Chapter Text
Weird things happen when you’re in high school. My mother has been drilling the idea into my head that the teenage years are when you’re spending the most time experimenting with identity, suffering friendship crises, and staying up way too late crying over how you have three essays due in two days, all of which you have yet to start. It’s a mini-world that pretty much everyone experiences, if only for four grueling years, but in that span of time you go through so many different things that it feels like a lifetime.
Two months into senior year, I haven’t really found myself falling into any of those categories (except for maybe the last one), and I’m starting to wonder if I’m even doing this high school thing properly. I mean, I do have a small group of really close friends; I drink coffee way more times in a day than my brain can handle; I quietly scream about every single test that gets thrown my way and end up drowning in unfinished piles of homework. But at the end of the day, something always feels out of place.
I’ve brought up issues like this with my best friend several times, and even though her advice is not always ideal, I take what I can get. When it comes to guidance, Josie Martin is like a wild card: she will either solve your problem in an instant, or leave you hanging high and dry. There’s no in between.
“You know what will cure you of your so-called anti-highschool routine?” she says to me one morning. “ Homecoming .”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“If there’s anything more stereotypically high school than jock-and-cheerleader couples, it’s the homecoming game,” Josie responds, giving me a matter-of-fact look. “Yo, Jason,” she calls to a fellow senior who is passing by. “Help me convince my terribly introverted best friend to go to the game on Friday.”
“You should totally go to the game on Friday,” Jason says. It’s really not a very encouraging statement, but he flashes an encouraging smile at me before ducking into a classroom.
I don’t know what prompts me to say yes. Maybe it’s the desperate puppy eyes Josie is giving me, or the prospect of getting to stay out late, or Jason’s smile, but suddenly I’m saying the words of affirmation, and that’s that.
“I can’t believe I finally managed to get Nico Mejia to go to an actual after-school event,” Josie mutters over and over, clearly pleased with herself. She looks up at me and grins. “You’re going to have so much fun, my friend.”
So much fun is definitely an overstatement, and Josie should know me well enough to realize that. I’m going to be sitting on a cold, hard, metal bench for three hours, miserably huddled in the depths of my jacket, while everyone else will be cheering so enthusiastically that the entire stadium will shake uncontrollably. In my mind, not a single part of that sounds any fun.
However, I admit, being in my last year of high school does alter my view on some of these typically-lame activities. Might as well attend them while I still can.
Friday evening approaches faster than I expect, and before I know it I’m crammed in between Josie Martin and Samantha Rosenberg on the bleachers above the football field, the stadium lights burning into my eyes. Right now, the game is 10-6 in our favor, and it’s only the beginning of the second quarter.
...Not that I care.
The only part I care about is the fact that I’m stuck here for another two freaking hours, and I can’t think of anything worse than having to spend it watching a bunch of sweaty high school boys tackle each other so violently that they’re all destined for concussion checkups. I sigh and bury my head in my hands, slowly regretting my decision to come. If I’d stayed home, I’d be curled up contently under my covers, writing poems and listening to The 1975.
I suddenly wish I had brought some sort of reading material.
Just as halftime begins, someone behind me screams, and in two seconds flat my back is soaked in bright red cherry soda. The liquid runs down my spine and soaks the waistline of my pants.
“What the hell…?”
I whirl around and instantly bump heads with Cal Gibson, who’s bending over and picking up his now-empty soda cup. He lifts his head to look at me, and the stadium lights make his eyes electric blue.
“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry,” he says hurriedly, looking at my soaked clothes and then at his shoes and back again. “I didn’t mean…” He trails off.
“It’s-it’s okay,” I try to assure him. (It isn’t okay.) “My clothes should be fine, I’ll just go to the bathroom and wash this out.” (It’s red soda, it’s not going to wash out.)
“Are you sure?” Cal asks skeptically. He looks down at his pants, which have also turned bright red. “Well, I might as well go with you.”
We climb down the bleachers and head to the bathroom. Cal looks at his feet the whole time, quietly cursing himself. I feel sort of bad for him, and I want to ask what even happened back there, but I stow it away for later.
As we walk, it occurs to me that I only know three things about Cal: one, he’s such a good kid that he’s probably never gotten in trouble for anything in his life; two, he’s bisexual (at least according to recent gossip); and three, he’s one of the smartest kids in our class and he’ll most likely end up being Valedictorian by the end of the year. Cal and I only have one class together, which is English, and even though we’ve gone to school with each other for the past three years, we’ve never had the opportunity to properly speak to one another. One reason is because I feel like I’m terrible at keeping up my end of a conversation, and another reason is because Samantha thinks he’s sort of a suck-up. He’s the kind of student who spends his Friday nights with his nose in a book at home, rather than in a Solo cup at a social gathering.
So then why is he here at homecoming?
We run to the sinks and soak handfuls of paper towels under the faucets. No matter how hard I scrub my jacket, the stain will not budge. Cal suggests using soap, and I watch his hands as he takes my jacket and dunks it under the water, vigorously rubbing at the stain. It takes over five minutes to make any sort of significant progress, and by then, Cal is too tired to continue.
