I couldn't have done this without the help of Missy (melissaeverdeen13). Thank you for reading!
Here are the facts:
I'm in love with my best friend.
She doesn't know.
I write her anonymous messages in the school newspaper.
"Dear April," I scribble, hoping that my shaking hand allows my handwriting to be legible, "you give me a reason to get up every morning." I glance inconspicuously over my shoulder and only spot a lone freshman hauling his overly-packed bag. With a quick sigh of relief, I turn back around, add on a last, 'From Him,' fold up the slip of paper, and slip it into the slot marked Expressions, before walking out of the media center with sweaty hands and a heart that's beating way too fast.
When I finally make my way to April's dorm, she's leaning over her desk to take off her last assignment's portraits from her wall. They're all images from when she dragged me across Loyola's snow-filled courtyard in the middle of February, making me pose without a jacket, mind you, so she could catch the way 'the snowflakes contrasted against my skin tone.' Her words, not mine.
"Aw, you're sick of seeing me already," I joke, chuckling at the way she jumps when she hears my voice. "Scared you?"
"Shut up," April says, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "And you know I have to put new photos up when a new unit starts. It helps to organize my portfolio."
"Uh-huh. Throwing me out like last week's news, I see." I make my way over to pick up the image she just set down. My eyes were closed - it's a close-up of the snowflakes on my eyelashes. "This one really brings out the color of my eyes, don't you think?"
April laughs, walking over to snatch the cup of coffee from my hand. After taking a small sip, she retorts, "Hey, that one is my favorite."
Handing back the coffee cup, she gathers all the photos and marches over to her desk to store them under a carefully labeled folder titled 'Jackson.' I can't help but wonder what else is inside it.
"Plus," she continues, turning back around with and leaning her weight on the edge of her desk, "your eyes had to be closed, or else the focal point of the image wouldn't be the snowflakes."
"Sure, firefly," I respond, calling her the nickname I gave her freshman year after she told me she was a photography major. She was so photogenic, perfect, and radiated light in every blurry shot I attempted to take; it was almost like magic. She was a firefly, and it stuck. Not to mention, her hair is as red as fire.
"Speaking of the news, did you grab a copy of this week's report?" I spew, referring to the school's newspaper, the Rambler Report, with nervousness I hope she doesn't notice.
Pointing to the folded-up scatterings of paper on her bed, April begins, "Yeah, it's over there. I only get it to see the art pieces, nothing too interesting."
"Anything that caught your eye from Expressions?" I question nonchalantly, picking up the sheets of paper and flipping to the student message section. Mine hasn't been included yet.
"Nah, not really, just a couple poems like usual." April saunters over. "I almost forgot, come here." She opens her arms wide and I naturally gravitate to give her what seems like a friendly, casual hug. To me, it's the best part of the morning and I only wish I could hold her longer than a few seconds.
"By the way, why are you here so early?" April questions after pulling away.
"Oh," I pause, quickly thinking of an excuse, "I couldn't sleep." Lie lie lie. I usually never wake up early on Mondays, but I had to be the first one in and out of the media center in order to meet the newspaper deadline. "Thought it'd be better to just get up and face the day."
With a worried look on her face, April reaches up to feel my forehead.
"I'm fine," I say, swatting her hand away. And I am. I just wished she could understand the depth of the fond looks I give her; wish she could see the way my hand twitches with the desire to hold onto hers. Sometimes, looking at her hurts. Because she will never look at me the way I look at her.
"You sure?" April asks, raising an eyebrow in concern.
"Positive."
"Wanna watch a movie while I do my portfolio write-up?"
I grin. "You know me so well."
"Yeah, yeah," April mutters, rolling her eyes with a small smile. And, like usual, I pretend her smile is full of love instead of just falling short.
One week later, I wake to the sound of knocks at my door. Grumbling, I open the door to find April with a notebook tucked under her arm and a box of donuts which she knows are my favorite. "Peace offering for interrupting whatever you're doing right now," she says, face morphing into one of guilt as soon as she realizes woke me.
"Sleeping," I yawn. It seems I forgot how physically and mentally draining studying for veterinary school could be.
April reaches up to ruffle my hair and then squeezes my shoulder. I close my eyes because I'm tired— not because I want to memorize the feeling.
"Can I come in?" she asks.
I give a small smile and shake my head, "You don't even have to ask."
It takes April three episodes of Friends before she gets to the point, but she does.
"I think someone might be talking to me in the school newspaper," April blurts, staring at the screen as if what she just said didn't make the temperature rise ten degrees.
"Yeah?" I question, while simultaneously trying to cover the way I flinched at her words.
With a sigh, I watch her maneuver her body until she's lying on the bed, knocking down the book that was sitting on her lap. "I think," she says.
"And what makes you think that?" I say, racking my brain for the safest possible questions.
"Well, whoever it is has been addressing 'April'," she discloses, then falls silent. "But sadly, that's all I know." Her face falls into a scowl and I have to force myself to stop staring at the adorable way her eyebrows scrunch together and the way she bites the inside of her cheek.
April runs a hand through her hair and there's nothing more I want than to replace her hand with mine. "I don't get it. I mean, if it is me...then why?"
"Why?" I huff incredulously, "April, you're the human embodiment of what every guy in their right mind wants." I widen my eyes. I had not planned on saying that.
But April shrugs it off, staring at her nails. I am equally relieved and exasperated.
"I guess, but most guys would just talk to me." She sits up and hugs her knees to her chest. "My life is actually a movie right now."
"Maybe that's what inspired him?" I shrug, reaching for the remote. "As long as he's not saying any bad things."
April doesn't respond, her eyes directed elsewhere— and I realize that's what the problem is. Her eyes are never directed towards me.
Holding back any more comments, I rewind the past five minutes of the episode.
"Dear April, you're beautiful. In a totally adorable way. I love it. From Him"
"Look!"
I peer up tiredly from my English textbook. I've been trying to finish my homework for the last hour, but I'm not catching on as quickly as I'd hoped. Then again, instead of paying attention, I've been nervously wondering if my message had been put in this week's paper.
April shoves something in my face, and it takes me no longer than three seconds to figure out what it is. A copy of the Rambler's Report is clutched excitedly in her hands. Only people like April enjoy reading it and I can't help but think that with fondness.
"It's the report," I state, leaning back in my chair so I can look at her face. She's radiating joy and if I could, I'd find a way to keep her this happy forever.
"Listen!" She plops herself in the chair next to mine, the one which she's claimed as hers. "Dear April, you're beautiful. In a totally adorable way. I love it." She waves the paper around in the air before slamming it down onto my lap. My textbook nearly falls off, but I catch it before it does. "He loves it. He thinks I'm adorable."
"He also said you're beautiful, too." I say, squinting at the small text on top of the page. "I don't see it, personally, but-"
April punches me in the shoulder, and I feign pain even though her touch was light as air. "I was kidding," I say, looping my arm around her and curling a piece of her hair around my finger. "You are beautiful. This guy clearly knows what he's talking about. Any clue who it is?"
