floating | ✓

02| names

“A friend is one that knows you as you are. Understands where you have been. Accepts who you have become. And still, gently allows you to grow. ”

- William Shakespeare

02| names

It’s a spiral day. I know it as soon as I wake up. The party on Saturday didn’t do anything to help me. On Sunday, I spent the whole day sleeping in. I went down for lunch and dinner and that was all. Luckily, neither Mom nor Dad sneaked into my room to check up on me.

Today is Monday, and sadly, I have school, so I have to go. I can’t make another excuse to sleep for the day. Mom won’t let me.

I walk down the hallway towards my locker until I spot a mop of blonde hair. I smile reminiscing the memory from Saturday night. I call loudly, “Hey, Something Carlson!”

Carlson freezes in place. He remembers me. I smirk.

He moves slowly, turning around to face me. All the while I can see his straight set of lips turning into a frown. God, how much I love that.

“What?” he asks me. I stalk forward.

“Nothing, just wanted to say hi, now that I’m your friend,” I say with a smug smile.

Carlson raises one of his eyebrows to express his surprise. “Since when are you my friend?”

“Oh, c’mon,” I nudge him in the shoulder. “I figured out your biggest secret. ”

Carlson sighs and runs a hand through his blonde hair. I enjoy that he can’t stand me. I really enjoy it.

“You don’t even know my name,” he says, looking me in the eyes.

I know his name. I knew it as soon as I woke up in his bed on Sunday. His name is Oliver Carlson. He’s a junior like me. We have always gone to the same school. I distinctly remember him being in my kindergarten class and at the same elementary school.

Oliver is not one for popularity. All through the years he was known as Carlson, as the son of rich Dave Carlson, as the brother of Owen Carlson. His father owns the Carlson Ltd. I know about that because my mom and dad were the one who supervised the making of the high rise building of Carlson Ltd. that stands up in our small town. You can see it from anywhere. It’s like a mole on smooth skin.

At least, that’s how I see it.

“Is that really important?” I ask smiling.

“That’s one of the first things you know about someone. A name,” Carlson points out, leaning against the locker behind him.

Is that so? I have never been successful in making friends. I know their names, all of their names. Once I hear someone’s name, I don’t really forget it. I couldn’t remember Oliver’s name that night because I was intoxicated, but any other time, it would have taken me seconds.

What use is it for me to know names? I knew all the faces, all the names, yet I never really knew the people behind them. I never really knew anyone. Those names left a scar, reminding me every time how little I knew.

I knew Oliver’s name, but knowing him would take more than that.

“I may not know your name but I,” I tiptoed and whispered in his ear, “I slept in your bed. ”

Carlson grimaces. I laugh.

“It can’t be that bad,” I say. “You should savor it. A girl slept in your bed. When was the last time you took one to your room?”