“That’s all I can get off for now,” he says, handing me the jacket. “And again, I’m really, really sorry, the juniors behind me were fooling around and one of them bumped my arm and… well… this happened.” He motions to his pants, which are also just as stained as before.
“Cal, it’s really nothing, don’t worry,” I reply.
“I still feel bad, though.”
“Don’t worry.”
Awkward silence.
“So… I never knew you were the sporty type,” I say, trying to alleviate some of the awkwardness.
“Oh, no, I’m not,” Cal chuckles. “Just here to take some photos for yearbook.”
I cock my head to the side, sensing that something’s missing. “Where’s your camera?”
Cal blushes and looks down at the ground. “Well, I don’t have enough money to buy my own yet, and all of the school rentals are checked out,” he explains. “So for now I have to use the infamous Gen-Z Edition.” He sheepishly pulls out his cell phone from his pocket. It’s an iPhone 5s in a beat-up Otterbox case.
“I didn’t know you liked taking photos,” I say.
“I love it,” Cal proudly responds. “I’m planning on majoring in photography in college.” He stares down at his phone. “Well… I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough photos from tonight, but I’m also pretty sure Mr. Jones doesn’t want to print any images that look like they’ve been taken with a potato.”
For some reason, Cal’s words make me laugh. He’s actually got a decent sense of humor, and more importantly, he’s genuinely interested in something that isn’t stereotypically nerdy like science or english. Maybe he’s not as bad as people think.
“Here, you can use my phone, if you want,” I offer, holding it out.
Cal stares at me as if I’d just offered him a thousand dollars. He seems to have a habit of staring a lot. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be sitting right in front of you the whole time, I’m not worried,” I say. Okay, maybe I’m a little worried, but based off the fact that Cal’s public label is basically Goody Two Shoes, I highly doubt he is going to do any damage.
My judgement proves to be correct throughout the rest of the game. Cal stays on the bleachers for a little while, then decides he wants to capture the action at a different angle. He asks if he can take my phone down closer to the field so he can get clearer shots. I give him the go-ahead, feeling glad that he had bothered to ask instead of just running off. By the end of the evening, Cal has taken up my camera roll with dozens of photos; some are clear and some blurry, but nevertheless, each one is interesting in its own right.
“The composition of these is just amazing,” I note, as we make our way to the parking lot. I swipe through the seemingly endless collection. “You’re a photography genius, Cal.”
Cal blushes and looks down. It’s hard to tell through his dark blonde bangs, but I’m pretty sure he’s grinning.
Just then, Josie and Samantha come rushing over, talking a mile a minute. When they see Cal, they grow quiet.
“Well, um, I, uh, I think I’ll get going,” Cal declares, fumbling in his pockets for his car keys. “It was nice seeing you, Nico. Send me those photos, okay?”
“I don’t think I have your number,” I say.
“Oh, right. That would be useful for you to know, wouldn’t it?” I hand the phone to him and he quickly types in his number. “Alright. See you on Monday.” And with that he walks off, a slight spring in his step.
I look down at the name of the newest contact in my phone and feel the tiniest grin spread across my face.
CameraMan Cal.
Of course he would.
“Since when are you friends with Cal Gibson?” Samantha asks, poking my arm. “He’s kind of a dweeb.”
Josie nudges Samantha in the ribs. “What’d I say about making fun of him?” she mutters. But I can see she’s amused.
“He’s totally into you,” Samantha blurts out, giving me a knowing look.
“He’s not.”
“And I quote, ‘Well, um, I, uh,’” Josie says.
It’s true that Cal was doing a lot of stammering, as well as blushing, but I’m pretty sure that’s just how he is on a regular basis. I can’t think of anything else to say so I simply roll my eyes.
Josie drives me back to my house. She and Samantha spend the entire car ride arguing over whether or not Cal and I would make a cute couple. Josie believes that he and I have great chemistry and we’d be “such a power duo”; Samantha believes he’s too academically inclined for me (whatever that means) and that he’d bore me out of my mind. It makes my head spin just listening to them bicker.
Personally, in the back of my mind, I kind of sense that Cal feels something towards me. If he likes me, I suppose it’s not a bad thing - in fact I would be quite flattered - but I don’t think I feel the same way about him. This evening was the most interaction I’ve ever had with Cal, and I just don’t know him well enough to think about the love thing with him. I don’t know. But, I do admit that I really admire his humble demeanor, and how he’s so considerate of other people and their personal property. His strong commitment to school activities is also kind of impressive. I wish I was more like that.
Josie drops me off right before the clock strikes ten-thirty. The house is pitch-black, so I’m assuming everyone is in bed. I hurry upstairs to my bedroom and peel off my red-tinted shirt and jacket, chucking them both in the laundry. My whole body is exhausted beyond belief, so I quickly text Cal the photos before collapsing onto my bedspread, letting the comforter consume me.