You Should Have Been Here Yesterday

Steve Tally

Shit.  I'm into him.

        I'm so into him that it's not even funny.

        But Mick and Joey think it's fuckin' hilarious.

        I denied all of this on Friday night after Mick dropped me off, for I just couldn't seem to fall asleep.  I felt all hyper inside.  But I refused to tell myself why.

        And on Monday morning I succumbed.  I realized it as I took extra care applying makeup and doing my hair and picking out an outfit.  I was just finishing up with the mascara (I don't wear a ton of makeup–I merely took the time today not to get any on my eyelids) when the thought hit me: Why am I being so careful?  It's Monday, for Christ's sake.  And why aren't I tired?  Am I actually wanting to go to school?

        I sighed as I screwed the cap back on.  I don't wanna go to school; I'm just looking forward to seeing Steve Tally again.

        Oh, God... I'm in trouble now.

        I met Joey at Mick's house, where we ate breakfast and walked to school.  "You look nice today, Gin," Mick commented.

        "Wonder why..." Joey muttered.  I glared at them both.  Joey took a drag from his joint, Mick and I followed likewise, and suddenly we were at school.

        We split ways to first period, where I took my normal seat in front of Rich and to the left of where Steve Tally sits.  I found the feeling of butterflies in my stomach.

        Why the fuck do I have any reason to be nervous?  He sits next to me and has sat next to me all year.  We talked a little, drunkenly, the other night.  That's all.  Really no big deal.

        The final bell rang, but no sign of Steve Tally.  I sighed to myself as Mr. Hamm droned on and on, until the class was half over.  Still, Steve Tally isn't here.  I looked down at the blank paper in front of me, and that's when I saw it.  It was only a number written on the desk, but still it made me wonder: Maybe there's a pop quiz at the end of class and someone was kind enough to write down all the answer–

        No, that wouldn't be possible.  This is the first class of the day.  And it's Monday.

        Nonetheless, I shifted my paper a little to reveal nine more numbers.  And some letters.  Four letters, to be exact.  First, Gin- And then a phone number, and then -S.

        This means one thing: S is for Steve.  Steve as in Tally.  Gin is for me, as in my name.  Steve Tally came to school, scratched his phone number onto my desk with a pencil, then left before the bell could ring or I could see him in the halls.

        What the fuck kind of logic is that?

--

At lunch, I approached the table full of seniors cautiously.  Peter saw me and looked hurriedly back down at his tray of lunch.  "Erm," I began awkwardly, "Alan?"  I refuse to ask Peter this.  The bass player named Alan looked up.  I was standing right next to him at the end of the table.  He grinned.  "Um, d'you know where Steve Tally might be?"

        Alan and his bandmates chuckled, like they were sharing some secret.  "Steve doesn't come to school in the morning after a gig weekend.  He should be here now, though.  No, I dunno where he is.  Why?"

        "Uh..."  I try to think up a quick lie, but then I wonder why I care so much in the first place.  "It's something for... Math."

        The issue with this lunchroom setup is that the table Joey, Mick, and I sit at is right behind the senior table.  So, if they listen, they can probably hear every word I'm saying.  Or, you could turn it around so that the seniors hear everything Mick and Joey are saying: