AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Unfortunately, that’s the problem. Idon’tlike Harrison—not in that way. When I look at his blond hair and brown eyes, I imagine them dark brown and blue.
Crushes can take time to develop, I guess. I don’t know anything about Harrison except that he plays football and is good at math. Maybe we have lots of shared interests that would make him more attractive and spark more of a connection.
I think those are the logical, sensible kinds of crushes, though. Where you really get to know someone and understand what they have to offer. Like a pro/con list for the heart. You form a conclusion first and then romantic feelings start to develop.
The problem is, I’ve experienced the illogical, consuming kind of crush. Thecan’t sleep, can’t eatsort. Thestay up for hours to talk to him for minutesmadness. Butterflies that keep flying. Giddiness that doesn’t fade. Holden hijacks my brain like there’s a part of him inside of me I can’t ignore.
I’m not sure how to explain that to anyone without sounding crazy.
We reach my car and Sydney gets distracted by putting on a playlist as I pull out of my spot and join the long line of cars waiting to leave the high school’s parking lot.
It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the local animal shelter from the Pembrooke High campus. I volunteer here as often as I can. Sydney is not as much of an animal lover as I am, but she comes with me whenever she can. The shelter is always understaffed for the amount of work to be done. She usually helps with filing paperwork and cleaning, while I focus more on assisting with the animals.
Susan, a middle-aged woman who also volunteers, is out in the fenced run that juts off from the right side of the shingled building when I park in the small lot. The three puppies that were brought in last week are running around her ankles in circles, yapping playfully. I wave at her as Sydney and I head into the shelter.
There’s no one at the front desk when we enter. I walk through the lobby and down the hallway, passing the rooms where potential adopters can play with the animals available for adoption.
The rest of the building is dedicated to housing the cats and dogs living here. I peek into the cat room first. All but one of the twenty cages are filled. The bowls are neatly stacked on the table for feeding later and the play area in the center room looks freshly cleaned.
Sydney follows me across the hall, into the dog room. Eileen, who manages the shelter, is sitting in the center of the room, cross-legged. Patch, the shelter’s longest resident, is lying next to her, wagging his bushy tail as he gets brushed.
Eileen looks up and smiles, the corners of her eyes creasing as some gray hair falls out of the perpetually messy ponytail she has it pulled back in.
She’s been in charge of everything for as long as I’ve been coming here. Now a retired veterinarian, she left a practice a few towns over to open up a shelter instead. Rumors around Pembrooke suggest she left a messy divorce behind, but I’ve never pried into her past and she’s never offered any details. Her life is the animals, and she’s been the largest inspiration for my planned path.
I walk over and crouch down beside Patch, rubbing his head and setting off a fresh wave of wags. Eileen always says the point of the shelter is to find new homes for the pets, not to have them all end up in her house, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Patch ends up a permanent resident.
Eileen gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m behind with the rest of these guys.” She gestures to the kennels around us. Most of them are empty right now, the dogs choosing to be outside in the sunshine instead of indoors. “Was just giving this guy a little extra love.”
“He deserves it,” I say, giving Patch another pet before standing. “I can get started on the rest of the crew.”
“I’ll get back to the filing,” Sydney says, heading toward the door that leads to the office. “Same system, Eileen?”
“Yes! Thank you, Sydney.”
Sydney smiles and disappears into the office.
“I’ll be lost next year without you.”
“Next fall is still a ways away.” I force a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of anxiety the mention of college prompts. It sparks apprehension about where I’ll end up and how different it might be from what I’m used to.
I’ve looked forward to leaving for college for years. It’s a step forward, a chance to meet new people and have new experiences. Finally embarking on my planned path.
I feel stuck in Pembrooke. Everything about my life is expected and confined. Ever since my family moved here backwhen I was in elementary school, I’ve been the nice, quiet, smart girl. The girl who gets good grades and doesn’t get drunk. I didn’t realize how claustrophobic that was until recently, when I experienced the rush of the unexpected. And somehow, it made me more conflicted about leaving Pembrooke. Reticent, almost.
Especially since I discovered on Friday night, I don’t have to leave to feel a thrill. To me, it feels like the thrill is tied to a person, not a place.
Cleaning out cages and measuring kibble keeps my hands busy, but my mind has nothing to do but wander. I know the mountain of paperwork Sydney is working on will take the couple of hours we usually spend here. Eileen left to help Susan with the puppies and then to feed the cats. I’m alone in the cavernous space, stuck with my thoughts.
I run through the list of assignments I need to finish tonight. Brainstorm ideas for my college essay. The prompt isDescribe an experience that is essential to who you are.I can’t come up with anything that doesn’t sound boring or average. Getting good grades and volunteering here are what were supposed to help me get into college. It didn’t allow for many memorable experiences. Humping Holden Adams is the most memorable thing that’s happened to me lately.
Memorable, and also an experience I’m actively trying to forget. He’s making it harder than I thought it would be. I thought pretending to be asleep when he came over yesterday would be enough of a deterrent. I had been trying to take a nap, I just exaggerated my breathing when I heard my mom open the door. Her knowing gaze at dinner last night was distracting. But the kicker was Holden himself.
Despite my best efforts, I’ve heard the rumors about him. He’s a star player off the court as well as on it. In addition to being the hottest guy who attends Pembrooke High, he hasit. That tangible charisma where you’re drawn to someoneeven when they’re doing nothing. He has a pull around him, a confidence that stands out regardless of where he is. Regardless of whatever he’s doing.
Maybe it should make me feel better about my perpetual weakness, seeing how girls throw themselves at him based on that appeal alone. I have some measure of history with him, back when we were close friends. There were also ten thrilling minutes during eighth grade when I was certain he felt the same way about me as I felt about him.
I was sure Friday night would lead to the same indifference that rapidly followed our eighth-grade kiss. History is often an accurate predictor of the future.
