Julian

I. January, Ch. 12

     Genevieve,

     After several days of analyzing our last conversation, I've come to the conclusion that I was in the wrong. There's so much I need to tell you, so much that putting it all down at once seems to be the best way to go about it, and although I'm in no position to ask anything of you, I'm going to take my chances and ask that you read this letter in its entirety.

     First of all, I want to apologize for the way I behaved with you during our last interaction. There were things I said to you at the peak of my temper that in no way reflect my entire opinion about you. It had less to do with you and more to do with my sub par communication skills.

     Second, I'm very grateful for the opportunity you gave me to get to know you. I'm so grateful that you invited me to your home on no other basis than (what I presume) was your gut.

     I value your honesty more than you know.

     I can only hope that you forgive me, even if we never speak again.

     And I apologize for not saying this in person. I wanted to get everything out in one go.

     Calvin Leblanc

     He scrunched the hair on his head, nauseous at his lack of poetry.

     Julian was fifteen minutes into its lunch hour and the classrooms and locker halls were empty. He stood outside of Room 118, where Genevieve was speaking to a group of students by her desk.

     Calvin watched her through the door window. He folded the apology into a rectangle as he waited for the classroom to clear out.

     His blood fizzed like baking soda at the possibility that she would be happy to see him. He loved the giddiness that came with hope.

     As he always did when his emotions got out of control, he examined the facts, the science behind his situation.

     Biologically, it's normal that a young, healthy male such as yourself would want to seek the approval of an attractive, healthy woman. Once your conscience is clean, you'll return to your selfish pursuits.

     He paced the hallway like a prisoner, rehearsing his Hello and Got-a-minute and This-is-for-you.

     Calvin looked down at his empty hands. Should I have brought her flowers?

     Genevieve walked the students to the door, eclipsing the sunlight warming the top of Calvin's head.

     He felt her standing in front of him. His face burned, and with his last ounce of courage, he looked up.

     Genevieve looked at him, bored. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heels.

     A crack spread across Calvin's heart, ready to make it fall apart. "Wait."

     Genevieve stopped, but didn't look back.

     Calvin waited.

     The crack got bigger. Move, you coward. Don't let her get away.

     He put himself in front of her and held up his note between their faces. "I-I wanted you to have this."

     She looked at him, then at the paper. She took the note from his grip. A hurtful, sarcastic chuckle escaped her lips. "Really? A note?"

     Calvin's frantic heart scurried to put itself back together, but it was too late. His body temperature climbed to acclimate his embarrassment. He closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear from her sight forever. "This was a mistake."

     He opened his eyes again and kept them on his pathetic excuse of an olive branch. He pinched the end of the note facing him and tugged at it to remove it from her fingers.

     Genevieve maintained a tight grip on it.

     Calvin got the message and let go. He cleared his throat, turned around, and walked away from another broken heart.

     He took slow steps, fantasizing that she would catch up to him and thank him for making an effort. Every step forward let him know that wasn't going to happen.

     Why am I this lousy with women? Am I some kind of genetic mistake? His throat threatened to close completely, but he swallowed the knot away.

     Not now, Calvin. He put all memories of her blue eyes and heart-stopping smile into a shoe box and gave it a proper burial in the graveyard of his biggest regrets. All that was left to do was mourn.

     Not here, Tang. Wait until you're alone.