Forget me lots (Completed)

1. River 🐝

Drowning out the moronic conversations of my so-called friends is turning out to be a tad complicated today. Tiny droplets of glistening sweat decorate my forehead—I loathe sweating. My clammy hands make the pencil slip from my grasp. A drop slides down my temple, clinging to my furrowed eyebrow. For some unknown reason, something urges me to get this sketch right.

The wind has picked up, only to spread more heat over the scalding meadow. Through the branches of the ancient oak trees, the sun hits me like a rock. Damn it, weren't we in Autumn the last time I checked? How come it's so hot? My curls are out of control, blurring my vision as I struggle to capture the expression in her eyes. A slow smile creeps up my face, picturing my abuela saying, "Ay, mijo! Córtate ese pelo que ya pareces niña!" She's right, I should get a haircut soon. Goldilocks has nothing on me.

My friends' incessant squawking grows louder by the second, and I want nothing to do with it, so I squint more and continue tracing shadows as if my life depended on it. These last few weeks, the image of this girl has haunted my nights. It's like I've seen her around, but can't remember where or when. She's a figment of my imagination, someone I'd love to meet. Someone that is the total opposite to the girls I pretend to like at school.

"Slow dancing to the latest Sheeran's song is the new foreplay, I'm telling you!" a male voice says behind the tree trunk I rest against.

"So isn't," someone else says snorting.

"It's so fucking true," Thaddeus shouts back. "'Thinking out loud' got me so laid with the new girl from my lit class—the stunning one with the gorgeous skin, the African-American transfer. Man, I woke up with my hair in braids." He rubs a hand over his hair, reminiscing.

"You're full of shit, Thaddeus." Sebastian snorts in defiance.

"You're full of shit," Thaddeus hisses.

Slow dancing, foreplay and fairytale romances are full of shit. I dwell over saying it out loud or choking on my bile. I know it's not the time to quote Maroon 5, but one more fucking love song mentioned and I'll be sick.

What are the odds they'd all grow gills and throw themselves in the lake? Yes, sad but true. They had convinced me to hop on Thaddeus' ancient-but-sleek—or so he bragged—dinosaur van and visit Elsie Lake. A cute gem right here in Wallace, Idaho. A. k. a home.

"River! River, bro!" Sebastian.

Being summoned by him was like a death sentence. No escape, nowhere to hide. The dude was huge. I have to admit I am jealous every time I look at his buffed arms. Don't get me started on the eerie bad-boy glow he has going on.

Relentless like a newborn beast baby eager to be fed, he chants my name. I feign concentration but forget to lower my head. Big mistake. Huge. I'm paying for it seconds later as I get hit in the back of the head by a crumpled packet of Marlboro Gold.

"So sorry, bro. Thought you were paying attention." He excuses himself by raising his gigantic hands—more like monster paws—in a plea.

I pull down my headphones and stare at him, feigning amusement. "What is it, Sebastian?"

"Isn't Thaddeus full of crap? He's saying an Ed Sheeran's song got him laid."

That's it. I might drop the contents of my stomach over the bushes encircling the reservoir. I almost feel pity for the tiny creatures that consider them their dwelling.

Sometimes I wonder if there is any grey matter left in Sebastian's central station. Maybe the triplication of his body mass has exhausted all cell activity and there's none left for mental growth. I'm so tempted to ask him that, instead I stick to my feigning, it's worked so far. "What song?"