I remember my high school days with Trixie like they were yesterday … that could be because we're only nineteen now, but whatever. In sophomore year, I was fifteen, and she was fourteen. She was about three or four months younger than me. We were pretty much inseparable. She was my best friend.
One of the only differences between middle school and high school is that the kids know more, and can tease you about more things.
One particular day, I had gotten some algebra work I didn't understand. Trixie and I went down the stairs to the basement for lunch and sat ourselves at a table alone. Knowing when I needed my lifeboat, I begged, "Trix, can you help me with this? I'm really lost."
"Well, let's see," she replied. She turned the book around to face her, "Inverse operations and identity?"
"No, that I understood …" I began. Suddenly, one girl and one guy came up to us. She had a paper in her hand; he, a camera.
"Can we get a picture of you two for the yearbook?" they asked. I was reluctant, but Trixie wouldn't let me hesitate. She jumped out of her seat and put her arms around my neck. She kissed my cheek, something we had done so many times, it seemed utterly platonic. The flash went off in our faces.
"Thanks a ton!" said the girl. And they skipped off.
I rubbed my eyes and muttered, "I hate flash photography."
"Well, it's our last year here," reasoned Trixie. "I want as many pictures as I can get in the yearbook. And I'd take them all with you if I could." Believe it or not, I still hadn't realized Trixie had a crush on me by this point in our relationship.
What?! I said I was dumb!
"Are you coming over tonight?" I asked.
"Sure!"
I invited Trixie to my house almost every night, and she almost always came. But she never invited me to her place. I thought it was because she knew her father wouldn't approve. I had met Mrs. Shimura once, though. She was very nice to me.
But when I left the building that day, she wasn't waiting for me.
"Catfight!" yelled a voice, naturally from a guy.
"Start pulling the hair!!" screamed another.
My 'distracted' brain somehow thought, dear God, TRIXIE! I ran into the courtyard and pulled her off another girl.
"Trixie!"
"She asked me if your name had anything to do with how long you keep the stick shift going!" she shrieked.
Five years later, and she was still willing to kick ass for me.
She threaded her hand in mine as we walked over to my house. I think it was then, feeling our hands swing back and forth, was when I realized how much Trixie truly cared for me.
But I needed a second opinion.
I slipped into the garage to speak to Sparky, our mechanic, and another one of my best friends … okay, one of my only friends. He was working underneath what was supposed to be my car 'when I was ready' (so Pops said), the Mach 5.
"Hey, Sparky, can I ask you a question?" I asked. "It's about Trixie."
"Sure, Speed," he replied. He came up from under the car, a smudge of oil on his red cap and holding a wrench. "What's up?"
"Do you think she likes me?"
"You know she likes you."
"No," I mumbled. "Do you think she … like likes me?"
He started laughing. He laughed so damn hard he dropped his wrench on his foot. He lifted his leg and hopped around the garage, still laughing.
"Is it that bad an idea?" I asked.
"Sp—" he gasped for breath, "oh, Spee—oh, God. Of course she like likes you!" he buckled down on his knees. "She's in love with you! Don't tell me you haven't seen it until now!"
"Well, sure, when we were kids, but I kind of thought …" I trailed off. "I thought she grew out of it." I immediately added. "Don't start laughing again, Sparky."
He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why such the interest all of a sudden?"
"No reason."
"Do you think you might …?"
"No! I mean … I don't know," I said. I moaned and ran a hand through my hair. "Why is teenage life so complicated!?"
"It gets better," said Sparky.
"Really?" I asked.
"No," he retracted the statement. "I was just trying to make you feel better."
"Thaaaaanks, Sparky," I groaned sarcastically.
"Speed?" called Trixie's voice. "Hey, Speed!" She opened the door.
"A-ha!" she said triumphantly. "I thought I'd find you here." She motioned outside, "Come on, you two; dinner's ready."
"Oh—okay," I stammered.
Sparky started laughing again. I pushed his cap over his eyes. He continued to chuckle.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Trixie.
"He's been sniffing too much motor oil," I said. "Come on, let's go eat." I gently pushed her to the door while she stared at Sparky, who was still so amused that he forgot to push his cap back up while he followed us.
There was a bang as we left, and he never made it to dinner.