The Note
A short story on high school crushes.
2:40. I’m running out of time. Class ends in five minutes. It’s spring and the rain patters on my classroom windowsill. A small chill from the opened window sways through class. The intensity of the chill matches the anxiety I’m experiencing. I look around the classroom to see if anyone has noticed me writing a note.
2:43. Tingles travel between my stomach and my throat. In two minutes, I am about to profess my love with this note to Brandon Daley, the school jock.
2:45, the bell rings.
“Hey Jollene, are you staying to watch the boys’ basketball game?” Frightened, I peek my head out from my locker to see a smile on my friend James’s face.
“Wow, didn’t mean to scare you,” James chuckles “but ye, you coming to the game or not? It’s going to be good. We’re playing that sucky school from across the street.”
“James, I never get why you’re so excited about the games. All you ever do is sit on the bench.” We both laugh.
“Well, bench or not, we all get a trophy at the end.” James laughs. My attention shifts.
Brandon Daley, tall, slim, caramel brown with hazel eyes, struts down the hall. I feel myself melting. Brandon Daley walk’s the halls of Cardinal Lambert High School in what seems like slow motion.
“James!” I say. “I can’t stay for the game, but when you’re in the locker room can you please give this note to Brandon?” I shove the note damp from my sweaty palms, into James’ hand before he can say no.
“No problem,” I hear in the distance as I run to catch the school bus.
8:20 AM reads on my new pink digital watch. I head to my locker before class begins. A small white folded piece of paper sticks out of my blue metal locker. I grab the paper; I then hear hysterical laughter from the other end of the hall.
A couple of the guys from the basketball team have gathered around the other Brandon’s locker… Brandon Smidt. People call Brandon Smidt the class clown. Nausea creeps up inside. A strong yank on my arm spins me in the next direction. Its James pulling me down the hall.
“Oh my gosh, Jollene please don't kill me. I am so sorry!” James says.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Okay, so yesterday when you told me to give the note to Brandon, I didn't know which Brandon, so I gave it to Brandon Smidt, and well…ummm he read the note out loud in the boys change room…and Brandon Daley was standing right there.” James explains.
A cold hard lump grows in my throat. The bell rings. The crowded noisy hallway empties, James with his head down mouths the words “I’m sorry” and scurries off to class. I stand alone. Little time passes before I hear someone shuffling through the halls.
“Shit, I’m late for class,” the voice says as Brandon Daley comes around the corner.
We lock eyes for a moment. In any other situation us being alone in the hallway would have been a dream come true; but not today. His expression goes from shocked to happy to slightly embarrassed. He looks at the note in my hand and hurries off to class.
I forgot about the note I took out of my locker right before James interrupted me. A stiff fist with pieces of white paper sticking out of both sides. I slowly open my hand, uncrumple and unfold the note. Five simple black words stand out, they read “I feel the same way.” Below those five words, a signature appears: Brandon D.
I spend my math class re-reading the note. I read it so many times. Brandon Daley likes me? He really likes me? What do I do now?
After lunch I head back to my locker. Brandon Daley stands at my locker. He’s holding another note.
“Ummm hey, I been waiting for you, I mean I just stopped by your locker to drop something…”
I interrupt his stuttered explanation with a shy smile and nervous laughter. Brandon laughs too. His perfect teeth lined by his soft pink lips as they arch up into a smile.
“Well, anyways, I just wanted to give you something.” Brandon hands me the note he had been holding along with a pen. “You can open it in front of me,” he says.
I open it and read “Will you go out with me?” the words say. In this note there are three boxes, each with their own heading. One box reads, “Yes,” another reads “Of course” and the last reads, “Yes, of course.”
I smile and respond; “not much of an option,” Brandon shrugs.
“Yes, of course” I say.
