Paper bag

Cue the cheers and applause because I've graduated and am now a proud member of the working population. At least for the next month or so.

I'm back in Los Angeles. Home, smoggy home. Except I'm back in a dorm room, living out of a suitcase, working for a "high school professional forum" - fancy schmancy words to disguise what it really is. A Camp for Overachieving High Schoolers. Not that I don't love my group of kids. Because I honestly do love them. Who wouldn't love a group of kids willing to cross-dress and dance around - a choreographed dance, mind you, not random spastic movements - to Aqua's Barbie Girl song?

Granted, it's been a little tough.

The morning went perfectly. My students were a little tired, but that was to be expected. We played some "energy-up" icebreaking games, and then they were on. Everyone was participating, which really made my job a whole lot easier. Then we started PBL (problem-based learning). And they started to get frustrated. Which they then started to take out on me. Luckily for me, (note the sarcasm), my boss decided to come observe my classroom at that exact moment.

Survey the scene, if you please.

One female student, blatently sleeping on the floor in the middle of the room, despite my protests and beseeching.

One male student, adamantly refusing to determine "what is wrong with Mrs. Anderson," and repeating, continuously and loudly, "she's going to die, she's going to die, she's going to die."

Another male student, picking at his cuticles and hangnails. And responding with huhs every time I ask for his feedback in a desperate attempt to get him to participate.

Three female students loudly gossiping about the cute boy in the other corner as he blushes and pretends that he can't hear them.

Me - trying desperately to look like I have some kind of control over the group and failing miserably.

I can't wait to get my formal evaluation...

Oh but the fun didn't end there. Oh no siree.

After that trying session, we headed over to dinner, where I picked up a spaghetti plate and headed over to the salad bar.

"Sorry, can I just reach in here and grab some dressing?" asked the cute little Asian girl.

"Sure!" responded the naive faculty advisor who, from this point on, will not let another soul cut in line.

"Thanks!" said the cute little Asian girl as she reached across, leaned against my cafeteria tray, which then proceeded to tip dangerously. I reached out to save the tray, two seconds too late, and the tray with the spaghetti plate came crashing down on my pristine black and white skirt.

The next day I was eating a teriyaki burger, when the wax paper holding the bottom of my burger broke, and a hamburger patty with a side of teriyaki sauce fell into my lap. So now, I have yet another souvenir - a permanent stain on my khaki skirt.

I can't wait to see how many outfits I have left at the end of the week.

But regardless, this week has been so enlightening and fun. I now have a newfound respect for teachers everywhere. I don't know where I would be if I didn't have a pre-set lesson plan waiting for me every morning. And I'm learning so much. Learning to eat with a napkin in my lap. Learning choreographed dances. Learning to not use trays in the dining hall. Learning how to use my height to command respect. Learning to know when to not let people know you listen to country. Learning how to read people (but we'll save that for next time).

I bet I'm learning more than my students. What with the blatent gossiping and sleeping.

But it's time to face the truth - I'll never be with you

Just kidding.

That's all I have to say about the last post.

Just kidding.

I thought I was a good judge of whether or not a boy liked me. I even err on the cautious side, more likely to believe that the guy isn't enamored. But with this one, I thought I was right. I didn't realize that electricity could be self-generating.

Let's start at the beginning.

Well, you already know the beginning. Let's follow up.

So after that night at the club, I figured I'd never see the boy again. It was, after all, the end of the year, and we were destined for two very different lives. Me for med school. Him for the political spotlight. But my guy friends - crafty guys that they are - devised various reasons for me to see the boy again and again.

We were invited over for game night. And after six grueling hours of taboo, apples to apples, chess, and various drinking games, we all realized that it was 4:20am. Perfect for a quick trip to the 24-hour Burger King and then a jaunt to the beach to watch the sunrise. A group of us went, but we miraculously found ourselves paired off. No doubt thanks to my boys who made sure certain people went to the left so that I was left alone with the boy on the right side of the beach. As we sat there, the alcohol began to wear off, and we realized that I was shivering. Chivalrous boy that he is, the boy immediately took off his sweater and gave it to me. And though I know it was just a piece of clothing, that gesture made me swoon. So imagine how I felt when he put his arm around me and pulled me in close. And then we sat there. Together. Watching the sun rise. It was great.

We left soon after. I was sleepy and he had a paper that was due in a couple of hours. (That fact alone made me convinced that he must have felt something between us, since he gave up precious typing time to go to the beach instead.)

But that's not all.

A couple of days later, Kelvin and I were invited to a birthday party at a downtown hotspot. Remember now, Kelvin's one crafty boy. So he invited the boy along to be my plus one. (Although I'm sure he didn't phrase it that way.) A couple other people came along as well, including the boy's roommate. The infamous boy from the beginning of the quarter.

