What Should Have Been
A love story
With fumes of cheap beer hovering in the air, and music so loud you couldn’t hear your own thoughts, I sit fidgeting in the corner of the room on a janky couch, alone.
Until she catches my eye.
Her golden hair swings down her back in two French braids.
Groups of sweaty boys circulate around her, and I cannot stop staring at her mouth working a piece of bubble gum.
Lily Rose, the fantasy of each and every boy in southeastern Wis —
Oh shit.
I think she saw me staring at her.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I probably look like a freaking creep.
My heart begins to race as her hips bounce from left to right while strutting in my direction.
I didn’t know where to look so I whip out my phone and start pounding away simple math equations on the calculator app.
“Hey.”
Her voice sounds bruised and raspy from yelling over the music, and possibly a rebellious cigarette habit.
Come on Wall, try to sound cool.
“Uh, yeah, what’s up?” I mumble in an overly deep voice while remaining glued to my phone.
