Victoria Hutcherson-Boult... That girl and I had a pretty crazy history. Back in the sixth grade she was new, having transferred from a French-Immersion program in another school. She was insanely pretty: she had short, sleek black hair, warm brown eyes, naturally tanned skin and perfect lips. Even at her young age, boys were in love with her – she was cool, and sporty, and beautiful. I sometimes wonder if she knew it at that age, because of all the people she could have talked to – I mean, anyone would have adored for her to just come up to them and have a chat – she chose me.

She had just been introduced to our class and our teacher spent the time before first recess to talk about how she was from a French school, would be playing on the soccer team, and we should “Treat her like Jesus would.” One of the differences between Catholic schooling and public schooling: What Would Jesus Do? Anyways, as we all gathered our light jackets from the hooks at the back of the class and filed out for break, she came up to me grinning and told me she liked my t-shirt.

“Pikachu’s my favourite Pokémon,” she told me.

I was a little caught off guard by her majesty speaking to me that I couldn’t help but agree that, “Yeah, he’s mine, too,” when, really, I had only gotten that shirt because they didn’t have one of my favourite Pokémon at the time, Bellossom. Now that I look back, I can shamefully say that wasn’t my best choice since Bellossom was Grass-Type (automatically making it useless to me) but that’s beyond the point. The point of it all was that we bonded that day over Pokémon – which surely should have been a sign that we’d have a great friendship.

Yeah, not really.

I soon found out she really only knew Pikachu because that was the most famous one, and never actually bothered to play the games. HOWEVER, THAT IS NOT THE REASON WE STOPPED BEING FRIENDS! In fact, we became really good friends; she was one of the people other than Sebastian whom I felt I could trust and I thought the safety of our friendship would help me confidently make friends in the future. But all through our friendship, there were things about her that really bugged me – traits that suggested she wasn’t as great as I thought she was – yet I couldn’t help but to ignore.

She was greedy: she didn’t want me befriending other people she was friends with, yet made desperate attempts to take Sebastian from me, as he was the only person that was close to me and me only. She didn’t like me listening to “her music” and if I did, she always had to make subtle remarks about how she “discovered them first.” All in all, she was a glory hog and enjoyed it whenever she could get it.

She was judgemental: she would tell me negative things about people in an attempt to barricade me from liking them in any way. Once, I mentioned this new guy in my math class who was adorable (like a puppy) and without a beat, she told me, “Oh I HATE that kid” and I couldn’t help but wonder: how can you hate someone you just met? When you’re Victoria, I guess it just came naturally.

She always had to be right: I guess this point ties in with her prejudicial issues, but she constantly told me, “Don’t be friends with that Ada girl! She’s so annoying!” So I didn’t talk to her until the next semester – and as soon as Ada was my friend, of course Vickie would try to be hers, too. “I never said she was annoying! She’s totally cool.” And when an argument came up between us, as soon as I’d prove why I was right, she’d end with, “Nope, you’re wrong and you just don’t want to admit it.” How about looking in a mirror, love?

She was not what a friend should be: when I needed her most, she offered no sympathy. She ridiculed me in front of other people in subtle ways –whispering to the others “Quick – run before she comes back” was her favourite thing to do. She adored power, she loved when people thought she was great; like Janet in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, she tasted blood and she wanted more.

It was funny how our “friendship” turned from a democracy to a dictatorship. She criticized me, helped me none and used me to climb her social ladder; when people looked at the two of us, the most they could think was, “Why is someone so amazing/cool/beautiful/funny like Vickie hanging out with such a loser? Wow, she must be such a nice person!” But despite all the maltreatment, I stuck with her until high school, and then some, but it was there that I met other people, and she did the same. I realized all those years spent on her were wasted.

Alas, like the greatest of rewards still host many problems, her involvement in my life didn’t end even after I had severed all ties with her. The problem with people that deceptive was that they always found some way to get people to think they’re wonderful, saintly people. People would bring her up in sophomore year and at my shrugs of “I don’t give a fuck” they’d spew some false empathy and go, “You aren’t friends anymore? You guys used to be so close!” and expect me to pour my heart out so they’d have another piece of this mysteriously forgotten relic to add to the box in their brains labelled “GOSSIP”.

Out of all my friends – ALL of them – Sebastian is the only one who hates Vickie as much as I do. Meredith likes her, Oliver likes her, and so does the entire class of my year; and if someone doesn’t like her, she’d make them. Take Ada, for example: after all the horrible things Vickie spread to everyone (lies and slander that Ada didn’t care much for) she “doesn’t mind” the bitch as a person. Half of me feels like I’ve discovered a huge misconception and the other half feels a bit lonely just because it’s Seb and me against the world – or at least the school.

