AM
HM

OMG!! Tis a miracle!! This wasn't written for a writing contest! O.O

No, this is based on a dream I had two nights ago. Holy Snickers, it was amazing. Katz, if you read this, you'll get a better explanation of the dream than the one I gave you at lunch yesterday...

Anyway, this is a dream I had about a boy named Jordan who goes to school with me. I would've used his name, except that I already have a character named Jordan. So I made it Joshua. - nod - Anyway, I'm a little obsessed with him, even though I shouldn't be, because I just got back together with my boyfriend two nights ago. But I can't help what I dream, now can I?

So excuse the fluffiness of this. It was a dream, so it's going to be weird. But not as weird as some. There's no giant blue tomatos or anything like that in it...And I wrote this all in one shot, in about two hours last night. So I could barely keep my eyes open as I did so, because it was, like, eleven o'clock.

Enjoy. Please R&R.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked over my younger sister’s shoulder as she sat huddled over a notebook.

“Oh, come on, Caitlyn. Can’t you just leave me alone for this once?” She wasn’t all that much younger than me, but her normal attitude usually made her seem more threatening than her normal, fourteen-year-old self. I guess that’s why I was suspicious when my mom dropped her off at a poetry seminar-class thing. I’d decided to come along and “observe,” but it really meant “make sure my Maggie isn’t doing anything illegal with the poetry class as a cover story.”

“Fine,” I pouted, and turned to cross the room and take a seat on the other side. The whole class was in there: teens who wrote poetry and wanted to have a class on it. It was weird to see all the different types that had shown up: There was the Goth corner, the dork corner, the shy kid corner. Others, too. Like my corner, where everyone not involved with the class was sitting. We were mostly waiting for the trip the class was going to be taking that day, to see a Shakespeare play performed at the playhouse.

After a few minutes, I got bored again and decided to go say hi to Maggie again. She would get angry, but she wouldn’t roar anything out at me because she hated it when anyone drew attention to themselves.

“Oh, what are you writing about now?” I said when I reached her. I placed my elbows on the back of her chair and leaned on them.

“Caitlyn!” Okay, so I was wrong. She hated it when anyone other than herself drew attention to themselves. “Go away!”

Satisfied that everyone was now looking at us due to her outburst, I turned to return to my seat. Another few minutes later, the instructor entered the room and quieted everyone. She was a slightly pudgy woman, with cropped brown hair and a loud voice that cut through any remaining chatter.

“The bus will arrive in a few minutes,” she announced. “Please be ready to board.” She was the English teacher at the local high school, so she knew how to handle students and field trips. And people listened to her, because she was well-liked.

I tuned her out as she continued giving directions to her students. Directly across the room from me, there was a poster hanging on the wall that read, The most important thing you can give someone is a chance. I stared at it, taking in the swirling greens and blues, daydreaming. It sort of clashed with the red walls of the room, but it was something to look at.

There was a tap on my shoulder that drew me back to reality. Joshua Hampton knelt on the carpet beside my chair and grinned up at me, saying, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said in response, keeping my voice quiet, like his.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking up at me through his dark brown hair. His hazel eyes were ones I always loved seeing, even if I could tell no one.

I pointed. “My sister’s over there. I’m keeping an eye on her. What about you?”

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head. “Not here for the poetry, unfortunately. I’m helping my dad with props for the play. I came down here to see if we left anything behind during the last practice session.”

“And?” I pressed. I was inwardly jumping for joy that he was talking with me. He was sort of in my group of friends at school, although on the outer circles. But I still talked to him some when I got up my nerve to. Never alone, though.

He shrugged. “Nothing’s here. So I’m going back. You want to come with me? I promise your sister will be okay.”

I grinned. “Sure.” Any chance to be alone with him.

“Come on.” He led me out of the room and down a hall, then out the front door and into the late afternoon sun. A white station wagon awaited us, its back filled with scraps of wood and other half-finished props.

“So you’re not interested in poetry?” Joshua asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

I laughed half-nervously. “I can’t write poetry to save my life.”

“The class is meant to improve your skills,” he pointed out. At a stop light, he leaned close to me. “But to tell the truth, I’d be dying with you.” His grin was contagious.

At the playhouse a few minutes later, he led me inside the building and through a maze of hallways to the backstage area. I had never been in any type of backstage area, so I kept close to him to keep from getting lost. People were bustling around, making last minute preparations to the stage and costumes, orders were being shouted out by the director and Joshua’s father.

Joshua let me peak out the curtain at the slowly-filling seats, and I realized I never knew how large the place was. There were two empty rows at the very front, probably reserved for the poetry class.

“My dad said I couldn’t have any up-front seats this time, because it’s going to be a big show.” He was peering out at the audience, his face just over my left shoulder. I realized he smelled good. “I get whatever’s left over.”

“I never thought you the Shakespeare type,” I commented, letting the curtain fall back into place and turning to face him.

He shrugged again. “I can’t help it. But right now, we need to get off the stage before someone gets on our asses. Believe me, I’ve been thrown out before.”

We escaped down the side stairs and walked up the aisle between the sections of seats together. The crowd was mostly middle-age people, some on the elderly side. The normal Shakespeare crowd. The ones that had a respect for the man. I saw no one I knew, but it didn’t bother me.

