The daily ritual of meeting at her locker before school: the bell, a whispered seeya from him, a pensive hmmm from her, whose inflection changed depending on the flavor of her gum - coy for fruit (watermelon, esp), demanding for cinnamon, matter of fact for any of the mints.
"Ok," she would say. Then class, 50 minutes of waiting, break. Repeat.
Time went so slow, then so fast. They wouldn’t always see each other between classes, but there would be notes. This one from French class:
"After we got off the phone last night, I called her. Another big blowup last night. So much drama! The devious one and the not so much? I feel like Switzerland!!!"
Underlined, exclamationpointed.
"Anyhoo...speaking of la Suisse, I have that report due on Friday, so no study dates this week. Bummer. Call me tonight, tho - around 10, or right before, the usual time - I have something to tell you..."
Smileyfaced, lefthanging.
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