School was so much more eventful now that I knew things about Connor. I’d see him in the halls and he’d wink at me, I wasn’t overly meek when I walked around, I was more confident with people, and I barely even worried about seeing Oliver. I don’t know if this is a normal, “new friend made” feeling that anyone gets, but chances are I probably have a crush on him. Either that or I’m infatuated but don’t know what real love is. That’s probably true, but at least he was wonderful – at least I came to school with something to look forward to, and a person to constantly shove a silly smile to my face.

That is, until the next week.

The whole of Monday went amazing, as usual (or at least that was where the bar was set for my days, what with the repetition of their great bliss). At the end of it, I stepped down the stairs glad that this was only the first day of the week and I had four more days and nights to talk to Connor – we didn’t usually speak on weekends. Sebastian, Meredith, Ada and the rest usually hung out near the back stairwell and exit, loitering with the school until we were ushered to leave, so it was common that I meet up with them there. Proper after-school arrangements could be made then.

It was not an uncommon thing for Vickie to pop by and talk to the same group of friends I did – like I said, only Sebastian and I had shown signs of true disgust towards her – but it was this particular day that bugged me. I was just standing with Ada and Seb – laughing about God-knows-what – when I heard this familiar, loud voice cut near, perking my interest.

“Olly!” she said his name like he was a little mutt walking along the road. “Come here, Olly! Who’s a good boy? You are!” I looked away in disgust as I saw her wrap her arms around his neck and stand on her toes. As he passed our group to go to the exit, I saw him glance at me – the emotion in his eyes was unreadable and his face was void of any obvious facial contortions. It was a quick glance, but it was amazing how much our eyes and brains can process in only a second.

For one thing, he looked the same as I remembered him from summer: an inch or two above my five-foot-six, with a head of messy, caramel hair – almost brown, almost blonde. One of those kids with mixed cultural backgrounds, he was parts Irish and Polish, but mostly French – freckles splattered his arms but his airy way of talking was distinctly of that general seductive country. Sometimes, when he spoke his words would hang in the air with his thoughts, like they probably did all the time when he lived back in Quebec, the primary French-speaking province of Canada. As I’d mentioned before, he was a natural swimmer, an award winner with the swim team and a formidable opponent should you ever face him in an endurance swim – of course this would explain his toned, fit build that wasn’t over-the-top with muscles. He was charming, and his awkward smiles endearing – no wonder he had so easily swept me off my feet. I’m not one for cheesy phrases, but spending time with him was a head fuck.

“Suddenly, Connor seems far more ... ‘deja vu’ doesn’t he?”

I shook the thought from my head with a scowl but I guess it was true. Exactly what I had felt with Oliver is what I felt with Connor now (if not more, to be honest). I’d talk to Oliver late at night, we’d hang out in the summer doing nothing at all, he was a gentleman (of course, his parents were definitely well off) and he made me feel like I could take on anything because if anything every went wrong, he’d be there to support me – if ever Sebastian was too far out of reach for me, I could turn to Olly. He was, in a way, my motivation for every day – the reward for another day well-lived.

As I dazedly watched his backpack as he pushed out the back doors, I was plagued with memories and thoughts of the way things were. It’s such a morbid thought, isn’t it? Something that was so familiar was now so foreign and I was left here trying to remember what it felt like to feel something like that, again. After we ceased communications, I always wondered if he meant the things he told me, all those little promises made in the wee hours before dawn, when the sleep deprivation made us drunken and yet the buzz of communication kept us awake to recite our innermost without fear of exploitation or judgement. Though, as with any drunken confessions, you can never know if the truth was said – and it isn’t so easy to just ask if he meant it.

But my good mood had already deflated by the time the French boy was out of sight and Sebastian and I started walking. He hadn’t been as moody as he was the last week, but now he was like a mirror to reflect my mood. He wasn’t the type of person to openly say bad things about a person, since he didn’t believe in that sort of discussion, so I didn’t expect him to vocalize any of his emotions to me. But about halfway to my house, he spoke – and if he took all that time to formulate words like I knew he would, then I prepared myself for a great speech.

“So you never really got over Oliver, did you?” he asked.

“I’m completely over him.” I spat a little more poisonously than I should have, but he paid no mind. He looked at me, his wide eyes contradicting me in a way that screamed, “If you were over him, then why did you spend so long just looking at him?” but he didn’t verbalize these feelings because I’d only retaliate and make the situation worse. He continued on.

