It's Never Too Late

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"And the next award goes to the one who's always got our backs, helping us out at tournaments whenever we need anything -- a piece of evidence, a hug, or a snack -- she's got you covered. She's always the one to get the team together for our boba nights, and she's honestly the glue that holds us all together."

From my spot in the crowd I chuckle and look over to my right at Rachel, who gives me a smile back. We both know who's getting this one, and she totally deserves it.

"Let's hear it for Danya!" A huge round of applause engulfs the banquet room.

Across from me, Danya stands up proudly and gets on stage. "Thank you so much for the award Jacob, it means so much to me. I'm really grateful to have all of you and I'm so sad to be graduating this year. I'm going to miss each and every one of you next year."

Another round of applause as she smiles back at the crowd. It's truly a heartfelt moment, one she truly deserves. Everyone needs a friend like Danya.

She opens the envelope she's been holding this whole time and pulls out a large certificate, showing everyone. "This next award is going to be the Unbreakable Bond award, and it's going to the pair of debaters who is clearly the closest to each other. They're always researching and practicing with each other, and they're inseparable both on and off the debate floor."

Well, guess it's our turn. The applause roars back up again and Rachel and I make our way to the podium. It's a lot more people than I thought there would be. Our parents are in the back sitting with each other. Both our dads have a coffee cup in their hands and mine whispers something in her dad's ear, and they share a laugh.

Danya continues, "I'm so grateful to be one of their friends as well, and I've got to tell you, it's been a blast watching their friendship blossom over the years." I can't help but smile at that. It really has been an amazing couple of years. She grins at us, a gleam in her eye. "If I didn't know any better, there's a little something more going on between those two."

The crowd erupts again, but this time I feel my face freeze.

What?

Did she just say what I think she said? My mouth widens at that. Before I can stop myself, I look to my right at Rachel. Her wide-eyes stare back into mine but I look away before things get too awkward. They're beautiful -- dark brown pools that glimmer with the reflection of the lights all around us.

Meanwhile, Danya laughs, pretending not to notice anything, and changes the topic to a short anecdote while the gears in my brain stall.

I didn't see that one coming.

------

That night, Rachel doesn't respond to any of my texts. Or calls. Nor in the morning. She's not at first period math, either. My favorite class of the day instantly becomes the worst.

Now, I just wait for things to pass by. It's my ritual whenever things aren't going my way. Life is surprisingly mechanical and when I'm ready to live again, a day has passed and things are good again. Sometimes it's a week. Or a month. It's almost as if I'm letting myself just be alive rather than really living, but it's always good to skip through all the drab moments.

As promised, it's lunchtime before I can torment myself with any of my own speculation. Thankfully, Danya's there at our usual lunch spot.

"Have you seen Rachel recently?" I ask her.

She gives me a weird look, as if she was about to ask me the same. "I haven't seen her all morning. And she hasn't been answering any of my texts."

I bury my face in my hands. "Oh god. It's got to be yesterday. I don't know, she must've panicked or something. Why'd you say that? In front of the whole team, and our parents, no less."

"I'm sorry, Jeremy, but look. You've got to realize that yesterday was the last team meeting. Ever. Do you realize what that means?"

"How does that have anything to do with her?"

"That was the. Last. One." She looks at me with the solemness of a conspiracy theorist explaining the latest reason as to how the government is poisoning our water supply. "We're probably never going to meet up all together again."

"That's not true, we'll still all be close friends after high school -- I'm sure if you want, we'll be able to do reunions in the summer."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not talking about me. You don't get it, do you?"

"I know it sucks, but we still have this summer too."

"No, no, no. Look. It's her. You are madly in love with Ms. Rachel Sanchez, and time is ticking. If nothing happens because you're both too scared to do anything about it, I'll be damned. As your friend it's my job to look out for the both of you" she says emphatically, crossing her arms.

The truth is, I am totally in love with Rachel. I had been for almost four years. It started on the first day of freshman year history, as I snuck glances across the room to memorize all her features. Her casual mint-green hoodie, her perfect physique and long legs whose curves showed through the tight fabric of her skinny jeans. I'd long since memorized every inch of her and kept it in a safe place.

