[ cass' writing ]

The Request

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I sat there, staring at the screen in front of me, fingers anxiously ringing against one another. Hazel eyes don’t even flicker away from the all too familiar bright blue layout of my Facebook page. I had done something very daring, something I had tried for days to get the guts to do. Only moments ago I had my hand running along my mouse, gently using my second finger – the one beside the thumb – willing myself to press down. I’d bitten my lip nervously, my hands hovering hesitantly over that button, knowing, that when I decided to click downwards there would be no turning back. Yet I knew I had to take those brave steps forward, like a soldier stepping into a war, knowing that any hit could kill you. This sure could kill me. It was so much like that time Max decided to push Monic down the stairs. As soon as her feet slipped from underneath her there was nothing anyone could do to stop her from falling. We all had watched, wide eyed, Max’s laughter echoing in the air with Monic’s shrill, frightened squeal as she tumbled. At first I had tried to bite back my own laughter, knowing it was rude, but her face! Oh, if you could have seen those perfect pink lips split into that comical surprised ‘o’ shape you would have laughed as well. I think I stopped laughing when Monic hit the ground. It was an ugly sight. No one did a thing, and I had backed away, Max’s laughter still ringing in my mind, my own bubbling right beneath it.

So I guess my situation now was an awful lot like that one. I mean take it from my point of view. Max pushes Monic down the stairs and she falls. I press that button and my whole world could come crumbling down around me. Do you see my dilemma? Of course you do! I rub a finger once more over the sweat covered mouse, feeling it and the holy power that it held. A mental war raged on within me, I swear it was like world war three in my mind. But then like a pilot about to take off I closed my eyes and pushed, with all the force of a person with constipation down onto that button. Hesitantly I opened my eyes, to my relief nothing had exploded, trust me something could have. Now all I could do was sit, stomach churning as I waited for James Cole to accept my friend’s request. God I hoped he would, because like he was the hottest guy in my year. At the thought of those dreamy sage green eyes and golden locks I had stifle a gasp of pleasure. I’d known him for five years, five years of staring at the back of his perfect head, day in day out in Maths class. It was amazing to watch those perfectly chiselled biceps flex as he threw some rolled up paper at Nick Hook, the class nerd. Oh he was so perfect. And then sometimes he would even turn around and throw one at me and I would get to see his face and I’d smile and I’d laugh as all his friends did. I’d always push my glasses up higher, numb hands running through frizzy brown hair.

With a crooked grin I leaned back on my rolly chair. It had been made especially for me after the accident. It had not been my smartest move trying out for the football team, but I had wanted to impress James so much. I’d ended up with a broken arm and a fractured spine, but hey, James had noticed me he had even stopped to laugh. Boy hadn’t that made my week! As midnight dropped by I received no new notifications. Anxiously I slipped into bed; the idea of James rejecting my friends request caused my heart to ache as I fell into a restless sleep.

I was exhausted when I got to school. To my horror James had not yet added me on Facebook. Maybe he just hadn’t seen it, yet. But no worries, I would remind him today to check it and while I was at it I could tell him to check twitter and MySpace as well. There I’d get three birds with one stone. Hot Damn! I’d have to act fast, though, and hopefully I would not throw up this time. That had been embarrassing, I mean Jeanie and I still talked but she always stood a good ten feet away from me. Taking a deep breathe I step into the maths class room; I stumble forwards to James’ table, where he is sitting, surrounded by four of his friends. And oh God he looks so good. I can see his hair and the hair on his neck and his ears and the wax and oh God he is so perfect. I just want to touch him. With a shaking hand I reach forwards and tap his shoulder. Oh God, oh God my heart races faster at that touch and I’m sure I will need my asthma puffer. Then he turns and faces me. That perfect face is looking at me.

“What do you want?” He snaps and I’m ready to melt at that perfect voice.

“I… I-er.. I sent you a face-facebook request. I-I was wondering if you… Got it.” I stutter, spit flying from my lips.

He recoils away from the flying spit and I messily try to wipe it away from my mouth. And then he is laughing (I think I might have started drooling at that magical sound), a sneer glued to his lips.

“You think I’d accept a friends request from an ugly, spitting, fleabag like you?” With that he looks away from me. Suddenly I’m crying, snot and tears streaming down my face. With a sob I flee, running as fast as my socks and sandals can carry me.
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