"He doesn't give away any hints," she says, a clear look of indignation across her face. "And what's with the 'From Him' signature? How is that supposed to help me find out who he is?"
April folds the corner of the paper and reaches for the yellow highlighter that I had forgotten about. As she's highlighting my message, I take the moment to watch the way her tongue sticks out when she concentrates, and glance at the tiny freckle right above her lip.
"Stop looking at me like you can't recognize me!" she expels. "Just because I'm finally showing interest in someone, or whatever."
"Wait, you're interested?" I respond, definitely too quickly.
"Well, he clearly is. And, I don't know, he sounds sweet," she mumbles, standing up and thus, removing my arm that had grown comfortable around her.
Grabbing the pair of scissors near my desk, she makes her way back to her chair and begins cutting out the section of the paper dedicated to her. I convince myself not to place my arm back over her shoulder.
"You okay?" April questions, noticing my lack of conversation.
"Fine," I say, trying not to make my answer as short as it is. April narrows her eyes, giving me a once-over. For a moment, I wonder if she somehow figured me out, but I quickly dispel the thought. "Sorry, I'm just stressed about English."
April glances at the work on my lap, almost as if she hadn't noticed it before. "I can help," she says.
"You don't have to," I say, although it would be greatly appreciated. April is the perfect tutor— patient enough to explain it to me, but also one that will give me the answers after the fourth try or so.
"I want to. It looks like you could use the help." She glances up and we lock eyes, but I have to quickly look away so my blush isn't visible.
"Dear April, I feel like I know so much about you, but you don't know anything about me. So here's a hint: my name starts with a capital letter. From Him"
I laugh as April reads the latest message in an irritated voice. "He thinks he's funny." I watch as she paces the small length of the room.
"He kinda is," I point out. "That's pretty witty."
April flops on my bed while rolling her eyes and folding the newspaper over her stomach. "It sounds like something you would say."
I laugh a rapid, nervous chuckle. "Right. That's kinda funny," I manage, while ducking my head into the bowl of cereal I just poured.
"Hey," she starts in an enlightened voice— and I think, this is it, she finally knows. "Do you think it could be one of your friends? Alex? Or maybe that one guy, with the hair?"
"Derek." I answer flatly, a little disappointed. April has only met him twice and I don't think they've muttered more than a few words to each other— yet she thinks it's Derek instead of me.
"Yeah, Derek…" She's quiet for a moment before she turns around on her stomach, familiarly grabbing my highlighter to go over my words. "I don't know. Seems unlikely."
"Anyone else you can think of?" I question, pretending to be riveted by the nutritional facts on the box of cereal.
"Well, 'Him' isn't giving me much to work with," she says, capping the lid of the highlighter with a 'smack' before repeating the action over and over. "All I know about him is that he goes to this school and his name begins with a capital letter, but that doesn't narrow down the results."
I hum in agreement; however, I've realized that I've been given options: give away more about myself, or just stick to the sweet, simple messages.
I slurp the final drops of milk left in my bowl and April shoots me an annoyed glance. I grin slyly at her, but it fades when I see the way her lips purse as she looks away.
If there's one thing that I hate most in the world, it's seeing April upset. I'd rather break all the bones in my body and watch my future crash in front of my eyes before letting a frown take over her face.
"Hey," I say, putting the cereal box down, "Why do seagulls fly over the sea?"
April blinks. "It's where they get their food. There are plenty fish and clams. Not to mention all the trash some people leave— "
The answer actually had to do with bagels or something, but I listen to April talk about birds and the beach for five minutes before I tell her so.
"Dear April, I saw you taking photos the other day. I know nothing about photography but you looked so focused… it was cute. From Him"
"He's getting bold," April announces, sliding the report across my desk, the section titled Expressions face-up. I pick it up and pretend to read, acting like I didn't fret over what to say for hours before submitting it.
"Very bold," I say, setting down the sheets of paper. "What if he wants to stay anonymous? I mean, wouldn't he have already told you who he was if he wanted to?"
April seems to think it over as she takes a big sip of her coffee. I can't help but fantasize about kissing her, tasting the coffee from her lips— I love coffee and April. Seems like a perfect match. "But I don't know any shy guys."
"What if you haven't spoken yet," I shrug, wincing slightly because I'm leading her the wrong way. Yet, a part of me enjoys the secrecy; I can continue to admire her without the fear of everything changing.
"It's possible, but—" April pauses, and her eyebrows furrow. "Wait, I took those photos last Wednesday."
"You did?" I mutter indifferently, racking my brain through the past week's memories.
"Yeah!" She shakes my arm, recalling the day's events. "I was in the dorm lounge taking close-up photos of books and things while you were in the shower...I was in your building!"
"That was when—" And yeah, I completely forgot about that. On my way to shower, I passed by the dorm lounge and saw April, large DSLR camera in hand with one eye squinted, taking a photo of the fish tank. She had looked so cute that I forgot the dorm building was mostly empty.
"That means he lives in your building," April theorizes excitedly, strands of red hair falling from her bun.
"He could've been passing through…" I say, hoping to redirect her thinking.
April pauses, then scowls, "You always throw me off every lead."
I scoff and roll my eyes. "This isn't a murder mystery. It's probably just some random secret admirer."
Her lips pout and her expression turns sad. "Jackson, that was rude…" She huffs and reaches for the already-highlighted newspaper. "Even if it is just some 'random' secret admirer, at least he's being nicer than my best friend at the moment."
When she says it like that, all somber with tears in her eyes, I want to scream. As she moves to stand up, I latch onto her wrist and pull her back down to sit on my bed. "Firefly, I'm sorry."
She blinks at me.
"I am happy for you," I try again. "I just don't want you to get hurt. I mean, we know nothing about this guy."
"I know he likes me," she points out. "He's really the only one who hasn't ever begged me for the physical parts of a relationship."
I go cold, stomach turning. Just thinking about other guys putting their hands on her like that or treating her wrong makes my mind cloud with anger. Furrowing my eyebrows, I tug April to my chest.
"I'm sorry," I say, softer, and she nods, breath tickling my neck. "I'm happy for you."
"I know you are," she sighs, wrapping her arms around the small of my back. My chest tightens. I love her so much; I feel like I'm going crazy. "I just wish I knew him," she says.
"Hey," I start, attempting to lighten the mood. "When's the last time we had a movie night?"
April pulls back slightly, arms still around me. "Two Saturdays ago," she replies, biting her lip. She's so close; if I leaned forward two inches and turned my head a little, I'd be kissing her.
"Then let's do that," I say, removing my eyes from her goddamn lip. I swear, she's trying to kill me. "We can watch that one movie you love, you know, the one with the dancing and the hot actor?"
"La La Land?" she asks, mouth curling into a small smile. "You hate that one. Are you trying to suck up?"
