Hindsight

"Meow," Derek joked. "I'm serious, you look...different."

I laughed, "Yeah well, haven't you just ever woken up one day and thought, shit, I got this."

They weren't sure what to make of it so they just laughed awkwardly while we started walking to school. Before this moment, neither one of them had said a fucking word to me in the seven years since we started secondary school together. The old me would have been terrified at carrying on a conversation with pretty much anyone—but after years of Hispanic guys hitting on me at the gas station I knew how to bullshit with the best of them.

We walked through the front doors of the high school and I turned to head down the north hall where my locker was. "We should hang out sometime," I offered to the pair of them.

"Okay," Brandon grinned, Derek nodding in agreement. They waved as we parted ways.

I got to my locker and hesitated—fuck, I had no idea what the combination was, I mean like after twenty years you tend to forget the stupid shit. I remembered I wrote everything down in my planner so I pulled it out, thankful that I was always paranoid of making an ass out of myself so I tried to be prepared. I spun the lock a few times, landing on the right numbers and popped it open. I stuffed my bag in, catching a glimpse of my eighteen year old face in the mirror—this was going to be a great day.

"What was that all about last night, kitten?" Colton's voice came from behind my locker door. I rolled my eyes, grabbing my history book and binder before shutting the door. The look on his face—it was priceless. He was floored. "Wow, I mean, like before you know you were...but now..." He had a stupid grin on his face.

I leaned on the locker, motioning a hand between us, "Look, this, you and I—it's not working for me anymore so...have a nice life?" It occurred to me at that point that I had never ever broken up with anyone. I always got dumped. Talk about awkward.

He gaped at me for several moments before bursting out laughing, "Oh, that was a good one, you had me going for a moment there."

I stared at him blankly—wow, he really was an idiot. What the fuck was I thinking? When my expression didn't change, I saw it click in his eyes; then, he got mad.

"You—you've got to be kidding me, kitten, you can't dump me," he said loudly. Several of our classmate who stopped to gawk at me were also witnessing the break up. He tried to grab my arm, "We'll talk about this later, you're making a scene now!"

I jerked my arm away, rolling my eyes, "No, Colton, you're making a scene. And there's nothing to talk about because we're through. Good bye." I turned and walked off down the hallway, ignoring him when he called out my name.

History was just as dull as I remembered it, though it was clear kids were staring at me the entire time. I tried not to look back but I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off of my face. After class I headed back to my locker to get my calculus book. Jacob, the guy who had his locker next to mine, was standing there in front of his, digging through it.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at him—Jacob Tegen, how could I forget that guy? He and I were friends for years, not the hanging outside of school kind of friends but the partner up when everyone else avoided us, sit at lunch together so we wouldn't be alone kind of friends. I thought about him for a long time after high school, always curious as to what happened to him but no matter how much I searched online, I never found out anything.

I walked over to my locker and casually opened it, "Hey Jacob."

"Hey," he mumbled, still digging.

I knew what he was looking for, he always lost his pens. I pulled one out of my bag and handed it to him—he stared at it, before looking at me. He had these amazing bright green eyes, light brown hair and he was scrawny but tall, and so incredibly awkward—think of how a large breed puppy is clumsy until they grow into their feet, that kind of awkward.

"Thanks," he said, taking the pen while still looking me over, "you changed your make up."

"Yeah," I shrugged, swapping out my books, "Do you want to go get together lunch today?"

He stared at me blankly for a minute; when I looked back at him, I was surprised to see that he was sneering, "What, now that you don't have a boyfriend you just expect me to hang out with you again?"

I blinked several times—what the fuck? I racked my brain, digging through my memories to try to figure out what was wrong with him; we hung out all the time...until I started dating Colton. Then I more or less gave him the cold shoulder—shit, what a dick move. I frowned, "I'm sorry I've been a bitch, Jacob. I don't know what came over me—you're my friend and that is something that means more than whatever guy asks me out. I shouldn't have ignored you, you're the only one who actually gets me. Forgive me?"

The anger melted off of his face and he sighed.

"I'll buy you ice cream," I offered with a small smile.

"Fine," he grumbled, "it's about time you pulled your head out of your ass. Colton Adams—what were you thinking?"

