The thing I remember most about high school is Casey. She wasn't one of the popular girls. She wasn't an outcast either. She existed in between-- unseen but not totally invisible. She had a couple friends, and I was one of them.
I had known her since middle school. We didn't talk much back then. It was the way of timid boys, to be clueless in the art of talking to women. But, in my 18th year alive, I was just starting to feel the beginnings of confidence.
I started talking with Casey Smalls on a regular basis in the fall of 1999.
We were both in our senior year, and shared a couple of classes. Most importantly, we shared homeroom. That's how we started our friendship: as two people enjoying the other's company, at the start of every day of our final year of high school. I can barely remember those first few conversations, but I remember well everything that followed.
Casey wore baggy clothes. Not quite a hippy, not quite a goth. She was curvy, but not fat. Of course, the latter is how the jocks and popular girls saw her, but not me.
I recognized her beauty, and I would have been intimidated by her if not for her relaxed personality. As far I as I knew, she wasn't a stoner, but she was both introspective and comfortable in her own skin. At least, she came across that way.
She had sleepy, wise eyes, and an upturned button nose. A constant but subtle smirk. Fair skin, and long, straight, auburn hair. Freckled cheeks and a pierced eyebrow. Her feminine dimensions were obscured by her signature black hoodies, and baggy blue jeans.
We spent most lunch breaks together, and could often be found walking side by side in the halls. There was the occasional misinterpretation of a relationship between us, but we were just friends.
That's how it started, anyways.
Like so many days, we were walking down the hallway during lunch, talking about things that were important to people like us back then.
"Ocarina of Time, or Final Fantasy VII?"
Casey scoffed. "Zelda all the way," she said without hesitation.
"Obviously," I said, suddenly aware of how stupid my hands felt as they swung by my sides. I put them in my pockets.
"I still have my old Game Boy. Love playing Zelda on it." She was a gaming nerd, and it was probably our strongest shared interest. She was my equal in regards to video game knowledge. I found that very appealing in a girl. It was otherwise unheard of in my own, smaller social circle.
Casey changed the subject as we passed a group of kids from the football team.
"I hate high school sometimes. Like in a year, none of this is going to matter. None of these guys will be doing football for a living. But they're so proud of their dumb games."
I chuckled. "I don't get sports, honestly. I like when we mess around in the field-- it sure beats class. But I don't give a shit about who wins or whatever."
"Yeah," she said, losing interest in the conversation she had diverted us towards. She was funny like that. I was unsure if it was my inability to riff with what she was saying, or if she just had a low attention span. Either way, she was never boring. Not to me.
"I hate gym class," she said. "I never wear shorts, and Mr. Byrd always gives me a hard time. But he can't actually make me."
"No?"
"I dunno. Hasn't helped my grades, but I'm passing. So far anyways." She scrunched her nose, and turned to me.
"What's your type?" she asked, looking at me skeptically as we rounded the corner, mindlessly wandering the small labyrinth of our school.
"Like, girls?" I squeaked, not exactly playing it cool.
"Yes, dork." She said it kindly. Almost like she meant to put me at ease.
"Oh." I blinked. I didn't even really know. I had crushes on the odd girl. I currently had a crush on Casey but I didn't want to tell her that. That would be disastrous, I imagined.
"I don't have a type," I said, not knowing if it was a true or false statement.
"Bullshit," she chuckled.
"I don't know, I guess I care about personality. Looks aren't important."
Even in that moment, I knew I was being dishonest. I recognized stereotypical beauty. The popular girls were mostly attractive. But they were often mildly cruel, and often vapid.
"Interesting," she said, clearly not buying it. But she didn't push it further.
"You?" I asked. "What's your type?"
"I don't know. I know what I don't like. I hate assholes. I hate skaters. Jocks."
"I'm all of those things!" I said, uncharacteristically silly.
She brightened, and laughed. "Oh, yeah, totally," and then added, "you're definitely the exact opposite of my type."
She was smiling, and obviously being facetious, but it made me a little sad, hearing her say that. She did a double take, perhaps picking up on my visible disappointment. She stopped laughing.
"I'm kidding. You're way more tolerable than any of those guys. I like roaming the halls aimlessly with you."
My face felt warm. I was blushing. And I was too pale for it to go unnoticed.
But she didn't say anything.
A few weeks passed by. Nothing notable happened between us from day to day. But there was a small spark of something that was building a little, every day. I think she was aware of it too. But she didn't let on.
One day I arrived early to homeroom, and found Casey waiting for me. The first two students in the room, alone together.
"Hey," I said, taking my usual place in the desk next to hers.
"Are you a virgin?" she said casually.
"Um," I said, blushing as I gaped at her.
"Don't have to answer," she said, her dark brown eyes darting from my cheeks to my eyes, and back again.
"Yeah," I said begrudgingly.
"I figured," she said, tapping her pencil against her desk, the eraser thumping the surface like a lone drumstick.
"Are you?" I asked.
"I refuse to answer," she said, smirking. Eyes narrowed.
"Not cool," I said, very aware we were only alone for another couple of minutes, tops. "Very lame trap."
"Fine," she sighed. "I am too. Do you have any plans to...?" she trailed off, looking at me knowingly, awaiting some sort of answer to an unfinished question.
"I guess," I said, "I sort of need a girlfriend first," I said, frowning a little.
"Not necessarily," she said enigmatically, as the first wave of students entered the room, ending our private time.
She changed the topic slightly.
"Kiss anyone?" she asked.
"A couple." I was talking quieter now.
"Who?" she asked, eyebrows raised, a small smile forming.
"Missy. Rayna. Same day."
"When?"
"Missy's birthday. Spin the bottle. Jack and Vince kissed them too. So it's not..."
I trailed off. There were too many people around. I felt weird.
"...Not special?" Casey was very intuitive. It could be annoying when I was trying to hold back. But I liked that she could read my mind.
I nodded.
"I only kissed Derek Wright. We dated for a week last year."
I was jealous, despite Derek being a nice enough guy, if not a little moody. I rarely saw him around.
"I guess I was just wondering if you were a loser like me," she said, smiling.
The smile was a comfort.
"Totally lame, exactly like you," I said.
Later, we were walking to our first class together: English. It wasn't a great class to socialize together, other than before and after.
"Do you want to come over to my house today, after school?"
"Uh," I said, my tongue apparently in the clutches of some kind of cat.
"You can say no, I don't mind if--"