"I'm trying to be nice," I whine, leaning to rest my head on her shoulder. She smells like vanilla and I inwardly groan— she's definitely trying to kill me. "But fine-" I start, unwrapping her arms from my body and moving to stand, "I guess I'll go."
"No, wait!" April reaches forward, latching to the back of my shirt. Before I know it— and I curse gravity for this— I trip over my comforter, legs tangling together, and fall messily onto my bed, dragging April along, too...right on top of me.
I consider forcing my eyes shut until she moves away; it's scary how one of my fantasies is almost playing out right in front of me. But April breathes a laugh right against my collarbone, lips grazing my skin. And yup, my eyes are wide open.
I could say a million things; perhaps reveal how much the shape of her nose drives me insane, but all that comes out is: "movie night?"
April laughs again, shaking my chest. "Yeah," she says, sitting up. "Let's."
As she moves to put in the DVD, I try and catch my breath.
Four days later, I get sick. April coddles me, texts my worried mother updates, and feeds me chicken noodle soup.
It's Sunday night, and I don't think I'll feel better by tomorrow.
April quarantines me, constantly washes her hands, and never leaves my side. I urge her to go back to her room; I don't want her to catch whatever I have. But she stays.
There are many things I love: pajamas, animals, taking a hot shower after a long day... but April's attention is by far the number one item on that list.
So, maybe I don't get to submit a message for next week's newspaper. Whatever. April's petting my hair and watching reruns of Friends with me while flipping through images on her camera. And I am very much in heaven.
It turns out to be the worst thing I've ever not done.
"Nothing this week," April says, downcast. She's flipping through the pages as if the message is hidden somewhere else.
"Maybe he was busy?" I shrug, heart squeezing at the look of disappointment on her face. I knew April liked the messages, but I never knew how much they would affect her mood if they went missing.
"Is it stupid that I'm kinda worried about him?" she says, finally casting the newspaper aside with an unsettled look on her face. "I mean, what if he was in a car accident or something? Or like, he had cancer this whole time and these messages were like a goodbye—"
"Firefly, relax," I say, "I'm sure he probably just woke up late and didn't make the submission deadline, or whatever."
She shrugs and says, "Maybe."
I consider telling her right then, screaming, Hey! Funny story so I'm 'Him' and I've been in love with you since I laid eyes on you. But I decide that it isn't the right time.
"Look, don't jump to conclusions or anything," I say. "If there's nothing next week, maybe worry then, okay?" I watch April glance at the paper again before she nods.
All I can think about is 'April, you idiot. I'm in love with you.'
"Dear April, you have no idea how fast my heart races when I see you. From Him"
"So, he's not dead," April says, barging into my room while shaking the paper and pointing to the highlighted section.
I look up from my spot on the floor, playing cards scattered across the ground. "I told you so," I exclaim, laying down a seven and a king before joining the cards and setting them to the side, "You were worried for nothing."
April sets the paper on my bed before crawling on her hands and knees to where I'm sitting. "Watcha doing?" she says, grabbing a pile I had set aside and beginning to shuffle them.
"Playing war." I mumble, sneaking a look at the way her long, nimble fingers maneuver the deck.
"Isn't that a kid's game?" she says, a wisp of hair falling in front of her eyes. I move the strand behind her ear without thinking and she gives me a look. I freeze, but play it cool.
"Leave me alone," I say. "I used to play this with my mom when I was stressed. It helps me out."
She shoots me a sympathetic look before tousling the deck she had just organized.
"I think I found 'Him,'" she declares, after a few moments.
"Oh yeah?" I say, looking up. She's staring at me with a mystical look on her face.
"Mm-hm," she mutters. "His name is Matthew." She sets the deck down and moves closer, knees touching mine.
"Sounds charming," I joke, but inside I'm scorning. "How do you know it's him?" I ask, gathering all the cards and shuffling them twice.
"He talks like 'Him,'" she says. A small smile forms on her face and I can barely stay unaffected. "Sandy brown hair, tall, dark eyes, broad shoulders—"
I sigh dreamily for her and she laughs. "Shut up," she says, shoving me with her shoulder. Her eyes are glistening. "It has to be him, I mean, he ordered nearly the exact same thing as me at the coffee shop. I couldn't not talk to him," she exclaims, leaning her back against the wall with her legs stretched out.
"Ah yes, soulmates defined by coffee orders," I say, and I don't quite mean to say it out loud but April assumes I'm joking anyway.
"I know, but... " she trails off, knocking the toes of her feet together. "Who else orders a grande iced coffee in a venti cup with extra ice, three pumps of caramel, a shot of vanilla, and a venti straw? No one. That's who."
I try to wipe the fond look off my face, but April's complicated Starbucks order is probably one of my favorite things about her.
"I think I'm going to ask him out," she says, and I sputter. I was not expecting that. April is the shyest, most sensitive girl I know, and to imagine her walking up to a stranger and asking him out confuses me.
I must take too long to answer because April turns to look abruptly at me. "Why aren't you saying anything," she grouches, head angling. "Are you jealous, or something? Because you know that even if he was 'Him,' I'd never forget about my best friend."
I make a frustrated sound, "Pssh, of course I'm not jealous, firefly," I say. But I am. I'm so jealous of this tall stranger named Matthew with broad shoulders and sandy brown hair.
"Jackson, I really hope it's him," she says, head leaning to rest on my shoulder. My heart jumps and I know there's no way I would ever survive losing her.
"Maybe," I say. Changing the subject I say, Wanna order a pizza and play Scrabble?"
Turning her head slightly, she whispers, "But you suck at Scrabble." I laugh and it's not long before she joins in. Her hair tickles my ear and I couldn't be more in love.
"Dear April, I think it's time I reveal a little about myself. I have dark hair and light eyes, but I think your eyes are prettier. From Him."
It hadn't been my original plan to reveal my appearance this early on, but April had spent the entire week all googly-eyed over dark-eyed Matthew and I was getting even more jealous. So sue me, I'm in love with April. What else is new?
I hold back a smug look when April walks into my room with copy of the report in hand, sighing before stating, "It's not Matthew." She drops the newspaper on the ground, plopping face-down on my bed.
"Oh?" I say, nearly spilling Dr. Pepper all over the ground as I bend to pick up the paper. "How do you know?"
She doesn't answer, but she does make grabby hands at me. "Come lay down with me," she mumbles, face still buried in my pillow, "I'm sad."
Throat dry, I make my way to my bed, pull down the covers, and move April over slightly. She doesn't budge much, so I begin to gently card my fingers through her hair while still sitting up.
"You know," I say, "If you want 'Him' to be Matthew, he can." I stare as her eyes begin to peek out from where her face was buried.
"I'm not sad that it wasn't Matthew," she explains, "I'm sad that I'm back at square one, and have no clue who it is."
April extends her arm to push at my chest so I lie down, then shifts to rest her head over my heart; I pray she's too distracted to notice how fast it's beating.