From the moment I found out she was in debate, I knew we had to become partners. After that, it was just night after night of working together and hanging out that pulled me in. I was a lost cause after just a month.

"Tell me I'm wrong," she says, and I sigh. Danya is never wrong. Unless we're debating.

"I--" can't find the words, apparently. I'd never talked to anyone about this before, but she was right. My time left with Rachel isn't nearly as much as I thought. A month ago, when we committed to two different colleges hundreds of miles away, I couldn't comprehend it. From then I just kept procrastinating on really thinking about what that would mean.

"Why haven't you said anything, Jerm?"

"I just... there was never a good time, you know?" The silence bites me.

"Is there someone else?"

"No, no." Of course not. Who else could make my heart flutter like she does? It's unthinkable.

Danya seems satisfied with that. "Okay. So you do love her. What's stopping you?"

"Danya, this isn't cross-examination."

In another world I'd admit everything. That she knows me better than I know myself, from all my little habits to my life goals. That every time we're working together it takes every bit of my willpower not to stare at her cute face. That when she leaves my room I'm left straining to get the faintest whiff of her pleasant aroma.

That damned shampoo.

I feel like a creep. Like that Radiohead song. But I can't admit any of that. I've already gone too far by confirming Danya's suspicions. Any more and I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

"It's college, isn't it?"

Why does she have to know everything? Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as 'too smart for one's own good'. Danya is living proof of it. She probably knows all the answers to her questions better than I do.

"Yeah. I can't let things go badly. Not this late"

"Oh my god. You're like every cliche ever. Haven't you watched, like, any movie?"

Well, I never thought about it like that.

"Life is short, Jerm. If you wait too long she's going to slip right through your fingertips and become just another memory. Do you really want that? Maybe in a year's time you both barely text each other anymore, and you give her a call to check in on her, but she's got other priorities and friends than you -- maybe even a boyfriend -- and doesn't pick up, and the next time you see her is at a reunion two years later when you can barely recognize her from the ways she's changed without you."

She knows I wouldn't budge, that my mind is set, and stops. She's saying everything I've ever needed to tell myself, and I've built rebuttals for all of it over the years. "Plus, she likes you too."

Huh?

"What makes you say that?" I ask cautiously, trying my best to sound as level as possible.

"Did you see the way she looked at you last night? She wants you more than you could know. I'm your only other girl friend. Trust me."

The lunch bell goes off just in time, and she turns to head off to her next class.

I did see how she looked at me last night. She lights a fire in me that burns deep within my gut and courses through my entire body. Well, if Danya's right and I've got a shot ... I've got to try.

------

Usually my parents have long shifts at the hospital on Wednesday nights so Rachel comes over and we cook dinner, hang out, and study. Today, I don't expect anything -- it's six p.m. and I haven't gotten a single word from her since last night. It wasn't like her to not respond, and even more so to skip school.

Just as I'm thinking about her, the doorbell rings and I'm greeted by the prettiest woman I've ever seen. My heart skips a beat. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail except for a couple strands of hair which fall over the sides of her face. She's wearing a long cardigan with a floral pattern that reaches just below her waist, a white blouse that accentuates her chest, and black leggings which spectacularly do exactly what leggings were meant to do. The scent of her hair wafts over and I try not to lose it. She's perfect.

She goes first. "Jerm ... it's good to see you." She seems a lot more tense than usual.

"Yeah, I missed you during first period today. Did you get my texts?"

"Yeah, just a couple minutes ago, actually. I didn't really sleep last night so I asked my parents in the morning if I could just take school off to sleep. I woke up just now." It's funny how things that would have been utterly crazy a year ago have suddenly become completely plausible. Now that we're in our senior year, our parents have stopped nagging us about grades and attendance. I love senior year.

At least I knew it wasn't anything really bad.

"So, what'll it be? Chicken noodle soup or chicken noodle soup?" I ask after taking a look in the fridge.

It doesn't take more than a few minutes before we fall into our usual rhythm.

