Alex Hope: Kissing Friends

We met in the second year of school at John C. Freemont High in Los Angeles, California. Coordinates: 33.97 degrees Longitude and 118.269 Latitude.

I encountered her after 5th period on my way to my friends. She’s sitting on a stone wall.

“You’re Sadie Collins, right?” I ask the girl who is looking at something on her uplifted knees.

The girl has fair-colored hair and pale—almost albino— skin. She’s wearing a black baseball hat and a grey hoodie, so I can’t see her eyes. She looks up from what I now realize is a book. Her hand is on the cover so I can’t tell what it’s called. I all I see is To Kil a ocki ird.

“Hey. Yeah, that’s me.” She replies in a melodic, honey-like voice.

“I’m Alexis Hope. I saw you here and thought you looked lonely so I figured I should come over here and introduce myself. You can just call me Alex if you prefer.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” she moves her legs to in front of her, facing me, “feel free to sit here.” She gestures to the spot next to her.

I smile and say, “thanks!”

“Of course.” She says, smiling back.

I take in her green eyes. Are those blue fragments in them? I notice that her pale-rose lips are slightly cracked; probably from the dry air.

I didn’t realize that it’s been a few minutes after we spoke until Sadie waves her hand in front of my face and says, “Alex? You still there?”, effectively snapping me back to reality.

I shake my head to refocus. “Yeah, sorry.” I apologize, “What were we talking about again?”

She shakes her head in disbelief, smiles, and says, “We were introducing ourselves.”

“Oh.”

“Well, what did you come over to me for?” She asks, not unkindly.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I saw that you were looking lonely, as I told you before.”

She tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” She says, on the verge of tears for an unexplicit reason, “I don’t have any friends here. I left all of them when my parents made me move here with them because of my dad’s new job.”

“I can be your friend,” I offer, trying to cheer her up, “if you want, that is.”

“You sure?” She asks, skeptically. “I’m not that cool. I mean, most of the popular girls are cheerleaders while I’m reading To Kill a mockingbird by Harold Bloom.” She holds it up so I can see the red and black cover with a white tree on it.

“I like that book.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s really good.”

“So, you don’t think I’m weird?” She asks, putting the book back onto her lap.

“I think you’re pretty.” I blurt out before I have time to think about it.

“What?” She asks, confused, and shocked.

“Sorry, I was thinking about someone else.” I lie, hastily.

She smiles a little. “So, you honestly don’t think I’m strange at all?”

“No. You might not be a cheerleader, but you’re cool in your own way.” I respond, genuinely believing what I said.

Her cheeks turn pink with warmth. “Aw! Thanks!”

“Of course.”

Your hair is really pretty.” She says out of the blue.

I comb my raven black hair with my hands. “Thanks!” I reply, smiling.

She returns the smile, “You’re welcome!”

After a minute of silence, Sadie says, “Hey,” taking out her phone, “Should we tale a picture of each other and save it to our phones so we can keep track of the day we met?”

“Sure!” I say, happily, “Let’s do it!”

“Great!”

I get into a pose I always use to look my best; I face to the side with my knees up.

She snaps a picture and then shows it to me when I turn again.

“I look great!” I say, “the lighting to the left side of me is perfect.”

“Thanks!” She says, smiling wider, “Your turn! Do me!”

“Okay,” I say, taking out my phone, “Get into position.”

She moves her legs where they are spread; probably trying to look gorgeous or something.

She doesn’t need to try; I think to myself as I take the photo.

I smile at the thought.

“What’re you smiling about?” She asks, moving her legs back into the original position.

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” She says, fixing her hair, which got messy when she took off her hat before the photo, “how do I look?”

I don’t need the picture to tell me how to answer.

“You’re very pretty,” I say, looking at her lips.

She blushes. “Really?”

“Mhm,” I confirm.

“I think you’re really pretty, too.”

I look at her eyes, which are dilating as she slowly inches closer to me, gauging my reaction.

I move my hair out of my face and a few seconds later, our lips meet.

“That’s detention, Ms. Hope.” Someone says to the left of us.

We quickly move away from each other.

We look at her.

Mrs. Trike is a mean-looking woman in her sixties. She doesn’t believe in lesbian love as you can probably tell.

She wears a black shirt and skirt and she sort of looks like a rat. I hate her. She hates everything I like and believe in; rap music, rock music, lesbian romance books, and of course, lesbian love.

I don’t know why she hates it. I mean, I know she’s religious and all, but seriously, I want to be able to live a little without judgment. I don’t want to have to believe in Adam and Eve if I choose not to.

“Ms. Collins, please follow me to my office. I want to talk to you alone.” She says.

Sadie slowly gets up from the wall and she turns to me after she puts her book in her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

The way she said it makes me suspect she’s angry with me; or at least upset that I got her in trouble.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Yeah, I know.” She responds, seemingly resentfully.

I look down shamefully, What did I do?

She walks away with the principle.

I’m left there, feeling bad for getting the new girl in trouble.