I clear my throat subtly, "You know he has dark hair and light eyes, right?" She's so warm and I have to physically restrain myself from hugging her closer. "That narrows it down?"
"Ugh," she cries out, frustration evident in her voice,. "He also said my eyes were pretty. No one has ever told me that before."
Internally, I curse at myself for not having complimenting her eyes before. Between the two of us, people tend to notice my light blue eyes first, but April's are more beautiful. Hers are a soft mossy hazel that constantly change in the light— flecks of yellow and green visible when the sun shines on them.
I don't say anything, but she does, "He sounds so perfect. I just hope he's cute."
I bite my tongue on accident but it doesn't prevent me from blurting, "Am I cute?"
April raises an eyebrow. "Yes…" she says slowly, confused by the change of topic, "Why?"
I sputter, "Oh..uh, no reason— just… I-"
"Spit it out," she half laughs, smiling at me in a way I wish she did everyday.
"I mean— I'm hot right?" I decide, cheeks growing warmer. "And not in a friend kinda way, but like, in general? Because I'm not exactly getting offers left and right so— "
"Jackson," she starts, "You're attractive okay?" I almost choke. "Do you know how many people have befriended me just to get closer to you? A lot."
I want to respond that guys do the same to me for her, but in reality, all the guys know that I've been in love with April since forever. I can't count the amount of sympathetic looks and pats on the back I've received over the years. As if being in love with April is something to be sorry about.
"Oh," I finally say. "I just feel like no one looks at me or anything." I say it, knowing she'll think I'm talking about everyone else, but I say it because I'm talking about her— she never looks at me that way.
"Maybe you're looking in the wrong places," she says, turning over to lie on her back. I instantly miss the contact.
All I want to say is you're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong. Because looking at April is more right than anything I've ever known.
"Dear April, your hair looked so shiny today. I just want to cuddle with you. From Him."
A couple days later, April drags me on another photo shoot. This time, she rents out one of the school's photography studios for the day and covers nearly every inch of the floor with plastic. Looks like we're about to get messy.
As soon as I see all the bottles of paint in her arms, I groan, "Firefly, what are we doing?" All she gives me is a sly smirk and I watch as she sets the bottles down.
"I'm gonna take pictures, duh," she says, grabbing the red bottle to squeeze out the color onto a styrofoam plate.
"Well, yeah, but why do you have paint?" I say, although I already know the answer.
"My assignment this week is to play with color. So I just thought….color...paint," she rambles. When she looks up at me and sees the confused look on my face, she chuckles. "I'm going to smear paint on your face… if that's okay?"
No, actually. It's not. Paint is messy, the smell gives me a headache, and I'll have to make an embarrassing walk back to my dorm to shower after it's over. But it's April. And I'd do absolutely anything for her. "Yeah," I sigh. "Just tell me what to do."
She grins, squeezing the last color and pointing to a white wall, "I need you to stand over there."
Walking to the spot she designated, I watch as April grabs the plate with green on it before coming towards me. "Okay, ready?" she says, raising an eyebrow in question.
I nod and she takes that as the cue to begin. Scooping a big dollop of paint with two fingers, she draws a line straight down the left side of my cheek. I close my eyes for a moment to remember how to breathe.
"Stop moving," she smiles. "You're gonna mess me up." She dips her fingers back into the paint, this time creating a circle underneath my eye.
"Your hands are cold," I whine. And they are, but I'm not fidgeting because of the temperature of her hands, I'm fidgeting because of the fact that her hands on on my face.
"Wimp," she teases. April walks back over to her array of paints and chooses yellow.
"Was there anything in the newspaper this week?" I question, curious as to why she hasn't mentioned it already. Another line of paint goes straight through the center of my face, stopping right at the tip of my nose.
"Yeah.." she says, but quiets down. "I just don't want to keep annoying you with them." With the limited amount of space between us, I take the moment to stare at the freckles dotting her nose, her Chapstick-coated lips, and her eyelashes - so long, they seem to reach her cheeks when she blinks.
"You're not annoying me," I say, determination in my voice. "You know you can talk to me about anything."
Looking into my eyes, she smiles and reveals, "He said my hair was shiny and that he wants to cuddle." A light blush dusts her face. I've never seen anything so adorable.
"Cuddle, huh?" I say, lip raising at the end. "Maybe he should know that you hog the covers and talk a lot in your sleep."
April shoves me and her mouth drops open. "I do not!" she says, laughing. "Take it back!"
"I can't take it back, because it's true!" I say, and my cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much. "If I remember correctly, you once said, 'Jackson is the smartest human in the whole world. I can't believe he's—'" My sentence gets cut off as April shoves a handful of paint all over my face.
"You are so full of shit!" she exclaims, laughing so hard that tears form in her eyes. I sputter, tasting the chemicals from the paint, and spit onto the floor.
"Oh, you shouldn't have done that!" I say, lunging to wrap my arms around her waist. She resists and attempts to get away, but I've wound my arms tight around her body.
"No!" she screams, arms flailing. "Jackson, please no!" Her eyes are shiny with laughter.
"Too late!" I say, before smearing the blobs of color from my face all over April's. She pushes at my shoulders, leaving green and yellow handprints behind, but I don't let go of her until I feel satisfied with the amount of paint I left behind.
"Jackson!" she whines. "You got it in my hair!" She catches me staring when she looks up and in that second, I'm so glad for the paint covering my blush.
Grabbing the roll of paper towels April had brought, I remove as much paint from my hands and grab April's camera.
"Smile!" I say, catching a photo of her running a hand through her hair with paint dotting her chin.
"Give me that!" she says, snatching the camera from my hands. Pointing at her hair she says, "I gotta shower before this paint dries."
"Yeah me too," I say, and I catch April taking a photo of me so I strike a pose. She giggles and I tell myself never to forget the sound. "I'll meet you back in your room after, yeah?"
"Sure," she smiles. "You know where the spare key is."
Finally, after forty minutes of washing the paint off, I make my way to April's room and let myself in. To no surprise, she's still showering, so I yell to her that I'm here.
"I'll be out in a second!" she responds, voice muffled from behind the bathroom door.
"Take your time!," I say, removing my shoes to leap onto her bed. "I'm gonna put Friends on," I shout.
I hear her reply a curt, "Okay!"
Five minutes later, April walks out of the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel.
"I hope you don't mind that I started watching without y… uh…" I stutter, setting my jaw to keep from staring.
"Are you okay?" she asks, moving closer to where I'm sitting.
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? I'm always fine," I say, way too quickly. I know that it's late and April likes to sleep in shorts, but, it's just… She has nice legs. Really nice legs. Really long, adorable legs. It's distracting. The school should ban them.
"You're not fine," she says, "You're stuttering. And you're rambling…" She tilts her head sideways, reaching a hand to touch the shell of my ears. I squirm away from her, lips pursed. "And your ears are warm. Are you alright?"
