In my freshman year of high school, I had three classes with Emma, a red-haired beauty who taught me the word “crush.”
Emma was pretty, sure; but unlike the standard Manic Pixie Dream Girl, she was also brilliant, funny, and driven. If she was the love interest in a movie where the guy wants the girl, there was no way I was the guy who was going to get her. I was probably the nerdy, scrawny side character who made the slightly less socially awkward protagonist look better in comparison.
* * *
But one day in fourth period geometry, Emma commented on my sweater –
Emma: “I like your sweater.”
Josh: “What? Thanks.”
Emma: “Where’d you get it?”
Josh: “Sex Pots R’ Us.”
It made no sense, but she laughed –
Emma: “Oh yeah, I love that place!”
Moments later, she asked for help with a math problem, and I pushed my luck with some TI-83 jokes. I wrote –
“I HAVE NICE ABS(…”
Then I calculated the absolute value of my name, inserting values for the letters J, O, S, and H such that it read –
“ABS(JOSH) = 0.”
She loved it — and whether or not it was humorous to her ironically, she asked me to go to the football game with her on Friday night.
Now I was enamored with this girl, but I hated football and didn’t have a car (or even a learner’s permit). So I agreed to go.
* * *
Over the next few days, I learned the rules of football, got a haircut, did more push-ups than I’ve done in my entire life, and avoided Emma at all costs. (I didn’t want to spoil our rapport and have her rescind the offer.)
* * *
Then it was Friday.
I must’ve taken three showers before I met Emma, each time trying on a different cologne sample that my father’s mother had given me as a holiday present. Finally, I landed on a particularly manly scent called “Cotton Candy Fantasy.”
I was ready.
* * *
Because Emma and I were both that awkward age of fifteen, my mother had to pick her up and drop us off. At fifteen, the last thing you want are parents — especially caring ones for some reason I still don’t understand — but Emma didn’t mind at all. In fact, she and my mom got along so well, I started to become jealous.
* * *
The game started and I did my best to pretend to give a shit about our team. Within minutes, though, Emma was laughing at me. Clearly my school pride was forced — because she pointed out that I was rooting for the wrong school colors.
Emma: “We’re blue and white — not blue and yellow.”
Josh: “Oh. I guess that’s how much school spirit I have.”
Emma: {laughs} “That’s okay. I didn’t actually want to see football either. This just seemed like something we should do.”
We immediately stopped watching the game, talking instead about what music we liked, what teachers we didn’t, and what we hoped would happen by the end of the school year. I asked about her career aspirations. She asked about my family. It was one of the easiest and most amazing conversations I’ve ever had.
Then, out of nowhere, it started to rain.
We ran from the football bleachers toward the nearest awning. I took off my jacket and put it over her head to protect her. She didn’t notice what I was doing and dropped it in a pile of mud. “So much for that,” I said. We laughed.
By the time we reached the awning, she was shivering. I rubbed my hands up and down her arms to warm her up (as men do for some reason I still don’t understand). When this didn’t work, I mimed taking off my shirt to give to her, which made her smile even more.
She looked beautiful, I felt close to this girl, and even though we had only been talking for an hour, I felt like I could spend the rest of my life with her.
This was my movie moment. I was the protagonist after all. I looked into her eyes, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and went in for my first kiss. As my lips moved closer to hers, she whispered –
Emma: “Josh: I’m a lesbian.”
* * *
As my mom dropped Emma off at her house, two things came to mind –
One: I guess the movie of my life was actually a romantic tragedy. And two: I can’t believe I wasted all of that Cotton Candy Fantasy.
