C6 Growing Guts

Arnold Simmons groaned after 6th period History class. He was not concentrating at all on the American Revolution and as the History teacher taught, he could just see his lips moving. He was grateful that it was over. His friend, Erick Russel, went over to him and slapped him lightly on the back.

“Dude, let’s bounce before Math class,” he said to him. Arnold got up and cleared his throat. “What’s wrong with you? You look out of place and touch,” Erick commented after looking at his friend.

“It’s Rebecca Giovanni, man. She smiled at me. Isn’t that a sign that she digs me?” Arnold asked as they walked into the school’s entrance.

“Totally. So what did you do?” Erick asked him.

“Nothing. What was I to do?” Arnold replied cluelessly.

“Er, approach her, for starters,” Erick offered, and looked up ahead. “Go for her, man. Excuse me. Let me go talk to Amy. All the best,” he said assuringly to his friend, then rushed off to a slim brunette in a cardigan, top, and miniskirt.

Arnold stroked his hair. He began his search for her. He strolled around, blushing when some girls admired him, looking around for her familiar face.

She was reading outside the brick rail outside the library. Arnold smiled. Perfect. She was alone. He smelt his breath and straightened his shirt. He hoped that the cologne he sprayed was easily smelt. He confidently walked up to her.

“Hi, Rebecca,” he said shyly. She looked up from her reading to his expressionless face.

“Arnold. Hi,” she replied, with a dynamite smile. Arnold could feel his heart melt just watching her smile—at him.

Rebecca Giovanni was a beautiful, intelligent Italian girl who many students thought was arrogant but the truth of the matter was she was specific on her choice of people to talk to. She had long, dark hair that hung freely down to her lower back and some of it hung down to her chest. The hair on the left side of her head was carefully arranged behind her left ear.

Her face was glowing with mascara and blood-red lipstick. The beauty mark on her left cheek added to her glow. She had on a pink striped, long-sleeved top imprinted I LOVE MYSELF, black bell bottom jeans, and purple jelly shoes.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Arnold said as he sat beside her on the rail.

“No. I could really use the company,” she replied, and put the book she was reading aside, faced him, then put her hair together behind her.

“You look beautiful. I don’t know whether you have a boyfriend or not, but if you do, he’s lucky to have you,” he began poetically. She smiled and watched a group of girls and boys pass by them.

“I don’t,” she replied, her gray eyes looking directly into his. Arnold hid a smile.

“I don’t have a girlfriend too and from the time I saw you I thought: Damn! If I had a girl like Rebecca, wouldn't I be complete?” He said, then watched her blush and added, “So I gathered up courage to come and ask you if you would be my girlfriend since, well, we’re both free,” and swallowed nervously with crossed fingers. Rebecca laughed. Arnold felt his heart sink.

“Yes. I accept. I accepted long before today when you’ve decided to man up and do the asking. See, Arnold, you’re the first guy in this school for me to talk to. Not that I’m antisocial, but that guys here are jerks. They just want sex from beautiful girls, and I’ve proved that by noticing how they look at a girl’s breasts and butt when she passes by,” she paused and continued, “But not you, Arnold. There’s that shy thing about you that pulls me to you like a magnet. You’re different from other guys. You’ve got what I’m looking for in a guy.”

Arnold thought of what he had been discussing with his friends in his room the previous night and breathed in, then hugged her.

“You’ve made my day, Becky,” he said to her after the hug and added, “I’m personally inviting you over to my place on Saturday.”

“Cool. I’ll be there. At what time?” She replied.

“At 10 a.m.,” he replied, and turned to the direction of the ringing bell. They both stood and walked together to their class. As Arnold walked beside her and smelt her smooth scent, he rejoiced inwardly that he was officially loved despite his shy nature.

Roxanne stared at the dapper Charlie Wright in front of her, then the beautiful white roses he had.

“Did you like the shoes, Roxanne?” He asked her politely. Bree greeted him, then left to give them some privacy. Roxanne stood wearily, then put the package in her purse.

“They’re beautiful, Charlie,” she said, and looked at his perfectly pressed blue shirt and purple tie.

“These roses are for you,” he said softly as he presented them to her, and added, “You look stunning.”

“Thanks,” she said, and took the roses and smelt them. “They’re wonderful, Charlie. You didn’t have to go through the trouble,” she whispered. He pocketed his right hand.

“Not as wonderful as you, Roxanne. You’re worth the trouble. Your pleasure is my satisfaction. May we?” He said, while outstretching his left hand to her. She put the roses on her desk and took his hand. He led her to his office. “We shall have coffee in my office today,” he said as they went.