"Stop asking me that," I say, grumbling. "It's just hot in here—"
"Your ears never get warm when it's hot outside—"
"I didn't know my body had rules for its reactions— "
"I've known you for years I think I—"
"Can you just— "
"What?"
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands to my eyelids, praying this is all a dream. "Your legs," I reveal.
April's face goes blank. "My legs?" she questions, head tilting.
"I'm— " I start, still covering my face. "Please put on sweatpants or leggings. Or something that you know, covers?"
But April still isn't catching on. "What are you saying?" she exclaims.
I groan, more embarrassed than I've ever been in my life. "I need you to cover your legs, please," I say, and I hate myself. I hate April and her stupid distracting legs.
"So, I'm not allowed to wear shorts?" she asks, but looks bemused. I don't answer; I keep my face hidden in my hands. With my eyes covered, I hear shuffling and the opening of a drawer.
"Okay, the coast is clear," she laughs.
"Thanks," I say, hands still over my face.
"Are you not going to look at me now?" she asks.
"I'd rather not," I say dryly. April laughs, and I hate love. Love is dumb. "Sorry about that," I say, finally opening my eyes to look at her. She's clad in a pair of pajama pants with pigs on them. Those are almost worse.
"I still don't really know what just happened, but yeah. You're forgiven," she says easily, as if her best friend didn't just ask her to put pants on because her legs were too much to handle. "You're weird," she states, shaking her head.
All I can do is laugh. "Nice pigs, firefly."
"Shut up," she says.
And just like that, we're back to bantering like normal.
"Dear April, I wish you could see me the way I see you: gorgeous, sweet, perfect. From Him."
"So, what's he saying today?" I ask before taking a huge bite of my waffle. Today we're at iHop, mine and April's go-to spot whenever we want something sweet.
April reads the message aloud in a soft, affectionate tone, and I have to pinch my knee because, well, the tone is because of me. Well, sort of.
"He's so sweet," she says, folding the paper so the message is face-up before looking out the window with a wistful expression on her face. "I can't wait to meet him."
I grab the syrup from the table and pour way too much on my plate. "I just hope he's as great as he seems," I say, taking another bite.
"He has to be," she says confidently. I watch April fiddle with her fork, half of her pancake gone uneaten.
"I see him everyday..." she says, deep in thought. "Dark hair, light eyes…"
April continues to stare out the window, mumbling to herself as if I'm not even here. That hurts more than anything.
"Maybe I should write back," she says, suddenly turning to me in revelation. "He might reveal more about himself if he knows I'm getting the messages."
I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and nod. "I mean, yeah. I guess," I say.
"You don't think I should," she says. It's not a question— it's a statement. April almost knows me better than I know myself and it's clear I don't agree.
"I don't," I admit with a shrug. "He'll probably come to you in his own time, right?"
"I mean, it's been a few months and I still don't know much about him," she argues. "And isn't that what he's insinuating in his message? You know, 'I wish you could see me the way I see you?" she says, rereading the message.
"Maybe," I say begrudgingly. "But I still don't think it's a good idea." I finish my plate of waffles and see April's plate is still untouched.
"Why are you so against him?" April gives me a hard stare, voice rising. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you don't want me to find him."
"No, I do, but—"
"But what, Jackson?" she exclaims with exasperation.
"It's just—" I begin. "Firefly, you're practically planning a wedding with someone you've never met." I snap, and drop my hands on the table. A few heads turn, but they know better than to get involved. "You already have your heart set on someone who could be a smoker," I stutter. "Or a drinker, or who knows, thirty-seven for fuck's sake!"
I don't know what made me so angry. I was only supposed to fake jealousy, not curse at her. I'd never want to hurt April. But it seems I already have.
"Please go," she tells me, stone faced.
I instantly soften. "April, I'm just trying to protect you," I say, pleading with my eyes.
"I don't wanna see you right now," she says simply, voice trembling. I can almost hear my heart shatter. She's about to cry.
"No, hey, no no no, I'm sorry I—"
"Can you please just go?" she says again, turning to look back out the window.
"April," I say, lump rising in my throat. "Firefly?" She doesn't respond. The worst thing about April is that even when she's mad, she doesn't stop being pretty.
I wait a few more minutes before leaving money on the table and walking out the door. When I pass by the window on my way out, I think I see her crying. I clench my teeth and keep walking.
What have I done?
Dear April, seeing you cry breaks my soul in half even though you still manage to look beautiful. I hope whatever was wrong works out. From Him."
April ignores me for three whole days. Radio silence. She doesn't respond to my countless apologies, doesn't call me back, or acknowledges me when we cross paths.
I've taken for granted how much I loved it when she'd barge into my room unannounced. I'm so used to being around her that the absence is deafening. Realizing this, I've concluded that I'd rather be her best friend than nothing at all.
So, on the fourth day, after crying a little in the shower, I gather every photo we've ever taken together—including the embarrassing ones of me that I know she'll love, and decide to create some artsy photo album I really don't know how to make.
Four hours, three cans of Dr. Pepper, and five paper cuts later, I finish. The pages aren't too pretty but I filled them with my whole heart: stupid jokes, badly glued-on pictures, and stickers of farm animals.
I find a flower shop not too far from campus and write down the number. Then, I spend twenty minutes looking up the meanings of flowers. I'm hoping to find something along the lines of 'I'm sorry for being stupid I just love you so much sometimes that I feel like I'm going to burst and also we should kiss' but my search results don't give me much to work with.
In the end, I decide on gardenias because they mean 'secret love' but also 'tells the the receiver they're lovely.' Even if April figures out the meanings, she'll have to guess which one I'm referring to.
The flowers turn out to be an armful, so I can barely knock on the door when I make it to her room. It takes five minutes and three poorly executed elbow-knocks to realize she's not home.
Sighing, I set everything down, slide down the wall to rest against her door, and pull out my phone.
While I wait, I send my mom an update on my life, respond to a text message Alex sent me three days ago, and even go as far to look up songs from La La Land.
April doesn't arrive for more than an hour, so I have to sit and stare at the flowers. A few girls stop and make short conversation, and some ask if I'm waiting for my girlfriend. It kills me when I have to say "no."
When she does get here though, I smile like an idiot. She's carrying Chinese takeout—for more than one, definitely—and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
She smiles softly when she sees me too, and sits calmly in front of me. We're blocking the entire hallway but I can't find it in myself to care when April's knee nudges mine. She scrutinizes me, head cocking to the side before saying, "Hi."
"I was waiting for you," I say, pulling at the strings of my hoodie.
"Me, too," she laughs. "I knocked on your door for ten minutes before someone yelled at me that you weren't home."
"Nope. Been here," I say, shaking my head.
"I can see that," she says. "And you've outdone me." April peers at the photo album tucked under my arm and looks back up at me.
"It was my fault," I say, shrugging. "I have more to apologize for."
