A/N: I'm not really sure about this. It's going to end up as another high school cliché, which is always fun. Just tell me what you think. If anyone likes it I'll continue.
He was sitting at his locker like he always does during his free. I say always because I always made point to pass by during Chemistry. Sometimes he sits with a vast group of people, like an audience surrounding him. But today it's just him and his friend that he's always with, whatever his name was, and he was playing a harmonica. It's slow an deep and I wonder how long he'll be able to keep it up before a hallway proctor comes and tells him to stop. But I hope he can play for a while because it sounds good. It's soothing. You usually didn't see a guy sitting against a locker playing a harmonica. And that's probably part of the reason I liked him. And I did have an appreciation for his punk look, a healthy balance of tight pants and concert tees. And that way his blonde hair fell in wisps over his eyes. Green eyes. Few things could make me swoon like a pair of green eyes on a guy.
I kept my feet in motion, passing the pair by the lockers by, my eyes didn't leave him until I was directly in front of them then, of course, I looked ahead lest it seem like I really was looking at him. But before I my daily ritual could complete it's course I was stopped.
I looked at them both, unsure of who had spoken. Could my crush have spoken his first words to me and I have missed it because I was too busy trying to look aloof?
"What?" And needless to say, my first word to him was as eloquent as a befuddled toddler.
"I was asking if you thought Dylan was better as a folk singer or rock musician." He doesn't move his harmonica from his mouth and he mouth isn't moving. That's because he isn't the one talking to me. I refocus my attention on his friend next to him. He looks expectant. I'm sure I'll do nothing short of disappointment.
"…" I can't believe I can't formulate a coherent sentence especially concerning Bob Dylan. I was a Dylan aficionado. Probably the most well versed concerning all things Dylan in the entire school. And now I just seemed like a damn fool.
"Don't you work at that radio station? The classic rock one…" And finally he speaks. It's the voice I've been waiting to hear for so long. And it's just as I expect it; deep and throaty. I'm so caught up in his voice that I almost disregard that he knows where I work. Me. And I thought he didn't know who I was. "… that's what you said, right?" He turns to his friend. Well, he didn't know, it was just his friend. That's okay, not like I actually expected him to know anything about me.
"Yeah I work at The Standard, intern there, really. About Dylan, you really can't judge him on those two fronts just on face value. I mean folk was his root his start and his sound just evolved into rock, the more mainstream. It's not really that objective…" I'm pretty sure I'm still babbling on about Dylan and I have no idea what I'm saying at this point when I find myself again I'm telling them my favorite Dylan song "… and I really don't believe that whole thing how "Just Like a Woman" is about Edie Sedgewick, that's crap. Anyway, I'm more partial to the folk infused rock period. Personally." I'm sure my face is red now. I'm blushing so painfully my neck is burning. I'm such a loser.
He finally lowers his harmonica. "Shit. You know a lot."
All I can offer is a modest shrug.
"It's blowing my mind right now." I wanted to say I could blow his mind in a thousand other ways but I held that little comment back.
"Well, I should get back to class…" I said as I walked on. I let out a long sigh as soon as I was a few steps away from them. Had that really happened? Had I just spoken to him? Or rather, had I lectured him on how you couldn't really objectify Dylan's work as folk and rock separately? I thought I heard one of them call me but I wasn't sure and I wasn't confident to look back or pause if they hadn't. But footsteps behind me confirmed my suspicions.
A hand on my shoulder. "Wait, what's your name?" It's the friend, not him. I resist the urge to tell him off because I had no interest in him.
Nonchalance works just a well, "Mae." I walk on. I don't need to know his name. And I walk back to my class just like I do everyday.
But it's not everyday because I didn't just get to walk by as an anonymous girl. The cycle is off, my routine has a fault. Now he knows my name. And all because his stupid best friend had to ask me about Bob Dylan.
I find myself in Chemistry the next day facing a decision I'd never had to give a second thought to; do I walk by him at his locker again?
Yeah… right? I mean just because his friend changed things up didn't change things between us… But who was I kidding, now that I knew he was aware of my existence would he think it odd that I pass by this locker the next day at the same day?
Did guys read into things like this? Was I over analyzing?
Of course I was because I over think everything. I get excused from the class and walk the same way I do everyday, down the stairs, left at the vending machines, and into the small quite hallway where he usually sat.
But wasn't there. And I get mad at myself for getting annoyed that he's not there. Like my day is completely ruined if he's not. It really shouldn't be but it does put a damper on it. Is this pathetic? I ask myself. And I know the answer—yes, yes it's pitiful how small my life is when it gets to the point where a guy sitting at his locker can make or break my day. I need somewhere to go anyway, since I've been allowed five minutes out of class. I slowly amble to my own locker which was also in the basement. I open it and figure it needs to be organized, badly. My wistful organizational thinking is blown away by the boy next to me.
"Hey Mae." It's his best friend. Not him. For some reason I think I could allow my bad mood to be on his account. "That has a nice ring to it, hey Mae." He sings it.
"Can I help you?" I said coolly.
"Just stopping by to say hello." He peers into my locker. Rudely, I think.
"Okay, well you said 'hello', is that all?" I'm sure I'm coming off as a bitch at this point. Too bad he doesn't seem to get it.
He has a slow smile, I notice. It starts with his mouth- lips slowly moving up to grin to the single dimple on his right cheek, and the smile ends with his eyes. Brown eyes. "Not really, can't we chat?"
I give him a quizzical look. I didn't want to talk to him. This wasn't the boy I wanted at my locker examining the pictures and singing my name.
"I really don't know you." Maybe he'll take the hint.
"What do you want to know?" He doesn't take the hint and his eyes dance with playfulness. I don't want a boy at my locker with playful brown eyes. I want the boy with deep green eyes.
"Not a thing." I slam my locker.
"Do you always go to your locker during third period?" And I'm caught. I guess someone did notice my daily presence in the hall during third period. Just not the right somebody. And probably not for the right reasons.
"Why?" I snap. I don't move or walk on, which is against my better judgment.
He's smirking. "I don't know, I just usually see you. And you don't seem like the type to cut class or go to your locker to do makeup… so?"
"I just hate Chemistry." I lie and walk on. But he keeps up with me.
"Me too. I'm practically failing."
"No, I'm not failing, it's just too easy. The class moves so slowly I need to get out sometimes." And that was partially true, it was easy for me. And I did need to leave the room but only because I needed to see his best friend.
He smiled in an 'I-can-see-right-through-your-story-but-I-won't-make-a-big-deal-out-of-it' way. "I'm Logan." He says, seemingly from nowhere.
"I know." I lie again.
"Okay." And we're at the dreaded conversational impasse. Which I don't mind in this case considering I haven't made the slightest attempted to converse with this boy. But he has and I find it irritating. "So you really don't like Edie Sedgwick?" He asks puzzlingly, to me at least.
Then I recall our brief exchange from the day before concerning Bob Dylan and his inspiration. "No not really…"
He shakes his head. "I wouldn't think so. To me you're more of a Twiggy." The boy turned the corner and was gone.
But I didn't want to be this boy's Twiggy.