Chapter 7: 7 – Dry

I was never particularly adept at describing my feelings. And every time I was present enough to sense at least they were there, I didn't know how to handle them. My standard response has been to freak out at everyone around me. Guess that makes me very lovable.

I rubbed Conor's moist towel over my wetter body. It did something, but I wouldn't say that my skin got dry. Ugh, good enough. I walked over to the lockers and found Conor searching through his bag. Thank god he put on his boxer shorts, at least. Everything less would have probably killed me.

"Thanks again," I said, placing the towel neatly on an oak-wooden bench that waited between the lockers and the changing booths. I fumbled to get the bracelet with the key for the locker attached to it off my wrist, but it was scrambled.

"Need help?"

Without fighting it, I held my arm under Conor's nose, giving in to not being able to function effectively on my own anymore. Within a second, the bracelet flew off, and a sweet smile was flashed in my direction before Conor headed back to digging through his bag.

Focusing my eyes on my locker, I searched for my underpants that were buried underneath my jacket. He is cute, I suddenly thought, and I was surprised by that, as well as befuddled. It's a blessing that he can't read my thoughts. I at least hope he can't.

Out of the corner of my eye, I tried to catch a glimpse if he was looking at me, but he was still focused on his clothes. If he could read my mind, he would be smirking lustfully at me right now. But why do I imagine how he would react? Do I want him to read my mind?

I energetically shook my head as if that would shake off those thoughts, grabbed my stuff, and fled into one of the small booths. What am I planning to do now? Still about eleven hours to go. How am I going to survive this? I wanted to scream but couldn't do that with Conor behind the thin wall. Should I tell him? But what would I even say? And more importantly, what if it's not mutual? What if he laughs at me, I get mad again and destroy our relationship - or however one would describe the thing between us - even more? What if he tells our friends, just like I did, to get back at me?

I sat down and stared at the oak light fixture illuminating the booth in an orange glow.

---

I was about 13 the first time I noticed that I liked a girl. Sarah and I both attended the same middle school, although not in the same class. Every lunch break, I saw her in the cafeteria sitting with her girlfriends as I sat with my boys. She wasn't the most beautiful girl, but something about her presence drew me in. Maybe it was her wit that everyone admired. I spotted her photo at the beginning of the school year. It was proudly displayed next to a trophy from the regional spelling bee in the entrance hall, right next to the principal's office. The chances of a girl like her being into a jock like me were low, so I did nothing about it almost all of the school year. But when Conor asked me if I had a crush on someone one night as we lay in his bed during one of our usual sleepovers, I told him about her.

On that particular day close to our summer break, I was with Milo Nowak, Leo Milton, Will Cooper, and, of course, Conor Hart. All of us wore our green Football Jackets, except for Milo, as he wasn't part of the team. We always joked about chatting up the girls, but none of us ever had the guts to do so, at least not back then. When I came to the table carrying my small cafeteria burger, Conor had already shared what I had told him two days before.

"Traitor," I hissed at him as he was supposed to keep it a secret. Why did he blabber that out as if it was no big deal? I sat next to him, threw my tray on the table, and wrapped my arms around Conor's neck, forcing him into a headlock. Have to teach him a lesson. Everyone laughed except for Conor, as I was the strongest of our group at the time, and I was definitely not being gentle with him. Our classmates sitting at the tables around us observed the scene with interest. However, as soon as they noticed that nothing unusual was happening, they quickly returned to their usual conversations about homework, teachers, and TV shows. The only one who kept looking was Sarah.

"Hey, stop that," she yelled for the whole cafeteria to hear. The big sunlight-filled room, up until now overflowing with the noise of a hundred people talking at the same time, got quiet. "His head is already red." I searched for the voice speaking to me, but I didn't think about letting lose of Conor for a second. He had to know that he couldn't tell people my secrets. "Didn't you hear me?" she called out again and trudged over to our table.

I peeked at Conor, and to my surprise, he was red like a tomato, struggling to catch his breath. I instantly loosened my grip.

He panted, and I friendly slapped him on the back as if he was choking on his lunch. "You can't treat people like this," Sarah stated.

"No worries, we were just having fun," I exclaimed, smiling insecurely at her. As if that would soothe the situation. Her differently colored eyes judged me severely.

