the familiar clomp-clomp-clomp of Paige as she graced me with her presence.
"So," she starts excitedly, "What do you think of them?"
I looked up at her, trying to resist the goody smile that grows on me every time she's near. I'm not sure what she's talking about, but from the way she's smiling she wants me to say that I like them.
"Yeah, Paige! They're beautiful… Just what you wanted, right?" I look up at her face, perhaps thinking she's got a new pair of earrings.
"You have no idea, do you," she glares and sighs, frustrated. I stand up with my books.
"Honeybee," I try to soothe her and possibly make her forget that she has a stupid boyfriend. I lean in to kiss her cheek and she's pulling away, calling Marco over.
"Hey, Marco! What's new about me?"
He paused for a minute, feigning confusion, and said very quickly, "Mid-calf length tan suede boots, sheep skin lining, half an inch heel, very nice Paige, very nice," winks at her, and walks away.
She grins at him in all her glory that she can, once again, prove me wrong. She turns to me, her face automatically turning to anger and frustration at my obvious stupidity.
"They're only the ones I've wanted, since, like, forever, Spin. I saw them in seventeen and looked all around town for them. I ordered them 2 weeks ago and have been talking non-stop about them. And you and your idiot brain still couldn't notice them?"
"Paige, Paige, Paige, I would know if you had been talking about them, I listen to you." Lying through my teeth and it's not even working. Score a million negative points for the Spin when Ashley walks down the hall with Craig and goes, "Hey Paige, got the boots, eh?"
Paige looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to defend myself. I'm racking my brain for something, anything, to say.
"Yeah, well, I bet you don't know what my shoes look like, " I challenge. Looking away, she starts, "Black converse all stars, high tops, black laces with pink stars, checkers down with Sharpie drawn during History when we were studying World War 2, and song lyrics down the canvas part done in wite-out."
I look back, defeated. She scores a million point just for knowing.
"What song?" Worthless stupid Spinner, trying too hard.
"That song by The Offspring… Why don't you get a job. Whatever, Spin, I want someone who can listen to me. Someone who hears what I say. Who knows me. Who has an attention span, at all."
"What are you saying, Paige?" I look at her and the last word comes out completely strangled and hesitant.
"I need to see what's out there."
The world as I know it ended for a minute, the lockers started spinning around and she turned on her heel and walked away from me.
So I'm sitting at lunch with Craig and telling him what's going on. He says, in all his wisdom, "Write a song for her."
"Thanks, Cassanova, but we all know where that got you last time." He looked embarrassed and turned away. Marco looks towards me and goes, "Show her how you feel, Spinner."
" Marco, no offense, but why should I trust you in girl matters?" He shrugged. "I love this girl, OK? She does something for me every morning when she shows up and when she kisses me, it's magic. It's like when she walks in there's an light around her and everybody wants to know who this angel is. It's when she hugs me it feels like nobody could ever hurt us again. I never want to let go. When she cries it's like the world ending and I never want her to hurt again."
He grins at me. "Dude, you gotta tell her that."
"She yelled at me today, Marco. She told me I never listen and I have a short attention span."
"What else did he say?"
"I don't know, I wasn't listening."
He laughs.
"Paige, I'm so sorry I didn't notice your boots. Sorry I didn't listen to you. Sorry most of the time I'm not good enough, but I promise I will try and do something for you. Paige, I love you."
She looks at me, raising her eyebrows and starting to talk. Watching her face, she has some cute little freckles that just disappear into her dimples when she makes different facial expressions.
"Spin, I don't know if I-"
"There it goes again!" I mutter, in fascination that anybody could be that perfect.
"There what goes?" she looks unimpressed and impatient.
"You have this freckle on your forehead, that sometimes, when you talk and your eyebrows wrinkle up or you're concentrating really hard, just slips into your eyebrows. It's the cutest thing."
She looks pleased. "Are you serious?" I nod. "Don't tell me that instead of listening to me talk you've been…" she looks flabbergasted, "memorizing the details and movements of my face?"
I nod again, because I realize that's what it is. She's perfect as she pulls he into a hug. "That's so sweet!" She kisses me, perfect sitting on the steps of school, and says, "I think I owe you an apology.
"I think I just got it."