Morning came too early and too cold as Carson fought against the scream in her muscles to get out of bed. Dressing through muscle memory with half-lidded eyes, she dragged a brush through her hair and zombie-walked outside in perfect timing for Colin to pull up in his mom’s Subaru. She tossed in her backpack and eased into the heated seat.
“Man,” she sighed, relishing the warmth travelling up from her backside, “These are hella tight.” Mmmhmm, Colin nodded earnestly as he checked for traffic before veering back into the street. She continued, “In ten minutes I’ll have convinced myself I peed my pants, but for now, heaven.” Pulling up to a stop sign, Colin gestured to the coffee cup in the cupholder at Carson’s knee. “My hero!” Carson squealed, kissing her hand and then smacking Colin’s shoulder. Curling around the steaming cup, she propped her feet on the dash and sunk even further into the passenger’s seat. “Sooooo,” Carson said, blowing absently into her coffee, “what’s up?” “Nope,” Colin replied, cranking the stereo, “After Bowie.” With an impatient groan, Carson open the waxed bag holding her fresh croissant. She tore off the first bite and tossed it at her friend, who expertly snatched it from the air without taking his eyes from the road, and she started to munch away as they moved towards school. Colin tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music and adjusted his Buddy Holly-esque glasses at every stop sign and traffic signal. Clad in an earth tone plaid button down and well-fitted khakis, Colin did not look the part of the slam-dancing gutter punk enthusiast he was. The gauges in his earlobes, narrow though they were, would be the only indication to a stranger that Colin was anything but a vanilla square. Throw flip flops on the boy and he could’ve been plucked from a Dave Matthews concert. His attention to detail to avoid attention had long ago garnered him the nickname The Senator. Carson harbored a deep hope that Colin would, in fact, enter into politics, if only to give a platform to his remarkably well-researched and devoid-of-conspiracy-theory ideas about disassembling “the establishment” and creating a true equality of opportunity. He could truly become a twenty-first century Robin Hood if he wanted. David Bowie was still crooning about Mars as they pulled into the senior parking lot in front of the fine arts building. Colin threw the gear shift into park and turned in his seat to look at Carson head on before screwing his mouth to the side and huffing through his nose. “Ok,” Carson’s eyes got big, “What? You’re scaring me.” “Our buddy has a crush,” Colin sipped from his own cup, which Carson knew without knowing was hot chocolate with a shot of espresso. Uggghhh, she grumbled into her palms, fingertips curled into her hairline. After huffing her own sigh and taking a long pull from her coffee, she finally looked at Colin, “So you saw that, too?” “Oh, you know?” he asked, “How astute of you. So, will you talk to her for him?” “Huh?” Carson shook her head slightly as if trying to shake a veil of misunderstanding. “I know it’s kind of middle-school-ish, but you know how he--” “Wait,” she held her hand up, “Who are you talking about?” “Anna Marie.” “Anna Marie? My friend, Anna Marie? Anna Marie Baptiste, Anna Marie?” “Yeah,” it was Colin’s turn to lower his eyebrows in question, “What are you talking about?” “Nothing,” Carson waved off his inquiry, “Who has a crush on Anna Marie?” “Andrew. Who did you think I was talking about?” “Nobody. Nothing. You want me to do what?” “You know. Talk to her. Do whatever girl stuff you guys do. Make her see his handsome charm or whatever.” “Colin,” Carson laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, “What, exactly, about the past decade makes you think that I know how to do that?” “Oh yeah,” Colin chuckled, “Forget it. You’d definitely screw it up. Probably end up turning her against all men. Not into a lesbian, mind you, just totally asexual. Nun-like.” Carson landed a playful punch on Colin’s shoulder and spotted Holly sauntering towards the car in a gray peacoat, a floppy beret, and knee high leather boots that were more equestrian than rock-n-roll. Flowing blonde hair framed her rosy cheeks, which peaked into a grin when she made eye contact with Colin through the windshield. Carson kicked open the car door and gathered her belongings before swinging her legs out of the car, “I’ll talk to her. I mean, I’ll try my best.” “Word. Thanks, dude. Don’t be obvious.” “Me?!” Carson feigned offense as she exited the vehicle to make space for his girlfriend, “I’m totally a master of inconspicuous sneak...er...y...ism.” “Yeah,” Colin smirked, “and clearly a master of the English language, too.”
1 Comment
Leah
11/13/2018 07:37:17 pm
I love this beyond words can explain. You're really good at painting a picture with words!
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AuthorMs. Jopling teaches English at Broadway High School, eats an unseemly amount of cheese, and laughs as often as possible. Archives
November 2017
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