Sarah walked over to Conor and leaned down so her head was the same height as his. "You all right?"

He nodded.

Why did she ignore my explanation? And why couldn't she leave us be? This was how we always treated each other, and no one cared, but suddenly this is wrong?

"Really, no worries," Conor replied, and a big smile spread across his face as he sat back up. He laid his arm around my shoulder to show her that this, in fact, was just our usual roughhousing. I mean, he is my best friend. Why should I actually want to injure him? I simply misjudged my strength!

"If I ever see that behavior of yours again, I will tell a teacher."

Our whole table watched her stomp back to her friends, and as soon as she was out of reach, Milo exclaimed, "Go after her! If you want her to like you, you should tell her you're sorry, man!"

"You think?"

"Yeah, girls are super awkward with stuff like that," Will agreed. I looked at Leo and Conor, who both just nodded reassuringly.

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Without hesitation, I jumped up, passed the theater kids, and walked to her table, slowing my pace the closer I got. Should I perhaps think about this further before rushing toward her? Sarah was frantically talking to her friends, using her hands to underline whatever point she was trying to make. As soon as I was within range, I could already hear that I was her subject. "I hate guys like him!"

My heart clenched as if someone had grabbed it and squished it as hard as possible before ripping it out of my chest to play a round of basketball with it. Maybe I shouldn't talk to her right now? I turned my head to search for my friends. By sweeping their hands in my direction, they were telling me to carry through with it. So I gulped down my anxiety, approaching their table, suddenly having eight furious pairs of eyes pointing at me.

"What do you want?" hissed one of her friends.

"I... just wanted to say I'm sorry."

I waited for her (or anyone) to respond to my apology. But instead, nothing happened. They just stared at me. As if they thought about how I would dare to disturb them with this nonsense. What now? No one prepared me for the complete lack of reaction. So I kept talking.

"I know you don't like stuff like this, and I just wanted to tell you that we were just goofing around. Guess my training paid off, and I got stronger without even realizing it, huh? Happens to everyone, doesn't it?"

Yeah, that's how to talk to a girl who is wildly mad at you. That will make her fall in love with you.

"Well, maybe you should work more on strengthening your personality than your muscles."

And with that, she returned to eating her lunch, ignoring my whole existence from there on out. Great. You made a fool of yourself. I padded back to the guys, who started howling as if we were on Jerry Springer. The others kept mocking me until the end of the lunch break. The only one who didn't lose a word about it was Conor. When everyone returned to class, he briefly patted me on the shoulder, gifting me an understanding smile.

At least he didn't treat me as if I had no feelings or as if everything didn't affect me at all.

---

"You still there?" asked Conor while I was busy in the dressing room, thinking about some random situation that happened long ago. It is always a surprise to me how my brain arbitrarily pushes memories into my consciousness that have absolutely nothing to do with the present. But they are pretty effective at stirring me up, creating some sweet anxiety. Fuck it all.

"It's hard to get out of these damn tight swimming trunks," I lied to hide the fact that I did nothing to get out of them for several minutes.

"I don't need to help you with that, do I?" laughed Conor.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Speak for yourself," he replied, and even without seeing his face, I knew he had a smug smile on his lips.

The door to Conor's cabin clicked and cracked as he opened it, followed by the sound of a hairdryer being turned on.

As if I needed your help getting undressed. For some reason, my brain suddenly produced a crystal clear image of Conor slowly pushing down my trunks. I shook my head and jumped up, somewhat unintentionally. No! Go away, dirty thoughts!

I finally wiggled myself out of those swimming trunks. Thanks, lady, for selling them to me and helping create more memories that can pop up in my future without notice to make me anxious.

---

About five minutes later, we strolled down a hall decorated with festively lit Christmas trees, and I only could hope we would never talk about this embarrassment again. My eyes wandered aimlessly through the hall as we kept walking in silence. Several shops around us sold sweets, souvenirs, and travel equipment. I got us two Coca-Cola cans to quench our thirst after that exhausting jaunt.

"So, now is your turn," I said to Conor as I released the first bubbles with a pop out of their tin coffin.

He nodded without even considering responding to my statement in any more detail.

"No idea?"

He turned his head, smiling at me suspiciously. "You'll see."

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