"Nah," she starts. "I shouldn't have been so narrow-minded. I'm sorry."
"I shouldn't have— "
"Let's take this inside," she suggests, standing up. April digs the key from her pocket and gathers the food and ice cream.
I follow after her, setting the flowers on her desk. "I got these for you," I say. "Gardenias."
"Thanks," she tells me, voice soft. "They're pretty."
I have to bite my tongue so I don't say something dumb like 'you're pretty.' "Yeah, well, I'm sorry."
April stares at me for a moment and outstretches her arms. "Come on, let's hug it out." I step forward and press my face to her hair and my heart inflates again.
"No more three day fights," I say.
"No more fights, period," she responds. And yeah, I agree.
I step away, but April yanks me back. "I'm not done," she says. All I can do is smile.
After a few more moments, April lets go. "I almost forgot," I begin. "I made you something."
April smirks and says, "You? Mr. "I-can't-color-inside-the lines" made something?" she jokes. I shove her and laugh loudly.
"Whatever! I spent a long time on it," I say. I grab the photo album from where I set it down and hand it over.
April looks at me in confusion before opening to the first page. It's a photo that I took for once. April's in a pink apron to shield her from the water she was working with; she has the camera to her face, smiling so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners. It's been my favorite picture of her for a long time.
"Oh, Jackson," she says, looking up with glossy eyes. "This is beautiful, thank you."
She gives me another hug and my stomach fills with butterflies. "Hey," she says, nudging me on the side, "I love you."
It stings when I say it back, but I hold her tighter anyways.
"Dear April, the days I don't see you are the worst of my life, as dramatic as that sounds. I really think I'm in love with you. From Him."
"Do you really think he loves me? April says, flipping through the remainder of the paper. "I don't know, it just— seems unlikely, you know? Because we've never met?"
"He says he sees you a lot," I remind her. "It could be love at first sight."
I've been working on my 'getting jealous of myself' act, and I feel like it might be working. April shrugs in response, looking at the next note card in her hand. "Maybe," she says. "I just want to meet him."
"You will," I say, lowering my head so our eyes meet. "No guy would go through all that trouble and not get the girl," I say.
I almost wish I hadn't started the whole 'secret admirer' thing. It's getting harder and harder to keep my mouth shut, especially when April is constantly talking about it. I've almost admitted it to her twice. Once when she looked sad, and once when I was in a position that made it easy to kiss her.
"Okay, next," I say, changing the topic. April has been helping me study for my veterinary exam coming up and I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. I've been so distracted with April's messages that I've barely been able to practice.
"FeLV stands for the disease known as what?" she reads, lifting an eyebrow in question.
I take a moment to think before answering. "That's… feline leukemia virus, I think?"
April smiles and nods, "You're getting it!" she says. "But you have to be more confident in yourself."
It's the first time we've been to the library in a long time, and we are, by far, the loudest people present. The librarian has given us dirty looks twice now.
"All the words sound the same!" I whine. They really do; it's incredible how veterinarians and doctors are able to distinguish between the terms. "I'm so gonna fail this test," I say before laying my head on the table.
"You're not gonna fail!" she says, resting a warm hand on my head. I try to suppress the shivers that run down my back. "Here try this one," she continues.
I lift my head to look at her again. "The cranial preputial muscle is a partially isolated portion of the...?" she says, stuttering over the word 'preputial.'
I chuckle and make fun of her, "p-p preputial." April kicks me underneath the table and I laugh even louder. A loud 'shh!" is directed toward us.
"Just answer the question!" April whisper-yells, holding back a smile. She fans the card inches from my nose and I snatch it from her before reading the answer.
"That would be...uh…the cutaneous trunci?" I say, scratching my head and pretending to look dumb.
"You really are gonna fail if you don't stop fooling around," she says, poking me hard in the ribs between every word.
I unofficially decide to stop studying and focus on making April laugh instead. She's so serious; life's too short to be formal all the time. Just like life's too short to keep hiding that I'm in love with my best friend. Anyways…
"Hey, firefly," I say, closing my textbook. "What is a cat's favorite color?"
April gives me a pointed look before giggling, "What am I gonna do with you, Jackson Avery," she says shaking her head.
Keep me, I think and have to bite my tongue, yet again, to keep from saying it out loud. "Just answer the question," I repeat.
"Cats don't see the same colors as we do, obviously. Their color perceptions are more muted and—"
This time I cut her off. "No, it's purrrrple." I say, grinning. "Get it? The color purple and cats—"
"I got it," she says, smiling. A look crosses her face before she speaks again, "Do you ever wonder why cats purr?" April says, beginning to doodle on the back of a note card.
"You don't know?" I say, gasping. "But you know everything." I stare as she draws nonsensical patterns and creatures I assume must be cats.
"Of course, I know how they purr. It has to do with their vocal cords and such but…" She quiets down, before continuing again. "I just find it fascinating how they can display so many emotions with a single sound," she ponders, looking up from her scribble-filled paper.
I let her talk. "If they're happy, they purr. If they're sad, they purr. Angry? Purr," she lists, focusing back on her doodles. "The human language is so complicated; there are so many ways to say the same thing," she continues, and I keep staring, wondering how a question about the color purple became such a deep conversation.
"I wish I could purr," she says, setting down her pen but still staring at the table. "That way, I could hold more meaning in my words," she concludes, finally making eye contact. "Don't you?" she asks me, face serene.
I clear my throat, "Yeah, definitely," I say, and leave it at that.
She hums in agreement and reaches for a blank note card. As I think about her question, I realize that, in a way, I've been purring since I met her. And no, it hasn't come from my throat, but it's come from my stomach. Being near her, my stomach flutters constantly; it purrs in her presence.
"Dear April, I just want to be yours. From Him."
"Straightforward," I comment.
"Confusing." April disagrees. "He says he wants to be mine yet he's not telling me anything more about himself," she says.
April huffs and I begin to feel bad for sending her on a wild goose chase. "Hey, maybe I'd have better luck finding him? I can ask around my dorm or something?"
Thinking about it for a few moments, April squeezes my shoulder and says, "Don't worry about it. Thank you, though." I close my eyes and pretend that I can intertwine my fingers through hers.
"I'll help the next in line!"
I smile to the woman behind the counter. "We'll take two for Tangled," I say, reaching inside my pocket to pay for the tickets.
After telling us to enjoy the show, I take the tickets and we head inside. "I'm so excited!" April says happily, latching onto my arm as if I'm escorting her. "I've been waiting forever for this. Look! Popcorn. Are we getting some?"
Tangled is April's favorite Disney film— I know this because she's made me watch it with her about thirty times— and since it's been ten years since the movie came out, a special 3D version is playing with new never-before-seen scenes and a bonus song at the end. April has been talking my ear off about it for weeks and tonight's the night she's been waiting for.
"Of course," I say and I want to cry. She's so cute that I almost want to hit my head on the walls of the theater.
