Wildest Dreams [H.S.]

It is the first day of senior year and Barbara Stewart has planned exactly how she is going to tackle the next ten months. What she did not plan was for the new kid to be a snake eyed nonchalant punk with a bit too many tattoos and a certain interest in her.


8. Eight

“So what is up with you and the new guy?” Jennifer asks and closes her gym-locker. I shrug my shoulders, “Nothing really.” 

“So you did not skip photography to walk him around the school?” 

I sigh and look at her, “I did. But nothing is going on. Matter of fact I think he is dating Juliane.” 

“Juliane who? Summers?” Jennifer spits in disbelief. 

I nod. 

“No way!” She says a bit too loudly and I fast tell her to keep it down. I do not want someone to overhear our conversation. Rumours travel like a fire in this school. 

“I saw them in the parking lot. Alone.” I explain, “Juliane seemed happy to see him and Harry did not seem less excited.” That is not completely true, but close to what I saw, and therefore I do not consider it an actual lie. 

Jennifer sighs, “Why always the cheerleaders? Why not us swimmers?” 

“You. I am not a swimmer,” I remind her. 

“Yes you are. You are here now,” her eyes wander down my bath suit covered body. Jennifer is a good swimmer and she has always been, but this year she had gotten tired of swimming alone, and therefore asked me to take swim classes with her after our school days. That is how I ended up here, standing half naked and bare feet of slippery stone floors.
The question lingers in my head as we walk out the doors and into the chlorine smelling pool room.
Why always the cheerleaders? Why always the popular girls? Can’t real life for once just be like a young adult novel, where the wanted guy falls for the ordinary girl. Somehow those stories only appear in Twilight-like books. 

“Hurry up girls,” our coach demands and snaps her fingers a couple times. We rush across the wet floors, without running. There are strict rules against running, and Coach Mondy takes them very seriously. 

The swimming lesson is as horrible as usual. I have never been a great swimmer, and coach Mondy (as well as the rest of the team) is very well aware of that. I will never make it to the competitions - not that I want to, but I am the only one who does not compete on the team and it leaves me a bit like the only dog between wolves. We swim for two short hours, until the whistle blows and we are ordered back into the changing rooms. 

“Remember to hit the showers!” Coach Mondy says as she sends us off. 



The water is warm against my naked body and I slowly work the shampoo into my hair. “So what are we doing this weekend?” Jennifer asks, and my eyes flutter open. She steps into the shower with a towel wrapped around her body. 

“I didn’t know we had plans?” 

“No, that’s the point. What are we doing?” She removes the towel and hangs it on one of the black hangers. Jennifer has a nice body. Slim muscular legs, that are much longer than mine. She does not have much waist, but is gifted with a pair of attention-catching boobs. They are not enormous, but just about the size that sends every girl off with a sting of jealousy. Me included.
Her skin tone is fair and somehow the paleness makes her light brown eyes stand our beautifully.

“We could always go to K?” I suggest. K is a bar in East Haven that always looks away when we enter. They have never once checked our ID’s, well aware of the fact that we are under the age of twenty-one. 

Jennifer turns on the water, “I was thinking something private.” 

“I am not sure there is anything.” 

“Of course there is. It is the first weekend after summer.”

“Well yes, there is always Anne-Marie’s annual party.” I say and close my eyes again, moving my hands back to my hair. Anne-Marie Harper is one of the cheerleaders and she is a close friend of Juliane. We girls are not officially invited, but we have attended since sophomore year and we have never been kicked out. Everyone at the school is unofficially welcome, so it is an option.  

“Yes, I just thought that maybe we should do something more exciting. It is after all our last year here,” Jennifer says. 

“Mmhm,” I reply distantly. 

“But then again, there are many more weekends to come this year and maybe we should hold on to traditions.” Jennifer is speaking her thoughts out loud and does not need my view nor opinion, she has already made up her mind. We are going to Anne-Marie Harper’s annual “Welcome back to school”-party. A party to remind us all that she is a part of the elite and the only reason she is not attending Holy Cross, is because of her parents lack of religious faith.

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