“So you tell yourself that you don’t care about them, or what they do,” he paused to lick his lips against the cool wind that made me dig my hands into my pockets. “But in reality, you can’t really go that far to say. No matter how they may have hurt you, you still hold some place for them in your heart however small you might tell yourself that space is. For example, even though you hate Victoria from all she’s put you through, and your sudden realization of such, you still would never wish death or misfortune upon her, would you?” He cut his pause short, not allowing me time to answer, as if he saw the fists balling up in my pockets. ”No, I know you and you’re better than that, but I don’t trust the judgements you’d make in anger. But with all reasoning, you still had good times with her and if she didn’t turn out to be such a villain, you’d enjoy those moments in memory.” He paused for breath, and to reorganize his thoughts once more, like a speaker on a stand looking over his cue cards again.

“The same goes for those you fancy, but to a somewhat higher degree. Somewhat, though, because when you look back on this moment later on in life, you probably won’t feel like this whole crush process was a big deal. But, anyways, when you have a crush on someone, the mixture of serotonin and dopamine and adrenaline – it gives you the sort of high that drug users constantly seek. It’s such a valuable feeling, but knowing exactly how it makes us feel makes us exaggerate our emotions and call it love.” If I wasn’t paying attention, I wouldn’t have noticed his voice drop the smallest of pitches. “But it’s not love, it’s just a teenage phase. You don’t need to worry about Oliver, or Connor, or whomever your hormones may drive you to lust after, because the scariest thing I think about life is –” Sebastian exhaled and took another breath in, it was shaky either by the weather or by the stroke of genius he was on. “The scariest thing about life is that I believe no matter what decisions we make today, our futures are set in stone and it’s up to fate...It’s up to fate to decide how we lead our lives. Can you imagine it? This year – no, this chapter of our lives is focused on us and building our future and learning this base for our education so we can be successful. But then, in this next chapter of our lives, after we’ve gotten our career paths chosen, we’ll find that perfect someone that we may have known for ages, or had never met before, and we’ll marry them. Just think, the person you were created to love is walking around the same ground you are and you don’t notice him. But, yeah, this next chapter of our lives is spent finding this perfect harmony between caring for ourselves and caring for them, and then caring for children, and suddenly you’re your parents – you’ve got to make all the decisions, and you’ve got to learn how to teach these kids to walk, and speak, and do algebra, and understand how lack of serotonin in the brain causes depression – you have to do all of that stuff!”

He stopped talking and I looked at him, he was shaking. He had never opened up to me like that – or at least not in a while. He rarely spoke of his personal philosophy but the complexity of his words, contrasting with the fact that I understood what he had meant to say so well. His appearance made me want to cry – the situation and the fact he had held so many years of thinking from me. He shocked me with a smile.

“I remember when we met – it was ten years ago but it doesn’t seem that long ago! It really makes me think how time moves so fast.” I was glad to see him brighter after that morbid conversation. “Anyways, the point of this is that I know how you feel. I was, and still (sort of) am in that situation and I tell myself all those little facts about dopamine, and all the simple, scientific reasoning behind even the most confusing of human emotions – love – but sometimes I don’t have the patience for common sense – even if it might save me. I don’t have any more patience then than I would have if I had three minutes to jump from a cliff and someone told me to use primary trigonometric ratios to calculate the distance between myself and a ledge to potential safety.

“But I want you to have all of those facts, just in case you need them – in case you’re able to use common sense to reason yourself out of this foolish mess that is teenage romance, because I’m afraid this stupid heart of mine won’t stop begging for more than it can have, and my brain can’t keep up with the urgency of its beating.”

Although his language was beyond my own, I was used to the poetic, beautiful way with which he spoke. His friendship was a gift that Victoria would never appreciate if she got the chance – thank God she didn’t, and hopefully never would.

“So does that mean you still like Seth?” I asked him, finding the voice to speak, though I cursed how abrupt my voice was, compared to his.

Seb’s eyes were the clearest windows to the soul there ever were; no matter what he was saying or doing, you could clearly see his emotion clearly in his eyes. He was like a fawn, and when he looked at me, I saw sorrow reflected in them. “Yeah,” he answered, finally.

Seth was this boy in my English class last year – he had auburn hair like I did when I was younger and hazel eyes. His cheeks were gaunt, but I wasn’t sure if this model-esque feature was natural, or because he was a smoker; he didn’t chain smoke, but he averaged a pack of cigarettes every two to three months. He was one of those badass types who didn’t rebel, but made their mockery against figures of authority by doing extremely well in school without bothering to care or attend most classes. He had small tattoos hither and thither and spacers in his ears too small to fit my pinkies in – but he looked like a model and it wasn’t much of a surprise to me when Sebastian told me of his crush. It didn’t work out, though; Seth didn’t want a public relationship – he hadn’t admitted his sexuality to a soul. I didn’t like the sadness that overwhelmed my friend after – he was sombre and more quiet than usual, like when his kitten died in the fourth grade.

At my door, I gave him another long hug before he left and I went into my house. He always gave the best hugs.

Labels: nanowrimo