As another person rips our tickets, I think back to the first time we went to the movies together. "Remember when we saw The Strangers 2?" April says, and I wince.
"Yeah, I was just thinking about that," I answer, smiling. We're soulmates, I think, we even have the same thought process. Kiss me right now. "That was fun."
"It's definitely filed under 'best days of my life," she agrees and my heart swells. "Popcorn, now?" she says. "I'll pay for it since you bought the tickets."
I know her well enough not to argue and I can't find it in me to complain when she requests enough butter to block an artery.
Halfway through the movie, April is delighted beyond comprehension. She's usually the mature one out of the two of us, but it's refreshing to see her acting like a child— bouncing in her seat and laughing at every joke. I spend more time sneaking glances at her than watching the actual movie.
During a sad part, April grabs my hand, eyes swimming with emotion. Her grip there is nearly as tight as the hold she has on my heart.
Even after the moment passes and everything is happy again, she doesn't move her hand away. I'm sure my hand is sweating and trembling, but I tangle my fingers through hers anyway. I spend the rest of the movie smiling like an idiot because this basically counts as holding hands.
When the credits begin to roll, April's face is that of pure joy. I only wish I could take a photo and keep it forever, but that would only embarrass her. "That was the best movie I've ever seen," she says, letting go of my hand. I don't correct the fact that she's already seen it, nor do I reach for her hand again, though I want to.
I nod immediately, smiling, "Yeah, it was great."
The walk back to the school isn't far so we don't call a cab. I shiver every time April's hand brushes mine when we walk and try to remember how her it felt in the theater, but my memory isn't as good as the real thing.
I walk April back to her dorm like a gentleman, and our conversations die down. "I'll see you later?" I say, once we reach her door.
April smiles a little wickedly. "Mm-hm," she mutters. "But next time we go to the movies, I recommend actually looking at the screen every once in awhile," she smirks, shutting the door in my face.
I blink at the wood of her door. "Fuck."
The worst part? I'm not even ashamed. I turn on my heel and head back to my dorm.
"Dear April, I could spend hours looking at you and your smile. From Him."
"That's good, right?" she asks.
"Yeah, of course," I say.
"Okay."
"Okay." April rolls her eyes and turns over to face plant on her bed. "Let's have a lazy day," she says, voice muffled.
"And do what?" I question, smiling as April's fiery hair fans out messily around her.
"Talk. Sleep. Watch Friends."
"Talk?" I say, flopping on her bed to end up sprawled halfway across her back. She makes an irritated sound but doesn't tell me to move. "What about?"
"Just talk," she answers. "Let's play twenty questions. I'll go first. Do you know who 'Him' is?"
Okay, so I've lied before, but I've never been a fan of direct lying. Especially to April. "We'll never know who 'Him' is until he reveals himself," I answer coyly.
April groans in agreement. "I wish he'd just get to it. And get off me, you weigh a ton."
I roll off her. "Right, so my turn? First crush?"
"Owen Hunt"
"He's too old for you," I say with a frown.
"That's why he was a crush and not a boyfriend. First kiss?" April asks, and turns to face me. I want to kiss her.
"A girl named Brooke. Friend of my cousin's. And, according to her, I'm a pretty good kisser."
She snorts and I smile. "Favorite color?"
"I've been liking lavender lately," she pauses, looks away, and picks at her comforter. Her toes hit mine under the sheets and I shiver— half because her feet feel like she stuck them in the freezer, and half because the moment with her feels so intimate. "Got your eye on anyone?"
"You, currently," I joke, closing one eye and grinning at her.
"Shut up, I'm serious," she says, swatting me on the stomach. "There's gotta be someone you like."
"I don't like anyone," I say, and it's not a lie - technically because I'm so far past the point of liking April.
"Got everything I need, anyways," I mumble, and close my eyes. April's toes brush my ankles and I jump. "Stop, you're cold," I whine.
"Too bad," she teases. I suddenly feel very tired. It's as if it takes all my energy not to profess my love for her right then.
"Sleepy?" April questions, and I wonder if she can read my mind.
"A little," I admit, letting out a yawn. "But I'm fine. Okay. My turn, right?" I feel her nod. "Alright, um, what do you hope 'Him' is like?"
It's a selfish question, but nothing could stop me from saying it. I have to know if I need to step up my game and meet the expectations April sets. She hums thoughtfully and fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt while she thinks of her answer.
"I want him to be nice," she says.
"That's it?"
"No," she grumbles. "Shut up." I laugh to myself and wrap an arm around her back. I'm okay with cuddling. More than okay. It's highly acceptable, even if April's freezing toes are pressing against my ankles.
"I want him to be, like, kinda laid-back?" she starts. "You know, since I'm not, I guess. To have someone balance me out." I can feel my hand press into a small strip of skin where her shirt rides up a little and I beg myself not to blush.
"I want him to be confident, but not to the point where it's annoying. Humble." April continues, and I tell myself to memorize everything she's saying. "And I just want him to like me, really. That's it."
"That can't be it," I say disbelievingly. "You gotta want more than that."
"I just hope we get along," she sighs. "If I ever meet him, that is."
"You will."
"Hopefully."
"No, you will," I say again. "Anything else?"
She takes a few seconds before answering. "I don't want an earth-shattering first kiss."
"Oh." My eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"
April shrugs. "I just feel that if I have an expectation, I'll just disappoint myself." She turns slightly and my hand lands on her hip by default. "It would be better if it just felt like kissing my best friend."
I stop breathing. She's really killing me. Her hand on my arm feels like a knife in my chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she says. "I just want it to feel right. And, like, we both know I'm not the most experienced person, so it'd be nice if he were understanding."
"He seems like the type that would be," I say.
"I hope so." April snuggles closer to me and I feel something like hope.
April's expectations of 'Him' are seared in the back of my eyelids, which is probably why I write something stupid.
"Dear April, kissing me will feel like kissing your best friend. Promise. From Him"
So, after I scrawl it on the small submission slip, I stare. I stare at the words written by my own hand and wonder why I did this to myself. Why did I have to be the one who fell in love with his best friend?
It's Sunday night, and by this time next week, my best friend will know I'm in love with her.
I slip the paper into my wallet, turn over, and fall asleep.
As soon as I drop the paper into the submission slot, I realize this is it. No control Z, no delete button, backspace, or rewind. This is it.
I take a step back and stare at the sliver of the slot. I wonder if anyone else has been keeping up with my submissions— if they'll realize that this is the last one. I wonder if it is the last one.
I continue walking backward, feeling oddly like fate is watching and saying finally. I trip over my shoelace and bend down to tie it with a slightly bruised ego.
I go to April's room that morning with her favorite coffee in hand. When she smiles at me, sleepily but gratefully, I realize that by this time next week, things will be so much different than they are right now.
"Hey," I say, tapping her nose as she drinks coffee with her eyes closed. "Hey, heeey."
"What?" Her voice is groggy and I flash a big smile at her, but she doesn't see.
