Breaks

Her bed was soft and smelled good. Disney DVDs on the shelf, a windchime motionless from the ceiling, her boyfriend’s photo on the desk. All of it kept us from kissing, so we read sex scenes to each other instead and laughed stupid hard. Burying what had happened that morning when they separated us into different classes.

The reassignment came out of nowhere. Unfair, pointless, unnecessary. I fought to get her back—met with teachers, made my case, pushed hard enough that new students thought I was class president. Almost won. But the condition was strict: only she could return to my class. Not her best friend. Just her.

She declined.

I understood. Didn’t fight it anymore.

We see each other at every break. Hugs soft or stormy, depending. It feels good to be a lovestruck teenager again, helpless and devoted—turns out the silliest feelings are the ones that make you happiest. Her laugh interrupts my thoughts and I love it.