She didn’t oppose. Besides, it would be the best place to break his heart gently, she thought. They walked hand in hand to the door with the golden tag MR. CHARLIE WRIGHT on it—third from Mr. Reynolds’ office—and he softly let go of her hand and opened it.

“Here we are,” he said as the door swung open. He let her enter first then he followed, and shut the door. It was like Mr. Reynolds’ office, but less crowded. He had a glass desk with an office chair behind it and several other chairs in front of it.

The floor had a soft leopard skin carpet and on the side wall was a huge window which was open. There was a fan on the ceiling and a computer and plenty of huge books, stationery, and a telephone on the desk. There was another room—the washroom—opposite the window, and a medium-size TV on a table beside the door.

“Nice place,” Roxanne said as she admired it. “May I use your washroom?” She asked him, almost immediately.

“Sure. It’s that room over there,” he replied, while indicating the washroom.

“Thanks,” she said, then went into it.

While she was there, Charlie ordered two steaming mugs of hot coffee via telephone, then smiled at himself. After a while, Roxanne reappeared while wiping her face.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked her as she sat on one of the chairs opposite him. She sniffed.

“Yeah. Just washed some sleepiness I felt away,” she replied, and sighed. There was momentous silence. “Charlie,” she started softly, with her blue eyes peering into his.

“Yes,” he replied in the same tone. There was a knock at the door. “Yes,” he repeated calmly. A cateress entered with a tray containing two coffees and a small pot of sugar with a spoon in it.

“Here’s your coffee, Sir, Madam,” she said, while carefully placing the tray on the desk.

“Thanks, Nadia, that will be all,” Charlie said to her, with a cheerful smile.

“Thanks,” Roxanne repeated, also with a smile. Nadia nodded and briskly walked out of the office and shut the door behind her.

“As you were saying, Roxanne? Please have some coffee,” Charlie offered kindly.

“Thanks,” she breathed, and poured several spoons of sugar into one of the mugs, stirred it, and tactfully sipped some of the coffee after blowing away its steam. His kindness was making things even more difficult.

“Charlie, you’re a nice guy. A gentleman, to be precise,” she started, and looked at him. His eyes were fixed on her as he sipped his coffee slowly and in a relaxed manner. She breathed uneasily and continued, “But there’s no chemistry between us. You may have feelings for me, but I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way.” Charlie cleared his throat and coughed. The coffee he had sipped burnt his throat.

“Roxanne…” he began in his hoarse voice then held her hands and continued, “we just met yesterday. Don’t dismiss us just like that. Give yourself time. I’m certain that you’ll learn to love me as much as I do you,” then squeezed her hands gently in an imploring manner. As she looked at him, she felt defeated. Her heart was not fixed on him.

“Alright. I’ll give myself time,” she said, and gently freed her hands.

“Please,” Charlie said, and pulled himself together. Roxanne finished her coffee quickly and rose from her seat.

“I have to go now. Thanks for the coffee,” she said uneasily.

“Don’t mention it. See you later,” Charlie said, as he sipped his coffee while watching her go.

“Later,” she replied as she went.

Downstairs, Bree was waiting for her eagerly for the full 411 while admiring the roses.

“Mhmmm…” she encouraged while looking at her friend with expectant eyes and a broad smile.

“What?” Roxanne asked casually as she took her seat, then arranged her desk.

“You know what. Out with it. What magic happened up there?” Bree asked, focusing all her attention on her collected friend.

“We talked and had coffee like mature adults. That’s all,” Roxanne replied briefly and indicated to her right with a nod.

“You know what to do. 15 is the maximum,” Trish said to Bree scornfully while chewing gum, after dropping a workload of files on her desk. Bree glared at her.

“I hate you,” she whispered to her. Trish smiled momentarily while slowly chewing the gum and put her right hand on her curved hip.

“I have never liked you too, sweetheart,” she replied, then looked at the files. “Chop chop. 15 is a short time,” she added, and glared at Roxanne, who gazed at her with a straight face.

A secretary from the third floor came and whispered to Trish, “Excuse me, Madam. The boss wants to see you in his office this instant,” then went back to her post.

“If you ladies will excuse me, I have some fish to fry,” she said proudly, and swayed away in her usual exaggerated manner. Bree watched her.

“That bitch drives me crazy. I can’t understand why she thinks she’s better than us,” she said angrily.

Roxanne looked at her silently, then turned on her computer. It would be useless to inform her that Trish was just doing her job. She retrieved the movie, wore her headphones, and blissfully whiled time away watching her favorite movie while her friend struggled to meet the 15-minute deadline.