The Not So Sweet Champagne Supernova

I honestly can’t say how it happened, but he picked me. Why on earth did he pick me? I don’t really know. And since there isn’t a college class yet on how boys think, I guess I’ll never find out. For now, I’ll just accept what he told me.

See, here’s how everything happened.

One day I was standing at my locker, staring at the messy content inside, wondering why I even bothered to open it up everyday. It wasn’t like I was going to find anything useful.

I was also waiting for my best friend, Britney Phillips, to come pick me up. Excuse me, I was waiting for her to graciously give me the ride I probably didn’t deserve. At least, that’s how it had gone all day between us. She was completely miffed at me for some reason, and whenever I said sorry for whatever it was I was supposed to have done, she wouldn’t talk to me.

Yet still I stood in front of my locker like a loyal puppy, desperately waiting for my ride. School may have been out for that cold January day, but if she didn’t pick me up it would mean another half-hour ride with sophomores and freshmen. I was a junior; therefore I should have had my own car by now. But I didn’t because my mom is cheap and “I’m sorry honey but we just can’t afford another car right now”. Yeah, and I bet she couldn’t afford that pair of Betsy Johnson heels, either.

I suppose people might say I have issues with my mother, but at least she gave me a nice name. My dad, who abandoned us the second I was signed out of the hospital on my fifth birthday, had wanted to name me Sophia. No thanks, dad.

Back to that confusingly fateful day though. There I was. Imagine me, Lillian Perez, standing in front of Wilson High School’s rust-red lockers. Me in my plain corduroy skirt (just above the knees), the grey and red rugby top from Old Navy’s clearance rack as of last spring, and the knockoff tan boots. Me, with the word “worry” slapped right across my forehead in big bold letters, telling everyone in my entire hall that I’m most likely not going to get a ride home from school.

Then, there’s a hush in the hallway. The worry might have eased on my forehead at that point, but I had no idea why it had gotten so quiet in the hallway.

I turned out, simply because I thought maybe a teacher was behind me or something, ready to call me out on the unheard of conditions in my locker, but no, it wasn’t a teacher behind me.

It was a big, buff, sweaty jock. Did I say jock? Well, he can’t really be considered a jock, when all he does is water polo. He can’t even get sweaty, now that I think of it. So why was he sweaty?

“Lillian?” Paul Jackson, the guy that every girl at Wilson High thinks is The One, asked me coyly. He had this triumphant smile on his face—oh, his face is handsome—and he was staring at…

Me? Wait a minute, I thought he was going out with Prissy or Missy or one of the popular girls I’d forgotten to catch up on, gossip-wise. Where were they?

“Y-Yeah?” I inquired, not quite sure what to think of him standing in front of me now. I mean, here he was, hands down the hottest guy in school, and he was talking to me. Plain Jane me.

“I heard you uh…you broke up with James Graham,” he finally managed to say the whole sentence and I almost felt a little ashamed of myself. Really, he took the time to keep up with gossip, yet I hadn’t the slightest clue what he was up to anymore. Our relationship dated all the way back to fifth grade when we first moved to St Paul, when Paul Garret pushed me down on the playground and Paul Jackson—Wilson’s nominated god of the year—slugged the other Paul in the face for me, saying it wasn’t nice to hit girls. (That’s a lot of Pauls, isn’t it?)

A little sexist? Kind of, but I thought it was sweet. After that day, I’ve always had a little more respect for Paul Jackson than the average jock. It just seemed natural, then, that I’d be a little more comfortable expressing my incredulousness to Paul on that day.

“Sorry, what?” I asked him, my eyes probably betraying me when I tried to keep a straight face. “Yeah, we broke up about a week ago, but I don’t see why you would…” I stopped there, partly because where I was going with that was innately rude territory. I glanced back at my locker, wishing I could just pull out my black wool coat without bringing down a stack of paperbacks with it.

See, I had been going out with this guy named James Graham for about two months before this whole thing happened. He was okay. He wasn’t particularly talented or handsome, but he liked me. I had unconsciously accepted being his girlfriend when, at some point between hugging me and trying to kiss me, he’d asked to be my boyfriend.

We broke up last week because he’d repeatedly talked about “pussy” in front of me, and I might be prude for saying this, but I hate that word. It makes me feel worthless, like I’m just this piece of meat to guys, and so I broke it off with him. James had already gotten over me anyway. It wasn’t like we’d been completely serious about each other. He was a repeat senior anyway.

Anyway, Paul just smiled at me broadly and stepped close. I swear if this had been a movie, the climax of the symphony song would be happening right then. His body, all buff and sweaty from some type of workout—I guess he had PE for his last class—looked amazing. His hair, dark brown and a little shaggy, framed his strong featured face perfectly. And finally, his surprisingly warm blue eyes gazed at me happily.

What had I done to make him look at me like that? I almost wanted to check my armpits, to make sure he wasn’t just laughing at me.

“I’m really sorry about your breakup,” he remarked in his low, husky tone. Did I mention Paul was pretty tall? He practically towered over me and my five foot three frame. “If you want, I’ll take you out tonight. You know, to get your mind off James?”

If I could’ve choked, I would have. But I couldn’t even breathe at the moment so I just stared back at Paul like he was crazy.

Luckily, Britney came stomping down the hall that very moment and dropped a few books right when she saw Paul Jackson, Water polo god of Wilson High School, holding my hands. My hands! She dropped her own jaw for me and rushed to my side, uttering a quick “hey” to Paul and then kicking one of my new knockoff boots.

That knocked enough sense into me and I glared at her before answering to Paul that yes, of course I’d like to go out tonight with him.

And that was how I became the girlfriend of the perfect guy. To this day I’ll never know what Britney was so mad at me about, but I think even she forgot when she saw Paul and me.

I honestly don’t know why Paul Jackson likes me. He says that ever since he saw me in fifth grade, on the ground and ready to cry, he’d had a crush on me. This year, he’d finally broken up with Missy Partridge around Halloween, and he finally decided to take his chance with me.

I kind of wish I liked Paul as much as he liked me. But the thing is, I don’t, and I never will.

Paul is the nicest, sweetest, most caring guy on the planet I think. He’s perfect in absolutely every aspect of life. He goes to church with his whole family—including cousins and second cousins, I’ve met them all by now—and he’s never had sex. Yeah, I was floored when he told me that too. I never expected Mr. Gorgeous to be a virgin. At first I wondered if he was gay, but no, it’s just because he wants to wait.

Want to wait, my ass…that’s part of the reason why I don’t think I can like him as much as he likes me.

He has two siblings, an older sister and brother. Both go to Minnesota State University, and he plans on going there, too. He’s never cheated on any of his girlfriends—amazingly the tally only goes up to three—and he’s never forgotten any of our anniversaries, whereas I forgot the first month anniversary and the sixth month on as well.

Paul Jackson is the most perfect guy I can think of on the entire planet. So perfect, in fact, that he shouldn’t have to date me. He shouldn’t even want to. I’m so far from perfect! Having him ask me out was like a personal blow to my heart; I wasn’t good enough, yet the hottest guy in school was asking me out.

What did he see in me?

Because towards the end of our relationship, I could hardly find anything good about me to deserve sticking with him.

XX