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I vividly remember the day she stormed into my school to yell at a professor who had bullied me and degraded me in front of the entire class because I didn’t perform well enough on the piano at a concert rehearsal. I had been fighting tears that whole day, because it was my dad’s birthday.
And he wasn’t there.
The last thing I wanted to do was perform for that ass of a professor.
So I ran away from his class, but not before I got an earful about what a failure I was. When Eden heard about it, she started running towards the school building. She was fearless. If it wasn’t so awesome, it would have been funny.
Ok, maybe it was a little funny anyway.
Eden marched into that class, pretending to be my older sister—I don’t think anyone believed her for a second, but she didn’t care. I watched as the timid mouse of a girl I knew turned into this spoiled brat who was threatening my professor that ‘our parents would remove their patronage of the school’ unless he treated me better. At which point both the principal and my professor had gone white as chalk.
No one had stood up for me before that.
We walked back into the woods together. At some point, I brushed my fingertips over hers, and she let me.
I kept stealing glances at her slender legs in her knee-high socks, her skirt swinging above her knees. I remember gathering up the courage. I remember my fingers sliding down all the way to her wrist, feeling its delicate veins as my long fingers circled it. Her hand was made of porcelain, of pearls, and I turned her around to face me. She smiled and shut her eyes, her pink lips waiting for mine. I pressed her back against a tree and pushed my lips against hers hungrily, like I was drowning and she was oxygen.
I remember the scratches on my knuckles stinging as I tangled my fingers in her hair. I remember her growing weak against me, her knees giving way. Us both giggling as I caught her against me and then slid to my knees too, holding her, because it was my first kiss, but it was also my first kiss with her.
I remember feeling like I was drowning and that I didn’t want to be rescued.
Suddenly, she grew serious.
‘Who gave you these scratches?’ she asked me.
I shrugged. ‘Just teachers I disappointed with my playing,’ I said.
She took my hand and cradled it between her fingers as if it were something precious, something worth protecting. She kissed every bruised knuckle, anger flashing in her honey eyes, and told me that her dad was very rich and influential and could get that professor fired for me.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Isaiah,’ she replied in a severe tone, as if she was speaking to a child. ‘Please tell me you know you’re a genius.’
I just stood there, dumbfounded, my lips swollen from kissing her, my heart in pieces from all the overwhelming, impossible things she made me feel.
‘I’m what?’ I laughed.
‘You’re a composer, you idiot. And a songwriter.’
‘Didn’t you just say I was a genius?’
Tears shone in her eyes and I panicked.
‘Hey, no, I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry. Please call me an idiot all you like, I love it.’
‘I’m not crying about that, you idiot,’ she replied, more water streaming down her cheeks. ‘I’m crying about you. If no one in your life, no teachers, parents, brothers, friends… if no one has told you that you are amazing, and that you can do anything you want… Then they are all wrong. Because you are. Amazing.’
I brought down my lips to hers again greedily, desperately, and to this day I remember every single detail of what happened next.
How my lips burned and tingled and how my brain exploded in a symphony. How my hands found the hollow between her collarbones and explored the contour of her jaw, her shoulder, her waist. How the grass smelled as we lowered our bodies to it. How she knit her thin, long fingers behind my neck, bringing my mouth down to hers, deepening the kiss. How the wind was singing just for us. How I gave her my heart that day, because until then nobody had ever really seen me.
And even I, idiot that I was, knew that that happens to very few people on the planet. Ever.
But it happened to me. From that moment on, I was a goner. I was hers. And for some unfathomable reason, she was mine too. She told me so, a year later. We were together for two years, all in all.
I saved her life once, too. But that day, she didn’t save mine. She started it.
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