"Ugh, I know right!" I glanced at the clock and shut my locker, "I have to get to class, but I'll meet you here before lunch? Promise?"

He was surprised by my insistence and hesitantly smiled, "Promise."

I had to speed walk to get to calculus on time, skidding into through the door just as the bell chimed. I sat down in my seat quickly while the teacher took attendance—he always did it on his own and let us talk for the first few minutes of class. I remembered hating this class so much, not because it was math—I loved math!—but because we were sat alphabetically and that meant I was stuck around the popular bitches. Think Mean Girls wearing pink on Wednesdays popular bitches. They were dumb as fuck too and I know the one behind me tried to copy off of my tests several times. And the one to my left—that's right, Angela Boomer soon to be Angela Dane. I glanced over and saw her with those stupid arched eyebrows.

I noticed she looked pale—then, when I remembered, I had to lower my head and let my hair cover the wicked grin on my face—she had the stomach flu. Of course, she didn't know it right now, but next period during PE she was going to puke all over the gym and get sent home. That's why Timothy Dane asked me to help him with Spanish later, because they had plans to rent movies from Blockbuster (LOL!) and she couldn't because her parents made her stay home.

"Your hair looks really nice," the girl behind me said. I turned around and looked at her—Cindy, head cheerleader.

I smiled earnestly, "Thank you." I guessed she probably didn't mean it, but I knew what she looked like in twenty years—that's right, I'm not the only one who packed on the pounds. She wanted to become a professional dancer but failed at it and ended up being a real estate agent.

Calculus went by fast; when we got our tests back, I was pleased to see a B+. Sad, but it was also the highest grade in the class. By the time the bell rang I was ready to witness the disaster that would come next period. I made my way to the locker room, stuffing my books into the small gym locker before pulling out my clothes and guess what? They were black. And baggy. Whatever, I knew that this class would be cut short so I unbuttoned my plaid shirt and hung it up, opting to just wear the red tank top and my gym shorts.

When I wandered out into the gym, I grimaced—it was flag football. I hated sports on a good day but anything to do with football even more. I grabbed one of the flag belts and slipped it around my waist, clipping it in the front. The P.E. teacher counted us off into teams and reminded us of the rules before sending us off to different parts of the large gym.

I was on the blue team and across the court was Angela on the red team. I made sure to avoid going anywhere near her for the first five minutes of the game—I didn't want to catch anything. Then, just as she was ready to hike the ball to the girl behind her—out it came. Puke, everywhere. Girls screamed, because, well, they're girls. A few of them gagged. I just tried not to burst out laughing from my safe distance away.

The teacher came running over and shooed us all onto the opposite side of the gym. He gagged himself when he got hear her, especially since she vomited again. The entire class sat down against the wall as far as possible while he escorted her to the nurse's office and the janitor came to clean up the mess. By the time the teacher got back, there were only five minutes left, so he dismissed us.

I changed my clothes, slathered on some deodorant, touched up my lipstick and fluffed my hair before booking it out of there, trying to avoid the toxic cloud of perfume the popular bitches sprayed, making themselves smell like cupcakes or coconuts or glitter or whatever the fuck it was. After a brief stop at my hall locker to get my communications book, I was off to the first class that I shared with Timothy Dane. Granted, it wouldn't be until last period Spanish that he asked me for help, but I could definitely seed the desire.

I always had problems in this class—eighteen year old me would almost rather die than be forced to give a speech in front of a group of my peers. It was terrifying, I always spoke to quiet, when I got nervous I screwed up words and that just made my face burn red. But this time, I had this. I sauntered in, ignoring the surprised looks on everyone's face and took my usual seat towards the back. This was the one class where we got to sit wherever we felt like it, though people rarely changed spots after they were divided up into their clicks. I always sat in the back, alone. But not today—Derek came in, saw me, and sat down with a smile.

"Hey Cat," he said.

I grinned back, "Hey Derek."

"So, I heard a rumor that Angela Boomer—"

"Yeah," I made a face, "like everywhere."

"Ew," he said, "how embarrassing."