"I'm glad you're my best friend."
She makes a disgusted noise and it causes me to smile wider. "Get that sappy sentiment away. It's too early for that."
"Damn," I mutter. "I was hoping for an early morning bonding sesh."
April snorts and moves over. "You may sit by me."
I smile and sit next to her, biting my cheek before I wrap an arm around her shoulders. She leans into me immediately. She's warm and feels like home.
"You're like, the perfect height for my shoulder." I say, and hate myself. This happens sometimes— I say things that I probably shouldn't, but I can't stop myself.
"I've thought about that before," she says. My heart feels like it's singing. "You're a perfect height for me, too."
"Real life puzzle pieces, I tell you," I say, falling just short of joking.
April nods and blindly reaches for my hand. "No, but seriously look—"
And then I'm holding her hand. Properly. My eyes widen.
"See," she says, but I'm staring at the little freckle next to her eye instead. "They fit."
I swallow, inhale through my nose, and look at our joined hands and stare at how amazingly our skin colors mesh.
"Yeah," I manage. "Yeah, they do."
The second I hear my door open, I know a few things.
First, I know that April found my extra key I lost in her room last month. After that, I know she closes the door a little too softly for it to be unintentional. The last thing I know, though, makes my stomach drop.
She knows.
I consider faking to be asleep but I can subtly hear her taking off her shoes, which gives me the impression that she's not leaving anytime soon. I take that as a good sign.
"You up?" she whispers, and I hear her walking closer. For the first time in a long time, I'm scared in her presence. Usually, I'm content and comfortable; the way I should be with my best friend. This time, my throat is dry and my heart is pounding— which I guess, is to be expected in the presence of the girl I love.
"Yeah, I'm up"
"Oh," she says, like she hadn't been expecting a reply. "Alright."
I wince when I hear the distinct sound of a newspaper being folded. "Yeah. Hi."
"Can you turn over, please?" April pushes at my shoulder almost playfully, and I roll over.
"Hi," she says.
I don't look at her face because I have a feeling that it might hurt if I do. "Read the paper?"
"I did."
There's no positive or negative inflection in her voice, and it's nearly enough to make me turn back over and ask her to go away to save myself from embarrassment.
"And?" I somehow say.
"It makes sense," she states. "I mean— it all, you know. Yeah." I nod. "So…"
I throw my elbow over my eyes and close them as tight as I can.
"I love you." I say—so quickly that I'm not even sure I pronounced all the syllables. I clench my jaw after that, and the knot in my chest slightly unwinds now that I've said it out loud.
"Like, love you. For real. Not in the best friends way."
"I got that part," April says, sounding like she wants to laugh. She's silent for a moment before speaking again. "Would it be weird if I asked to look at me and say it?"
I bite my lip and press my arm closer to my face. "No."
"Then, can you?" April asks, and I can hear her steady breaths.
I take a deep breath. "No."
This time, April does laugh. She pulls at my arm, but I swat her away.
"Please?"
"No," I reply defiantly.
And then, April pinches my side and I squirm and jerk away. My elbow falls from my face and I glare at her. She smiles and raises her eyebrows, and I am very much in love.
I think of the first time I met her, right at the beginning of our freshman year. I think about how I'd found her hair so interesting because it was so red. I think about last year and how we had a sleepover instead of going the Valentine's Day party Alex threw. I think about every moment from the start until where we are now, and I'll be damned if there aren't a million more things to come.
"Right," I breathe. "Okay, um…" April chokes out a laugh. "Stop laughing at me!" I exclaim.
"I'm sorry, it's just—" She shakes her head and I watch as her hair falls over her shoulder. "Just say it, you wimp!"
"Hey, I am not a wimp. I just wrote to you for months in the newspaper, excuse me—-"
"Jackson..." April says, drawing out my name.
"Firefly..." I reply, using the same tone of voice. She rolls her eyes, but smiles after.
"Say your Starbucks order."
April raises an eyebrow. "Is this some weird kind of—"
"Shh!" I say and lock our gazes. "Seriously, just say it."
"A grande iced coffee in a venti cup with extra ice, three pumps of caramel, a shot of vanilla, and a venti straw," she recites, narrowing her eyes slightly.
I let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, I love you."
April purses her lips but ends up smiling anyway. "Okay."
"Okay?" I ask incredulously. "All that trouble just to—"
And then April leans in close. Very close; closer than she's ever ventured. And I, before I even realize what I'm doing, tilt my chin upward until our lips align and— I'm kissing her. I make a belated, startled noise, and April laughs, so I take that as a cue to pull back.
"I'm sorry, I… I would've made that a lot better." I scratch the side of my head, now thoroughly embarrassed.
"No," she starts, and shakes her head. "It was perfect." April stares deep into my eyes and for a moment, I swear I die and go to heaven. "Like kissing my best friend."
"Like—" She kisses me again, and I completely forget where I was going with that sentence. When she pulls away, I just stare at her. "I'm going to be so pissed if I wake up and this is all a dream."
April laughs. "Nah, I pinched you earlier. You would have woken up."
"But what if I dreamed the pinch and—"
"Remember how I said I didn't want the first kiss to be earth-shattering?" April interjects, keeping her face close to mine. I feel drunk, but I manage a nod. "Redeem yourself. Third kiss. Let's go."
It is so April to order me around that way, and I love it so much that I'm smiling when I press my lips to hers. And it is earth-shattering because April pulls my face right back in when I move away; because I'm so ridiculously in love that I would swim across oceans for her; because I am very much kissing my best friend of four years, and I've been in love with her since the second week I've known her. And It's exceptionally earth-shattering when April bites my lip a little.
It's a half hour later when April says, "Brooke was right."
I laugh and kiss her with already swollen lips. "Dear April, I love you. From Him."
"Ugh," she groans, pushing me away. "You're gross. I can't believe I just made out with you for half and hour. I'm regretting this already." The glint in her eyes reveals that she's kidding.
I smile, because I can't stop smiling, and push my nose against her cheek. "Hey. Hey. Heeeey. Firefly."
"What," she deadpans.
"I love you."
"Yeah, yeah," she says, smirking before hitting me with her pillow. It feels a lot like love to me.
Now, when I send April flowers, I always write 'From Him' on the card.
I hold her hand in public because I can, kiss her cheek because I want to, smile at her like she's my world - because she is. My mom swears she doesn't scream with joy when I tell her, but I'm pretty positive she does. Sometimes, I just stare at April, and she stares back, and I find it very surreal that her eyes are on me now.
She tells me she loves me before my huge veterinary exam, and I kiss her for so long that I'm almost late. I don't stop smiling throughout the entire test. I pass with flying colors.
Everything she does makes me feel like I'm falling more in love with her. I hear a lot about how young love doesn't last, but April and I...I think we could.
Here are the facts:
I am in love with my best friend.
She knows.
I think I might marry her.
(I do.)