This is my favorite part. Rachel and I work seamlessly together in the kitchen -- today, she passes the knife before I ask and I pass her some carrots. We've done this a thousand times before. It's as if our movements are well-timed, precise, and thought out.

"Rachel?"

She's standing right next to me but I'm too afraid to turn to look at her, to break the rhythm.

"Mmm?"

My heart aches. I can see out of the corner of my eye that she's still concentrated on her hands. The few strands of hair coming down her face hide her eyes. I don't want to say it but our normally comfortable silence has been replaced by an unusual tension.

"What was keeping you up all night?"

She's quiet, as if mustering up the courage to say something. I can hear my heart beat, just waiting for her to tell me everything, so we can begin something new. But it never comes.

"I was just ... thinking. Something on my mind," she mumbles after a time.

It makes a lot of sense now, why we never got together. Why everytime the topic of romance came up, we would always dodge it. And why neither of us dated since we met each other.

"You slept alright during the day though?"

"Umm ... sort of ... ow!" She drops her knife on the counter and looks at her finger. There's a small nick on her thumb where she must've grazed herself. "Sorry, I'm not thinking straight today."

I move to grab her a bandaid from the cupboard but I look down and remember that my hands are covered in slime. Rachel is way ahead of me. Honestly, she probably knows her way around my kitchen cupboards better than I do at this point.

"I got it."

She's facing away from me now, reaching up into the shelf, and I can't help but admire her body. It's so perfect. She's taller than most girls and has such an elegant frame. My eyes are drawn down to her ass, which is hugged tightly by her dark leggings, but I look away as soon as I catch myself. It feels wrong to think about her like that right now -- she's so much more than her curves.

I handle the soup while she's taking care of herself, and pour all the ingredients in the pot -- some of the vegetables first, then the chicken, other vegetables, and most importantly, the cream.

After I'm done, I sit at a barstool at the kitchen island and wait for Rachel. She's taking a little longer than usual though, and I can tell it's on purpose. She's stalling.

Even with years of debate behind us, we're no more confident than we were at the beginning.

She's sitting just beside me now, and hair is tucked neatly behind her ear. I can finally see her beautiful eyes. They stare into mine as if easily peering straight past my defenses, the persona I've developed for others, and into my mind. She knows me, truly.

All it takes is a leap of faith.

Why is it so hard?

"Rachel, I think ... maybe Danya was onto something."

"About what she said last night?"

"Yeah ..."

Her eyes show a glimmer of hope now, and I'm almost sure Danya was right. Oh damn me. Why did I wait all this time?

"Why didn't we ever try anything? Romantically? I mean, we just work so well together and spend so much time with each other ..."

We're a lot closer now than I realize -- not metaphorically -- her face is literally inches from mine, and I can see every little detail on her face. Her cute nose ... her lips ...

"I - I don't know. I know that we're right for each other, and I know that we're both too afraid to admit our feelings to each other, but ..."

There it is. My heart palpitates.

"... I don't know how to say it," she continues. "Do you remember when we met? Freshman year history?"

I smile. Those were the good days.

"Well, the very first day, the first time I saw you, Ms. Ganzberg was going over the syllabus and I was just sort of looking around class. I saw you, way across the room, doodling on the syllabus with a sapphire-blue highlighter. I just thought that was cool. Not to mention, you're really cute.

I spent that entire class staring at you, hoping you'd so much as glance back. I did that again the next class, and the next. And then I went to the first debate practice, and I saw you. And somehow, by some crazy stroke of luck, we became a pair, and we were just doing so well together. I thought eventually, if we hung out enough, we'd get closer and you'd ask me out. You didn't, of course, but I was just glad that we were friends and that you didn't become just a stranger that I'd never talk to after our one class.

And then COVID happened, and we were living so far from each other, yet so close, and I just didn't want to start anything then. If it ended badly ... I wouldn't have made it out of there. I needed you during that.

And when we came back, it was as if nothing had ever changed. I didn't want to let our friendship go. I didn't want to ruin things in our last year together. We were super busy all the time -- classes, college apps -- it got me thinking, 'what if we don't end up going to the same place?' Life was just moving so quickly, you know?"