Right, because self image was more important back then than, you know, making sure someone wasn't dying. I frowned, looking sad, "I hope she gets better." I caught the eyes of Timothy Dane right as he walked in. He stopped dead in his tracks, those gorgeous blue eyes locked on mine—fuck, yeah, I was getting wet. That man was a god, I tell you...I just hoped he was as good in bed as I dreamed he was.

When his brow crinkled he came over and sat in front of Derek, "Hey Derek. Hey...Cat...you look—"

"Different?" That seemed to be the general, most obvious way everyone was putting it.

He shrugged, "I was going to say really good but yeah, definitely different."

I blushed, fuck, he was hot, "Thanks."

When the teacher started talking, I didn't hear a damn word she said. Timothy Dane was within my line of sight to her and you can guess who I was staring at. He had short cropped light brown hair, a square masculine face and that smile, that smile alone could make me weak. He was buff, even for high school, thick arms that always looked on the verge of tearing his shirts open and a flat chest. I almost started salivating when I tried to imagine what he'd look like without a shirt—nice cut abs, no hair...and lower? How big was his cock, I wondered? I fully intended on finding that out—my eighteen year old body was definitely a virgin but this thirty eight year old mind was a slut. I squirmed in my seat a little, imagining gagging on his cock, letting him cum down my throat then giving him a little bit to get hard again. I knew he wasn't a virgin but this was high school—even if Angela gave him head you can guarantee it wasn't very good. I mean, he'd look down and she'd look up all surprised and shit with those fucking eyebrows—how much of a turn on could that actually be?

I startled when Timothy turned around and motioned to Derek and me—balls, I had no idea what was going on. I watched the two guys turn their desks to face mine. When they looked at me, I shrugged, "I kinda zoned out there, what are we doing?"

"She wants us to practice the conversations on page thirty, in groups of threes," Derek said.

"Oh," I wasn't able to suppress the grin on my face—these guys chose to group up with me. I was always the last one picked, the odd chick out forced to group up with whoever wasn't quick enough to avoid it. Not this time.

I thumbed through the book and started reading the conversation; when I got to the next paragraph, I looked over at Derek—his eyes were fixed on my tits. Her jerked his gaze away and read the next bit. I glanced down at my book, half heartedly following along. Man—this was great—hell, even I wanted to look at my tits. I sat up straight and tugged my shirt down a bit, like I was straightening it; then, I leaned forward, placing my forearms on the desk and grasped the edge in my hands, pressing my biceps inward to squeeze my tits together. By the time Timothy finished his paragraph and it was my turn, I knew exactly where they were staring. Boys—so predictable at that age, am I right?

We kept going around our little group, reading the paragraphs. By the end of the class, I saw Timothy shift in his seat, trying to casually adjust his cock. This was going to be easier than I thought, if a little cleavage was enough to get him hard. When the bell rang, they moved their desks back. I rose and intentionally bent over to pick up my binder off of the floor and right as I did, the guys looked back at me and saw straight down my tank top to my black bra. I even caught Derek in the act.

I was fucking horny and cheeky as hell, so I winked at him, watching his eyes grow wide. I smiled at Timothy, "See you in Spanish."

"Oh, I'll be there," he replied. When I glanced over my shoulder on the way out the door, his eyes were glued to my ass.

If I hadn't made Jacob promise to meet me for lunch by our lockers, I might have spent the first ten minutes of it in the bathroom rubbing one out—I was that ready to go. Teenage hormones are a horrible thing—when you get them, you have no fucking clue what to do about it. Then, when you're old and fat and can watch porn at 4 o'clock in the afternoon on your cell phone, you know exactly how to stroke that pussy, even got it down to a science. It's just unfair, you know?

Jacob actually looked surprised that I showed up; I was a little hurt by that, but then again I had been a twat to him so it was only fair. I dumped my books into the locker and grabbed my wallet, "What are you thinking? The pizzeria or the sandwich shop?"

"You promised me ice cream," he said, closing his locker, "so the sandwich shop."

I grinned, "Okay let's go."

We booked it out of the high school and across the street to the small sandwich shop tucked into the small strip mall; luckily, we made it there before the rush of our classmates. We each ordered our sandwiches, cokes and ice cream, obviously eating our dessert first while we sat down at a small table near the back.

"What are you going to do after school, Jacob?" I asked, curious.

