AN: Um... it's been almost two years since I've updated this story. I was a high school senior when I started this story, and looking back, I can definitely say that was the best time of my life! A lot has happened since then. I go to an amazing college now. And once or twice I had thought of coming back to this-to finish it, just for the sake of those who were kind enough to express interest-but figured it was too juvenile to be writing fanfiction as an adult. But you know, fuck it. I'm going to finish this story. Thank you for being so patient! Weekly updates to follow. This chapter isn't exactly long, and doesn't really move the story forward, but I figured it would be good enough to get the piece back on track. And yes, I've watched multiple bootlegs of DWSA, and I love it so much. However, the OBC will forever be my Spring Awakening.
The game was over. The crisp autumn leaves, red and yellow, flew across Melchior's boots as he stood waiting at the stadium's entrance, waiting for Wendla. The bleachers had cleared out by this point, and the parking lot across the street was nearly empty. He glanced down at his phone's clock and wondered if Wendla had managed to slip through the exit without him noticing.
He felt himself trembling, oddly enough. It was not like him to be so nervous. Sure, he figured, be a pansy now, of all times. He had read and observed plenty about relationships—especially the physical properties of relationships—but he had never actually engaged himself in this type of situation with a girl before. He had always kept himself occupied with sports, going to the river with his friends—camping, building rafts—and taking walks with Moritz in the woods every now and then. Between all of that time, he was reading great philosophers and literary masterminds, breezing through homework, writing a bit on his own.
But this: the real thing. Flesh. Wendla's living voice reaching across and touching his own ears. It truly moved him, to be excited by her, to feel something. Suddenly, he had lost all of his swaggering confidence. He had entered a dark, cold room with somebody who held the keys to the unimaginable door. It was all in her control. It was only her.
One last jolting tremble went through his body, and then finally he decided he'd had enough agony for one night. He turned around and started walking back home, hands clammy, neck wet, intensely gratified that Wendla had decided not to show up for their planned night together.
"It was stupid, anyway," he said absently into the open night, walking past unlit homes. "I'm too old for her, and too hard on the inside. She's softer than the smell of flowers."
Meanwhile, Wendla—who was hiding behind a brick pillar, trying to build up the nerve to speak to Melchior—watched his figure disappear down the street.
Two days later, Sunday night.
"I just—I just don't know how to do this."
Moritz stared stupidly down at the thirty Trigonometry problems strewn out on his desk. He had cried twice, searched endlessly through tutorials on the Internet, and could still barely grasp how to do the first problem without getting completely stuck.
He thought about what his father had said during the summer. He sickeningly imagined his father's booming, vindictive voice: "You failed Intro to Algebra, almost failed Geometry—you think colleges are going to accept you if you fail Trig, too? I mean it. I won't pay a cent for your education if you bomb this semester too. No college will even glance at you."
But he couldn't do it. He threw his pencil across the room and let his face fall into his hands. In a moment, after recomposing himself, he opened his bottom desk drawer—cluttered with papers—and absently drew a cartoon version of Ilse's face. He wasn't sure why the image had come to him so clearly.
Thea, Anna, and Wendla were spending their Sunday evening on a set of railroad tracks, balancing themselves on the beams in the dark-orange twilight, the sun falling, the cold autumn air leaving their mouths in clouds of fogs.
"Shit, it sure is getting cold now," Anna said, rubbing her arms. She stopped and took a seat on the beam. Martha and Wendla did the same.
They were quiet. It was unusual for the trio of girls: they were usual so talkative amongst themselves, always excited to gossip and share meaningless banter. But the weekend had turned things more serious. For one thing, Anna and Thea knew that Melchior had invited Wendla to hang out on Friday night—but they didn't know that nothing happened. They were too scared to ask.
The two also knew what they wouldn't dare say. The spark was there—it was true and real between them. They couldn't go one minute in the day without imagining the feeling of their lips touching, moving together. But it wasn't right to say anything. They just sat close together on the railroad tracks, watching the sun fall, arms pressed together, staring forward and wondering if Wendla could feel it as strongly as they could.
Wendla broke the silence. "I think… I think I really like Melchior."
Anna and Thea shared a glance. Anna asked, "So, what exactly happened? How'd your night go?"
"Oh," Wendla said, bursting out into a fit of giggles. "Okay, funny thing is… I didn't exactly go and meet him. I hid."
Anna and Thea met eyes and burst out laughing. The humor broke the tense silence that would come for the rest of the night.
