It Was Meant To Be

Molly dreams of two things: getting into her first-choice university and finding true love. Music-loving slacker Zayn also dreams of two things:winning the battle of the bands- and winning Molly.He is determined to make her fall in love with him.

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26. You Just Know

You Just Know

3rd November, 10.53 am

Molly's POV

I'm all jittery in drafting. I had this intense dream last night about Zayn. The kind of dream where it feels so real it's like you're still in it for the rest of the day. I'm high on butterflies and sleep deprivation.

My hand, apparently with a mind of its own, smacks against my water bottle. Water spills all over the workbench. My calc notes are immediately saturated.

I run over to the paper towels and pull out half they roll. I frantically blot my notebook. Then I raise my hand. I'm dying to talk about this with someone who can give me advice. Mr Slater's, like, the only adult I can talk to.

Mr Slater comes over. "What's happening?" he says, as chill as usual.

"See," I whisper, "I'm having this problem."

I glance across the table at Scott. Why does he even have to be in this class with me? It's like I'm being stalked by relationship karma.

Scott stops sketching. He slowly looks up.

We look back at him.

Scott picks up his sketchbook and charcoal and moves the whole operation to another table.

I quietly go on. "You know how I'm with Andrew?"

Mr Slater nods.

"Well...there's this other guy I feel really connected to."

"How do you feel about Andrew?"

"I don't know. Not the same as before. He's not who I thought he was."

"What do you mean?"

"All summer I wanted to go out with him and I thought about him all the time. I had this idea of him that...but he's like...it turns out that he goes along with whatever his friends want, and we don't have that much in common, and...we're on different wavelengths when it comes to sense of humour. He's just..."

"How do you feel about this other guy?"

I get this huge smile on my face. "He's..." I'm trying to take all of these feelings I have about Zayn and translate them into words. It's like trying to describe how different colours feel.

I look right at Mr Slater and say, "He's something real."

"That's deep." Mr Slater nods thoughtfully. "Then what's the purpose on staying with Andrew?"

"I don't want to hurt him and everyone knows you have to work at relationships."

"Good relationships aren't so much work that you're unhappy more often that you're happy, though."

I pick at my charcoal stick.

"Molly, when do you think your relationship with Andrew will end?"
"What?"

"Are you guys going to the same college next year?"

"No," I say. That's another thing. Andrew isn't that smart and even though I was fighting it because Andrew is so gorgeous, the truth is I need to have a boyfriend who's at least as smart as me.

"So your relationship would have to end then, wouldn't it?"

I don't say anything.

Mr Slater goes, "Even if you had a long-distance relationship, which, by the way, in my experience, never works out, one day your relationship will probably end."

"Why?"

"Do you want to be with Andrew for the rest of your life?" Then he rips  off a piece of paper and picks up the smallest charcoal stick from my set. He writes something. He passes it over to me.

   It says:

Time will tell

"And while you're waiting," he says, "don't settle for anything less than you really want."

He's so right. It's like I forgot about what I'm looking for. I remember the boy I described on my reassure-map page before my first date with Andrew and how I've been waiting so long for him to come into my life.

I take my sketchbook out of my bag and turn to that page. All of the words there describe one person.

And that's when I realize that it's finally happening because when it happens, for real, you just know.

"it's so cool that  they only have booths here," I say.

I asked Andrew to come to the diner with me for lunch. I wanted to have some privacy so I could try to talk to him about this but I don't know if I can do it yet...

"Because! Then you don't have to sit at a table if they're all full." I play with the retro sugar shaker.

"No, I mean, what's the difference where you sit?" Andrew replies. "You're still sitting down to eat. Why does it matter if you're sitting at a table or a booth?"

He's so completely clueless it is unbelievable. This is just one of many examples that proves Andrew and I aren't soul mates. In the past three weeks, Andrew hasn't understood the following: why I have to work on my sketchbook everyday, why I like lamps better than overhead lighting, why games are so much fun, why I get upset if I get a B in anything, and why I'm still not ready to have sex. And now he doesn't get it about how anyone who's even remotely into diners would want to sit at a booth instead of a table. And yeah, I realize that these are little things but they all add up to the big picture of my life and if you don't get them, then you don't get me.

And if he was ever going to get me, wouldn't I have been got by now?

"It's about aesthetics," I tell him.

"What do you mean?"

This isn't something you should have to explain. If you have to explain about how something's supposed to feel, it takes away all the magic. So I go, "Never mind." My sad voice depresses me even more.

And something else has been bothering me for a while. Andrew usually drives me home every day and then stays at my place for a few hours, Lately, I'm feeling that confined feeling even more. I miss my alone time.

"By the way," I tell him, "you don't have to drive me home every day. Sometimes I just need to be alone for a while."

We don't talk for about seventeen thousand years.

Then he goes, "OK, let's start over."

As if it were that easy.

I keep eating. I don't look at him but then I feel bad, so I go, "Let's play the Game of Favourites."

"Fine," he says. "You start."

"Um...favourite movie scene of all time?"

"Let's see..." Andrew's thinking, but I already regret suggesting this. This game is only good to play with people you want to get to know better.

After he tells ,e this way-too-long-and-boring description of a movie I have no interest in seeing, he goes, "What's yours?"

"Lloyd holding the boom box over his head."

"Who?"

There's no way he doesn't know this. "Andrew. You know that huge poster I have in my room? Of John  Cusack holding the boom box up?"

"Oh...yeah?"

"Remember - I told you about this already." But did Andrew ever ask about that huge poster in my room? Wouldn't that be, like, the first thing you ask someone about if you're seeing their room for the first time? But Andrew hardly looks at my stuff and he doesn't really ask that much about me, It's like he only cares about what his friends think of me.

And now he only has one thing on his mind when he's in my room. He doesn't even bother with the pretence of doing homework anymore. He starts kissing me the second I put my bag down and when we hook up, he's so impatient.

"What movie's that from again?" he asks.

"Say Anything..."

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember." He talks and chews at the same time. "I hated that movie."

"You hated that movie?" It's only my favourite movie in the whole entire universe.

"Yeah. I mean, OK, so two people like each other but then there's all that stuff about her dad keeping them apart? I don't buy it. If they really loved each other so much, why didn't they just get together?"

"It's not that simple."

"And I don't get the whole thing about that scene. Like, what's so big about a boom box?"

Obviously, this is the last straw.

When I get home later, I put The Eminem Show in my CD player, put on the same headphones Marshall wears, and crank the volume. Then I get out my sketchbook and my favourite pen. My favourite pen is pastel  blue and writes really smoothly. it feels like liquid silk slicking over the pages.

I want to write down what I'm looking for and why it feels like I'm not finding it with Andrew. I write and write until my hand hurts. When I look at the clock, it's one in the morning but I'm not even tired.

I change into my fuzzy pyjamas with the satin trim I always wear when I'm upset. I turn out the light and get into bed with my iPod.

And I think about Zayn.

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