In the seventh grade, when our ignorant Pre-Alegbra teacher sat the two of us side-by-side, Ted and I were inseparable. At the time, I was taller than him, but not by much. I was about five foot two; he was about five foot one and a half. His eyes were the color of his hair—golden-brown. I know it sounds weird, but they looked good that way. His hair laid flat on his head. His bangs barely showed his eyebrows, and when he jerked his head, the hair followed a second later.
We were good friends. He always stole my stuff; I always beat him with whatever it was he stole. He'd poke me on my semi-bare feet with either his Number 2, fully sharpened pencil or his extremely pointy mathematical compass; I'd bop him on the back of the head with my hand. We bantered more often than not, and it was a wonder our teacher never separated us.
When I look back on those years, it's a wonder he stuck by my side for so long, because I was definitely a complicated girl. My moods changed at the drop of a hat. I had a quick temper, but, for the most part, was an extremely quick forgiver. I cried when I was frustrated, and laughed when I fell down a flight of stairs. And whenever I sat by Ted. I had cried hard the day Steve Irwin died, but of course, the next day Ted was there to cheer me up. Good ol' Ted.
"Hey Courtney, did I ever tell you about my evil daycare?"
I shook my head.
"Well, there was this boy there. He was so mean! He always tried to pull my pants down!"
I cocked an eyebrow, giving him a look expressing my feelings of how he was giving me TMI. "That must not have been fun."
"No. Well, anyways, I always tried to escape that place. One day, I made it—but that was only because the kid was trying to pull my pants down and it gave that extra boost to get over the top."
I nodded, glancing over to where our math teacher was. I really didn't want to get in trouble with her, but, in all honesty, I don't think I could of told Ted to be quiet. I know I didn't want to.
"So, I make it over the fence, and I'm running down the road at full speed—I knew where my house was, though I was, like, four—and I run across the street, when BAM, this car hits me!"
I stare at him, eyebrows raised, a smile spreading across mouth.
"And guess who gets out."
"Who?"
"My mother!"
At this point, I'm laughing helplessly. I try to stifle the noise by covering my lips with my hand. Ted grinned and kept going.
"So she jumps out of the car, and comes over to me and starts yelling at me—and here I am like half-conscious, fading in and out. So, she finally takes me to the hospital, and they're all like: 'Are you alright, Ted?' They had this room all set up for me—they always had a room ready for me, even when I wasn't there. Just in case. Man, I still remember all the nurses names!"
"You do not!" I laughed.
"I do! Let's see…" He proceeded to name every one of them, making me giggle harder.
"Oh! And the school nurse was scary! She'd just sit there, in her dark room, and stare at me—me twitching and bleeding—and she'd be like, "You'll be okay, Ted," and I'm just sittin' there, twitching and bleedin' and stuff."
I didn't bother to tell him that he'd said 'twitching and bleeding' twice—I was laughing too hard to care. When I had calmed down enough, I turned to give him a curious look.
"Ted..."
He glanced at the board behind me, where the teacher was writing notes for us to copy, his pencil scribbling furiously. "Yes?"
"Was any of that true?"
He looked at me for a second, a strange light in his eyes. "Nope."
My jaw dropped, and I punched him playfully. "What! You loser! Why did you do that?" I wondered aloud.
He shrugged. "It made you smile, didn't it?"
And to think, that boy knew more about me than I myself did.
*names changed
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