Out in the lobby, we watched the people coming in from the safety of a bench at the side of the room. We had to wait for everyone to get in and the doors to close before we could get seats. The bus with the poetry class arrived, and they filed through the door to the lobby, then the one to the actual theatre.

At long last, the doors to the lobby closed, and Jordan and I went through the ones to the theatre before they too were closed. We found two seats in the left section, and sat down together. We were about three-quarters of the way back from the stage, but at least we were in.

The lights dimmed and the crowd grew quiet. As the stage lights came on, Joshua pulled out a box of candies he’d snuck into his pocket. “Want one?” he asked, offering the box. I took one and unwrapped it, popping it into my mouth. The curtain opened and the play began.

The play was Cyranno DeBergerac, and the people who had written it for the theatre had put some humor in it involving nose antics on Cyrrano’s part. The play was completely new to me, so I had no idea of what it was about until the plot began. Then I realized what would happen almost immediately. But it was an interesting play nonetheless.

About halfway through, there was a fifteen minute interlude. Joshua and I didn’t want our seats to be stolen when the crowd returned, so we stayed where we were and secretly ate the candies he had brought. We talked amiably about our summers and going back to school. We had another few days of freedom, then we were locked into 180 days of learning, which neither of us were looking forward to.

When the break was over, the lights dimmed again and the curtain reopened. The actors came back out, still dressed in their elaborate fifteenth-century costumes. Over the break, I had lost the plot and feel of the play, so I was less interested this time. Signing, I put my arm on the arm rest and scooted down in my seat to a more comfortable angle.

A few minutes later, I still wasn’t as interested in the play as I had been the first half. Cyrrano’s antics were getting repetitive and boring, which was part of the problem. But it was also because I could never get back into anything after stopping it in the middle and returning a few minutes later.

I heard Joshua rustle beside me, then he put his hand on mine. Just like that, it was there. My breath caught at the thought that he had done it on purpose, but then I realized he probably just wanted to use the arm rest. So why hadn’t he moved his hand yet?

I looked over at his face, and he looked back at me, the faintest smile on his lips as he examined my face. He gave me hand a squeeze.

So he really did mean it.

With my heart fluttering wildly, I twisted my hand beneath his and slid my fingers between his. I was holding hands with Joshua Hampton. Wow. But what did it mean? I’d never been a relationship before. I always thought I wasn’t pretty enough to have a boyfriend. I really wished I had my friend with me to tell me what to do next.

He smiled at me and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, causing my heart to beat so loudly I thought it would disrupt the play. Now that we had changed position, I couldn’t focus on the play at all. I only felt Joshua’s hand in mine, his thumb trailing up and down mine. It was a nice feeling, too. Way better than some corny play written by some dead guy who wrote sonnets to other men.

We had talked enough to become friends, both at the theatre and at school. So what if he liked me? Like, really liked me? Would it be so bad? No, it would be wonderful. As long as he wasn’t pulling some sick joke on me. But I doubted that. He wasn’t the type to play jokes that cruel.

Around us, people laughed at one of Cyrrano’s antics, but I was quickly stiffening up as I fought to find something to do next. What was there to do? I had no idea. Was I supposed to do anything?

The movement of his thumb began going out of its rhythm, and I looked over at Joshua to see what was wrong, if anything. He was watching me again, an unreadable expression on his face. I suddenly wanted the play to be over so I could talk to him again. I wanted to hear his voice again.

Before I knew what was going on, he closed the gap between us and kissed me gently.

I hadn’t expected the kiss, but I wasn’t going to deny it. It was amazing, but that may be because it was my first kiss. I could taste the fruit flavor of a candy still lingering on his lips. Once, twice, three times he kissed me, and I tried my hardest to know what I was doing as I kissed him back.

When our mouths separated, he only pulled back an inch or so and stared into my eyes. It was my turn to smile at him, but as I moved in for another kiss, the audience began applauding the end of the play. Joshua pulled away completely as he gathered the candy wrappers from his lap, shoving them into his pocket as he stood.

We snuck out before anyone else could in order to avoid the crowd. Joshua grabbed my wrist once we got outside and pulled me around the side of the playhouse.

“Wow,” he said, and I could see the light blush in his cheeks.

I reached up and gently brushed the hair from his face. “Joshua, you didn’t--”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted, his voice quiet with embarrassment. “For a little while now.”

“Would you do it again?” I asked. He understood what I meant and leaned in to kiss me again.

I was kissing Joshua Hampton. Wow. So much better than simply holding hands with him. My mind was racing and reeling at the same time from his kiss, and I didn’t register any type of emotional feeling until later that night.

We had to stop after a few minutes, because he had to drive me back to the room the poetry class had come from so I could go home. We arranged to have dinner together that Friday night, so I went home happy. That day, I had gotten my first kiss and my first boyfriend. I looked forward to keeping him, too. But even if I lose him some day, he’ll always be my first.

A few notes to myself in case I forget the dream: Woke up after kiss; no hand-holding

Yeah. That was it. It was really weird, too, because I actually felt it. I was glowing when I woke up. - laughs - I guess I'd better stop obsessing over Jordan...

Anyway, please R&R.