A/N: This one-shot came to me in the middle of the night, right when I needed something to write.
Having art last period was something akin to having no class at all. It was nice to end the school day with joking and goofing off. Not that I did any of that – I mostly kept my face glued to my book. "Katie-Cat!" teased one of the boys in class, Jack. He playfully tapped my nose. I glanced up just long enough to stick out my tongue at him, but immediately returned my gaze to my book. Even with minimal interaction, I was a well-known and well-liked person around school. I got along with everyone; well, I got along with the people who had, at some point, in some way, gotten my attention and held it.
My mother once told me that I was like her, in that, I could never leave a book unfinished. It didn't matter if it rained or snowed. It didn't matter if there was dead silence or a classroom full of commotion – I just couldn't put a book down once I picked it up.
So, when the bell rang, I barely looked at the boy who handed me my jacket. My gaze rested on his long enough to be considered polite while I murmured, "Oh! How kind of you, thanks." I knew he had nodded in reply because I saw it from the corner of my eye.
Someone must have called his name, because the boy laughed and turned away.
"Katie!" called one of the girls I drove home after school. I grinned widely, closely my book tightly 'round my finger as not to lose my place. She was waving frantically, so I trudged over with a roll of my eyes to see what had her worked up into such a tissy. Any thoughts on the boy from before vanished, but if I had turned around, I would have seen him pausing, staring at me even while his friends surrounded him and vied for his attention.
"Mail for you, Katie," was the first thing I heard as I walked inside, closing the door to the sight of my mother holding out a letter. Her eyebrows were canoodling with her hairline; I could tell she was almost as curious about it as I was. The last time I'd gotten mail was when my crazy grandma wrote to tell me about her days as a soldier in the war, even though she'd never been in any war.
I wandered into the living room and curled up on the window-seat, partly to escape my mothers scrunity and partly because I always read sitting in this chair. With one chapter left, I fully intended to finish my book before I opened the letter. After a long minute, I sighed with the realization that I was reading the same page over and over. The envelope beckoned. Its stiff surface was completely blank, save for my name: KATIE. There wasn't even a stamp. Inside, a lone sheet of paper was folded with care, despite the paper having obviously been torn from a notebook.
Dear Katie,
You don't know me.
I don't mean to sound like a stalker, but you really don't know me... even though you probably should by now. You see, we used to ride the bus to grade school together. Remember that boy you talked to about Harry Potter and the ocean and the best way to make chocolate chip cookies? We were in the same class and I was sure we'd grow up being best friends. I figured we'd fall in love one day and get married.
Middle school started up and you began getting rides to school from your older sister. We had a few classes together each year – always more than one – and I sat next to you in all of them; even the assigned seating placed us side-by-side. Sometimes, we joked about silly things going on in class. I don't blame you for not noticing me... I was all arms and legs.
High school meant football, for me, at least. I was pretty sure you'd notice me then because, not to be cocky, most girls were noticing me then. You had EVERY class with me freshman year. We're seniors now and, well, with four months left to go until graduation, I'm getting pretty worried that you'll never notice me.
I know what you're thinking: there must be something about me that just... blends in, like camouflage, for you not to have noticed me through all of that. The problem with that is... it was just you – I'm loud, I'm opinionated, I have an in-your-face personality, and people tell me I'm quite charming.
So, here I am, rambling on pointlessly because I'm a bit nervous asking that you come over to my house so that I can introduce myself properly.
Signed,
Look out the window.
I immediately turned to the window, rising up on my knees. My book toppled over, as did the letter and its envelope, but I was fixated.
He was broad-shouldered with a mop of shaggy, brown locks and lightly-tanned skin. His lanky frame barely fit on the neighbors bay window, but with one leg folded-up and one dangling out-of-site, he managed to recline comfortably. I stared, wide-eyed, as he read a book and did not look over.
The only thought going through my head was, I didn't know the neighbors had a son. I thought it as I walked, frowning, to the neighbors house. I thought it as I raised my hand to knock. I thought it, still, when the same boy from the window swung the door wide open. I thought it as I thrust my hand forward and tried to make my heart stop beating so quickly.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, he stared at my out-stretched hand and flushed cheeks. The moment passed. With an astonished grin, he took my hand, pulled me forward and said, "Hi, my name is Jason Henderson."
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