Magnolia

That feeling where you can't quite breathe properly and your heart is pounding so fast that you think it might explode? I didn't like that feeling. Though this was a first, for me.

   Waiting for Presley to text back was excruciating. Had it been two minutes? Ten? I didn't know. I'd gotten home hours earlier and had to sit through the way too long interrogation from my mom, about the fair. She asked why I didn't come home with Yasmin, and she knew that by looking out the window and noticing that her car wasn't there, parked next door. I told my mom that Yasmin was taking extra time talking to colleges and I felt like I could leave, because it wasn't as if I had to talk to a lot of schools. Then I added that I talked to Jen, from Stanford. That made her happier.

   "Jen, from admissions?" she asked, a smile forming on her face.

   "Jen, from admissions," I repeated, nodding.

   "Oh, that is great. Your dad knows her well. How is your application going? Do you need me to look it over?"

   Up until that day, I'd been working on it almost every night. I had two essays to write and the formal application, though none of it was actually due yet. My parents were making sure I had it ready early, and that it was perfect.

   "It's going good. I'll email you it soon so you can go over it?" I suggested, knowing this would buy me a bit more time.

   I was good with time management. I mean, I didn't have many distractions. Until now.

   "That sounds good, Maggie. I will remind you next week," she finished.

   Dinner was somehow worse than the previous two hours. My dad had requested chilli that morning, so it was almost ready when he came in the door a bit after 7P.M. It was my mom's only day off for likely the next two weeks, and she had spent it making chili from scratch. That was how my parents were.

   After dad's routine of showering and changing into his "house clothes", we finally sat down to eat by 8P.M. I was used to their weird shifts and the change in dinner times. Sometimes dinner was 4P.M. and sometimes it was 8P.M. It had been this way since I'd been a teenagers and no longer had the nanny taking care of me.

   Finally, I was excused from the table and headed up to my bedroom, telling my parents I had to do some reading before tomorrow. That was all I had to say for them to allow me to leave. Instead, I called Yasmin.

   Of course, in perfect Yasmin fashion, she thought we were all good. She laughed and told me about how she and Jakob made out in her car before she drove him home that afternoon. She hadn't paid much attention to the college booths, which didn't surprise me. She didn't know I'd been crying. Or that I went to a skate park with a random guy. And that I couldn't stop thinking about said guy.

   I almost told her about Presley, but decided I had to wait. It wasn't anything. Not yet. She would make a big deal out of it, asking a million questions. So, I just left that part out, and then we said goodnight and see you tomorrow. Like always.

   And then I texted him.

   I was staring, watching the three dots that indicated he was typing. It took forever. Like, a million minutes. And then:

   Presley: Why wouldn't you want to admit that you were thinking about me?

   Me: I told you, this isn't something that I can do.

   Presley: Why not? He was texting back fast.

   Me: I already told you. My parents are strict about what I do and I have to focus on my Stanford application.

   Presley: Okay, so why did you text me?

   I didn't have an answer, because I didn't know, at all. I had never felt this pull towards someone before, besides Yasmin. I'd been so focused on what my parents wanted me to do that this all felt so foreign to me.

   Me: I wish I knew.

   Presley: I've been thinking about you all day, too.

   That made my skin tingle all over. I guess I thought he'd go home and go back to his life, forgetting about the girl he rescued from the college fair. But he had been thinking about me.

   Me: What about me?

   Presley: Your smile, and your name.

   Me: My name?

   Presley: I like it.

   Me: I like your name too.

   A few minutes passed before he was typing again. I felt so comfortable texting with him, like I didn't even have to think about what I was going to say. It was so natural, which terrified me.

   Presley: Can I see you again?

   I should have known this question was coming, but still I was surprised to see it there, on my screen. How was I ever going to see him again? There was no time in my life for a distraction, like him. But even back when I was sitting next to him at the skate park, a part of me knew there was something between us.

   Me: I am not really a normal teenage girl

   Maybe that would scare him off. Maybe now he'd get the hint that I wasn't what he was looking for.

   Presley: That's okay, that's what I like about you. I'm not normal either.

   Me: You need a friend?

   Presley: More than you know.

   I thought about what I was going to say next for a long time. This was it - what I said next would change everything. Knowing he was waiting for my answer was scary, but I knew I had the upper hand now. I thought about him on the other end of this - waiting. Was he in his bedroom? On his bed? Was he distracted or was all this focus on this conversation?

   Me: Maybe I can find one hour, on the weekend.

   Presley: That's very specific, but I'll take it. Um, I work Fridays after school, but maybe I could come pick you up after?

   He'd already thought about this, it was obvious. I knew it wouldn't be easy to see him, and hide it from my parents. Yes, they worked a lot. But somehow they always had eyes on me. And then I had to decide if I really wanted to hide things from them. What I did know what that I liked him and seeing him one more time wasn't going to do any harm.

   Me: Friday actually works. My parents are both on the late shift.

   Presley: Friday, then. What's your address?

   Right, I had to give that to him. Should I give him a fake address and have him pick me up from another neighbourhood? If I was going to do this, lying, hiding, it didn't really matter if he knew where I really lived.

   Me: 108 Rainwater Drive

   Before I knew what I was doing, I sent him my real address. Well, actually, that was Yasmin's. Not that it mattered, she lived next door. My heart was pounding as I waited for his next text.

   Presley: K, cool. Is 8pm okay?

   I hadn't been out of the house - besides Yasmin's - after 8P.M. on a Friday in a long time. Most Fridays, Yas was out with Jakob and his friends. She wanted to include me, but she had stopped asking a long time ago. It was either that I was too afraid of asking my parents, or too afraid of getting caught if I snuck out. The overall consensus was that I was scared. And, frankly, I was tired of being scared all of the time.

   Me: Okay.

   Presley: Ur not gonna ditch me, R U?

   Me: I'm not planning on it.

   Presley. K. Text me again whenever you feel like it, and I'll see you Friday.

   Me: Okay.

   I couldn't sleep that night, because my mind was racing with thoughts of what I would do when I saw him again. I was buzzing, just thinking about sitting in his car with him. What would we do? Where would we go? My parents were both on twelve hours shifts starting at 4P.M. for that rest of that week. I didn't have to worry about them knowing where I was, but it was the lying that was throwing me off. I wouldn't tell them - I couldn't.

   It was around 1am when I reached out and grabbed my phone again. I knew I should be sleeping. I had to get up at 7A.M. But I couldn't turn off my brain.

   This probably makes me seem pathetic. But here I am, I sent to Presley.

   Buzz.

   I had closed my eyes again by the time my phone went off.

   Presley : I can't sleep either

   Me : I need to be sleeping. Yas picks me up at 8am.

   Presley : Everything ok with her?

   Me : Yes. She didn't even realize I was upset. I guess that's a problem in itself but anyway. She's just obsessed with her boyfriend.

   Presley : Not really an excuse to treat you like that

   He was right. It wasn't. I decided right then that I as going to tell Yasmin that I was upset with her, and what happened with Presley. I had to tell her. She had to know.

   Me : see you Friday

   Presley : can't wait

   And before I put my phone down and forced my eyes closed, I opened Instagram. It didn't take long to find him. @presleymeyers01 popped up right away with a photo of his face, close up, as his profile photo. In the photo, he looked a bit younger. Thinner. But I knew his eyes. And his smile. Scrolling through his posts, I stopped on the second most recent. It was a photo of him and a younger girl. The caption said "here's to senior year, even though I should be anywhere else." The next post was a selfie, his hair was messy and his smile big. I saved that photo to my phone before I knew what I was doing, and then dropped my phone beside me and squeezed my eyes shut.