"Go home, like I do every day," he replied, eyeing me oddly.

"No, I mean like after you graduate?"

"Oh," he said, taking a long lick off of the cone, "I don't know really. I got into a few Universities on the east coast. I was thinking business. I always wanted to be my own boss, you know?"

"Huh," I said, "I never knew that. We don't really hang out as much as we should."

Jacob took a long look at me, "No, we don't."

When I gazed into his bright green eyes—it struck me—the way he always hung out with me, how he was the one who initiated most of our conversations, the odd looks he would give me...Jacob liked me. Like, like-liked me. Holy fuck—how did I not see that before? He took a bite off of his cone and asked, "What about you, Cat?"

I dropped my gaze, "I always wanted to be a writer."

He shrugged, "So, be a writer. Nothing is stopping you."

And I realized, yeah, he's right—as long as I made sure Mom went to the doctor, my life wouldn't get thrown through a blender. Maybe I could cling on to that dream after all. We carried on awkward conversation thorough out our lunch and during our walk back, though it was just as much my fault as it was his—realizing that he had a thing for me was something so out of left field I felt my blatant confidence waning; what else did I miss because I had my head too far up my ass?

By the time we got back to our lockers, there were only a few minutes left before next period. He grabbed his stuff and shut the door, "So, there's this French film that is showing at that small theatre in the art gallery on Sunday. I'm going to go. You know, in case you want to come."

I slowly shut my locker, hearing the muffled click—he and I had never hung out outside of school before. Was it a date? Wait, did it matter if it was? Why was I putting labels on this—I offered him a smile. "Yeah, that sounds cool. What time?"

He shrugged, "It starts at seven, but if you want I can pick you up at five and we can get a bite to eat."

Holy fuck. It was a date. I grinned like a fool, "Okay. If I don't see you later today, I'll see you at five on Sunday."

When he smiled, I realized how infrequently I saw him do that, "Have a good weekend until then, Cat." I watched him awkwardly walk down the hall.

I spent the next two class periods trying to figure this shit out—Jacob Tegen. Before, old me dated Colton up until the last month of school, when he dumped me because he said I was too clingy. I took it really hard and struggled in that last month, but I had no memories of Jacob Tegen during that entire time. I truly blew him off my senior year and never heard from him again. Would he be at our twentieth class reunion?

By the time Spanish came rolling around, I was starting to lose my resolve. This new development with Jacob was unexpected to say the least—but I always had a thing for Timothy Dane. Like, since second grade. Even after I graduated and obviously even twenty years later. No, I decided, this was my one chance to change my past. It wasn't like Timothy was going to dump Angela or her eyebrows, they got married and had kids. I'd go over to his house tonight, fuck his brains out and then we would both pretend like it never happened and be done with it. The perfect way to lose your virginity—to the one guy you always wanted and never got.

His eyes locked on mine the moment he came through the door and he flashed me that fucking amazing smile of his. Oh yeah, I'd be cumming on his cock tonight. He took his assigned seat next to me and class started per usual; the teacher handed back last week's test and I aced it. When I glanced over at Timothy's, I saw his slightly embarrassed look.

"Ouch," I said, staring at the big fat F on the top of the page.

"Tell me about it," he replied. He got up and went to talk to the teacher while we had personal time to do our homework. I overheard the conversation even though they tried to keep it quiet.

"I'm not sure what to tell you, Mr. Dane, this seems to be a habit of yours. Tests count for half of your grade and none of your scores are very good."

"Is there any extra credit I can do?"

"I'll tell you what—take time this weekend and study. After school on Monday you can retake the test and I'll record the higher grade."

"Okay. Thank you."

Timothy flopped back down in his chair.

"What's the verdict?" I said in Spanish.

He looked at me blankly.

"What did he say?" I whispered quietly in English.

"Oh," he replied, stuffing the test in his book, "I can retake it on Monday."

"That's good news—you can study over the weekend."

He shook his head, "I have been studying, it does no good. I'm going to fail the class." He frowned, glancing over at the big A on my page. I saw the wheels turning in his head and was surprised when he looked nervous—did he look nervous before? I didn't think so. "I'm guessing you already have plans tonight, but if you don't...maybe you could help me?"