But it was fine. The infamous boy was angry pretty much the whole time and ignored the rest of us, but the boy and I had a blast. Given that it was an open bar, we got pretty trashed - it being graduation and all. So with that liquid courage, we were being openly flirtatious. Holding hands. Dancing real close. I didn't feel so well towards the end of the night, so he sat with me. Petting my hand and resting his head against mine.

I was so happy.

We rode home together. And when he was dropped off, he petted my knee and said, "good night...take care."

I didn't realize that would be the last time I would talk to him.

The next day was a senior event. He had tickets to attend, but ended up skipping.

The day after, he missed a BBQ that a mutual friend was hosting.

And the night after that was Senior Formal. Both of us had tickets to that. Interestingly enough, though he was invited to be a part of our group, he decided not to come with us. And then when we were at the actual formal, we barely acknowledged each other. No, I take that back. I acknowledged him, and all I got was the slightest hint of a head nod.

I don't know what I did. Was he avoiding me? Why was it suddenly awkward?

Maybe he realized that there was no point. My best guy friend is convinced that he, perhaps, realized that he liked me, and then was scared to let it develop any more - given how we were graduating and all. Or it could be something completely different. Maybe I scared him off, 'cause I couldn't read the signs. I am, after all, Intimidation Central.

I don't know. I'm just sad there wasn't a proper ending to what could have been the best fling of my life.

Beautiful love

Just a quick update before a full post:

I've decided that two weeks of bliss is totally worth more than a lifetime of regret. So I've spent a fair amount of time with the boy from the last post. Sunrises. Late night dancing. BBQs.

It's been heaven.

Full post to come as soon as senior week is officially over and I'm no longer in a constant tipsy state and can actually write coherently.

Just know that I'm quite happy. :)

Nice to meet you anyway

But I need you to go, 'cause Kelvin will just leave me there once he finds a cute girl on the dance floor.

Dennis - I really ought to be studying for finals. Besides, why do you want me to go? Aren't you going so you can finally meet Tiffany? I sighed. I was already way behind schedule.

Please? he begged, giving me his best puppy-dog eyes. I've never asked you for anything before...I need you to come. Please?

After much more hassling and reassurance that I didn't need to study - my grades don't matter anymore! - I finally relented and agreed to be his wingman for the night. Kelvin and Dennis then gave me five minutes (no more, preferably less) to primp and whip my hair into submission, while they figured out travel plans.

Twenty minutes later - I am a girl after all - I was ready to go. Meeting the boys downstairs, I was shocked to find another guy who was going to catch a ride to the club with us. Though, given my luck, I should have figured that our travel plans would include this guy.

Shooting death glares at Kelvin, who merely smiled innocently and asked if I wanted to sit in the back with our friend, I grabbed Dennis' hand and pulled him into the backseat with me. He might have convinced me to be his wingman, but there was no way I was going to endure a 30+ minute drive talking about I-don't-know-what with that guy. Hello, Awkward, party of two.

Once we got to the club, we met up with the rest of the group whom I didn't really know. Cute, scantily-clad girls and boys dressed in striped dress-shirts milled about as Dennis not-so-conspicuously pointed out the target girl - who was talking to a rather attractive boy.

Maybe being Dennis' wingman wouldn't be so bad after all.

We sidled up next to them, and introductions were made. After seeing that Dennis was actually having a conversation with Tiffany that seemed to be going rather smoothly, I pulled the guy away and started a conversation of my own. We clicked right away since he rolled with my sarcastic punches and even pulled a wisecrack or two. It was one of those fun conversations, where it's closing time before you know it, and you're surprised that you are actually sober since the whole time the two of you were talking, you were so entranced and entertained that you forgot you were holding a drink. It hit 3am, and the rest of the party decided it was finally time to head home, so we smiled, and with a casual "I'll see you around," walked away from each other.

The next morning my friends quite eagerly woke me up, hoping to hear me regale them with tales of love at first sight, since they insisted that they saw sparks fly between me and the boy. Dennis chided me to "tell the truth" since he had unwittingly played wingman for me, instead of the other way around. I laughed and noted that there were only two weeks of school left.

So? He's going to be in Springfield!

Yes, and I'm going to be in Chicago.

Well, it doesn't matter, you have two weeks still.

You mean I only have two weeks.

The conversation turned to other things - such as the flop that was Tiffany and Dennis - but I couldn't help but wonder how things would have been different if I had met the guy a year, two years, earlier. We could have been great friends instead of mere acquaintances who bonded over dorky dances.

I need to keep reminding myself that there's no point in thinking about the boy. Two weeks is too short for anything. And though I don't know how things might be different if there was more time, I wish I had more than two weeks. But that's how it goes, isn't it? You only find what you're looking for when you're least expecting it.


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Side note: Coincidentally, his roommate happens to be the same guy who caught a ride with me, Dennis, and Kelvin to the club. What a small world. And they couldn't be more different from each other.