Tears brimmed her eyes. I've never seen her like this before. I want to hug her forever, until the tears go away and long after, but we sit in silence, staring into each other's eyes.

We hold that gaze for a moment, as if searching each other's souls for something that was long lost. What was lost? Romantic dates, long talks in the night, the opportunity to have been something greater. But now is not the time to lament our regrets. I've got an idea.

"I've got to show you something," I say. I rush upstairs and she follows behind me. Usually I wouldn't leave the burning stove unattended, but I've been responsible for far too long. This would warrant an exception.

The lowest drawer of my bookcase holds all my old notebooks -- old math tests, scantrons from various classes, class notes dating all the way back to elementary school. I kept it all.

I rummage hurriedly through the files, searching for it. I know it's there -- I check on it every once in a while.

At last, it's in between ninth grade math and ninth grade english. My red spiral notebook. I throw it open and find the syllabus in the left inside pocket -- where I kept it this whole time. It's the syllabus from Ms. Ganzberg's class, and on the front page, badly drawn in sapphire-blue highlighter, is Rachel. She's exactly as I remember, though she was wearing her classic mint-green hoodie and let her hair down around her shoulders.

I wish I was a better artist. I could've captured the moment a lot better, kept more details. But I look at her now, and I guess none of it matters anymore.

"It's ... me," Rachel says, in shock. She picks up the page and turns it over in her hands. I never thought something so little as a high school class syllabus could be so sentimental to me.

"That first week of class, I always snuck in little glances and memorized every bit of you. I'd thought, 'this is the prettiest person I've seen in my life.' I spent the whole week hoping that Ms. Ganzberg would swap the seats and I'd get to talk to you, and that just never happened.

And when I saw you at debate practice for the first time, I was so relieved. I knew then that I had to stick with it for the next four years, and I knew that we had to be partners.

I've been waiting this whole time ... for some sort of sign ... But I was always too scared. Scared that I'd mess things up, that you wouldn't like me. I couldn't let go of you as a friend. I didn't want to ruin things." This was the first time we spoke like this with each other. It felt so wrong, but deeply, I knew it had to be right. "I wanted you so badly."

Rachel takes my hand in her's. She's close now, and I can feel the sparks between us. When she speaks, she does so softly, her lips barely moving. "And I, ... you."

Our eyes meet. I want to pause time right now. Hold her in my arms as we lament to each other the things we missed out on, cry about the time we wasted. But we both know better than that. We've got no time to waste. We're done doing that.

The moment our lips meet, I can't help but smile into her's. It starts out light, and innocent. I don't really know how I'd describe the feeling of kissing. It's like our bodies are connected, and are sharing an intense emotion. Nothing else matters anymore -- college is long in the future, school can happen tomorrow, and my parents won't be home till the morning -- we've got the whole night to ourselves.

I find myself trying to memorize the taste or her lips, the sensation that it creates upon my own, but it doesn't matter anymore. This isn't ninth grade history, where we have to sneak glances at each other from across the room. I savor this moment in its entirety, and think about every detail. I lose myself in her, in the moment, worrying about nothing else but her beautiful existence. I can smell her hair so much better from here. I think I finally get it. It's some sort of strawberry-peach blend. I make a mental note to ask her about that later.

We wrap our hands around each other's backs as our kiss intensifies, and all of a sudden it's a fight, and we're both madly trying to satiate our hunger for each other. I can feel her breasts pushing up against my chest as we pull ourselves closer together. They're not small by any means -- I always found it a struggle looking away from her large chest. She's definitely caught me staring on more than one occasion, but just never said anything.

We stumble back and forth, but with eyes closed and hands busy, we bump into the edge of the table and a corner of the bedpost before making it to the wall. After a few minutes, I can feel her lips part and her tongue slide gently across my lips. I open mine, and our tongues meet in the middle, sliding across each other, exploring new regions. We've never done this before but it feels almost natural, like an instinct that was just awoken in us both.