Chapter 1

Now, as I sit in this classroom, reminiscing on what I used to be, what I used to have, it was only for that short moment, but I finally felt like I fitted in. Now it’s all gone, turns out I was all a part of a game - a cruel, malicious game.

I’m Kate Wisenhower. I’m 16 years old and I go to Atom Hill High. I have recently been dumped. Originally I was shocked when he asked me to meet with him. I have been admiring him from a far for quite some time now. His name is Jonathan Steppler. He is basically the classic it guy - captain of the school soccer team, friends with everyone, always smiling. But he never had a girlfriend. No-one here was near good enough for him, especially not me. I mean, he has been rumored to have a million girls, but I never saw him with any. And these girls people used to speak of would never be his type, dumb, silly, blonde. He is definitely into the sophisticated, intelligent, brunette types, a lot like myself. At least, I used to wish so.

It began right where I sit now. As I was casually paying attention in English, a note flew onto my note book, I looked around as everyone continued to copy the notes on the board. I hid the note in my lap and opened it, cautious of Mr. Threppleton. I recognized the handwriting right away - it’s still the same since the poster he made in 8th grade business about the pros and cons towards sport commercialism – I almost spat out my retainer when I read what this note disclosed. Its simplicity and forwardness was dumbfounding.

Kate,
Meet me by the docks at 3
J.

I began to blush as the words that he has so sweetly written traced through my mind. Even though I had waited six years, eight months and 3 and a half weeks for this day, it still caught me by surprise.

So I did as this note said, once that bell rang 3, I raced from the room to the nearest bathroom. I applied my favourite cherry lip balm, and then headed down the hall way towards the sports fields. I began to squelch my way over the rain soaked soccer pitch to wear the note had lead me. And there he was. I was a mere 20 meters from him now. He must have heard my footsteps because he turned towards me. It was just like I had always pictured – slow motion, his gorgeous brown locks twirling in the wind. He flicked his fringe as he always does when it gets that little bit too much in his eyes. His hair has grown faster this time; it was only cut sixty-three days ago and already he is due for another trim. He is wearing his favourite jumper with his usual, worn-in skinnies and the black vans he so desperately needs to replace. But the point is he could be wearing anything and he would still look the same, for every time I’m around him, I’m lost in those blue eyes of his. Those blue sparkling eyes. I’m only 10 meters from him now. And my heart has begun to rip its way through my shirt. I look down to make sure each beat is not noticeable from the outside. Thank-fully such a thing is not possible. I’m merely 5 meters from him now and he begins to walk towards me also. He smiles. That perfect, white, straight smile he kills me with every time. And he says my name. I have longed for him to say my name with his smooth, cool, deep voice. And it is just as I have imagined a hundred times before. And as we are just 2 meters from each other now he begins to out stretch his arms, I am unsure of how to react, breathe and deal with the current situation. He puts his arms around me, and I freeze where I am, I relax into his chest. His big, muscular chest, and the feeling returns to my feet. I step back, smile and look up to his face. He is the perfect height. Six foot 3; perfectly one exact head above me. I am once again lost in his eyes. He begins to speak to me but I am unable to comprehend what he is saying to me. He sees how I am struggling and gestures towards a bench under the shady oak beside the dock. I sit. Taking up a third of the bench, then he comes and takes the third right next to mine. We are now facing each other - our faces less than 20 centimetres from each other. He puts his left hand on my lower back; his large hand lies ever so gently against my thin jumper. And with his right index finger, raises my chin. Gently, as if I’m as fragile as a small, new born child and he ever so gently rests his lips against mine. And it is just as I imagined a million times before; sweet, soft and tender. He is just as I have imagined. This moment resembling the one I dream of every night. And this ten seconds feel like ten hours, and then he gently pulls away, removes is hand from my chin, closely followed by my back. And then I sit there for a moment, my eyes closed, face tilted to the clouds and I am silent for that moment, as I document every sense of this experience. The smell of algy and moss, the sound of the school rowing team as they practise off in the distance, the feel of his hand upon my skin, the taste of his lips, and I finally open my eyes and see that blue I find warmth in.


Megan Jane