August 19, 2014 - First Impressions

It was the second day of senior high when I first saw her.

Our adviser walked in wearing the kind of grin teachers only pull out when they’re about to **** you with something “fun.” She clapped her hands like a children’s show host. “Remember your team-building assignment!” she chirped. “Everyone should have brought a book from home to decorate our class library!”

The “library” was really just a sagging wooden shelf at the back of the room with a crooked sign-out sheet no one would ever touch - a graveyard for old textbooks and forgotten novels.

I’d grabbed the first thing I could find in our garage: a random romance novel my mom probably bought years ago. It didn’t matter. None of us cared. We just wanted to drop our books and move on with our lives.

But that wasn’t why she was grinning.

She cleared her throat, clearly enjoying herself. “We have a new student joining us today!”

The door swung open.

For a second, I thought she was lying. That wasn’t a transfer student - that was an angel sent to forgive us all of our teenage sins.

She stepped inside, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield. Her eyes darted around the room - shy, but not weak.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in the middle row, already ogling her like an idiot and planning our entire future together. Second day of school and I’d already picked out wedding colors. Beach wedding, obviously. She’d look good with the wind in her hair, sunlight bouncing off that black curtain of hair like a shampoo commercial.

Our adviser said her name: Jackie.

Petite. Slim. Sharp Japanese features. Long black hair that shimmered blue under the flickering fluorescent lights. Her chest wasn’t much, but her legs and ass were perfect - toned and athletic, the kind that made you forget what you were saying halfway through a sentence. Later, I’d learn she’d been doing karate since she was a kid. That explained the confidence in her walk. She had that rare mix of softness and strength - like she could make you feel safe, then roundhouse-kick you into next week if you messed up.

Unfortunately, my first impression wasn’t exactly prince charming.

I tilted my head back, silently thanking God for throwing me a bone, because she sat right in front of me - next to my buddy Mike.

As soon as the adviser left, I tapped her shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Allen,” I said. My voice came out an octave lower than normal, like I was doing a bad Batman impression. From the corner of my eye, Mike shot me a look that said, You are so lame.

Jackie smiled and shook my hand. And just like that, the whole room felt brighter - like someone had flipped on a secret warm light only I could see. She smelled like soap. Not flowery perfume or sugary body spray. Just plain, simple soap. Clean. Sharp. Honest.

My heart was already building a shrine to that smell.

If her smile had this much power, I wondered what her laugh would sound like. I swore right then I’d be the first one to make her laugh.

Something in the back of my mind told me to be careful. Karma has a way of keeping score, even when you’ve forgotten the rules. But it was easy to ignore that voice - hormones were louder than guilt.

Before I could try anything, the next teacher walked in and started class. Fine. I figured I had until lunch to come up with the perfect plan.

I didn’t take a single note. Instead, I filled my notebook with a list of jokes. I ranked them, scratched them out, circled new ones. The page looked like the frantic notes of a comedian losing his mind. None of them were good. All of them sucked.

Meanwhile, Jackie was drawing. Every chance she got, she’d pull out her sketchbook and lose herself in it. Her face calm, her pencil gliding like it was following a song only she could hear. During breaks, classmates drifted over to talk to her. She answered their questions in this blunt but not-mean way that somehow made people like her even more.

I kept silently praying nobody would make her laugh before I did.

By the time the bell rang before lunch, my notebook looked like a battlefield of bad ideas. I sighed and drew a giant X across the page. I should’ve just taken notes. Thank God Mike was a note-taking machine. I’d just copy his later.

And then it hit me.

I didn’t need a perfect joke. Me and Mike had been roasting each other since first year - it always worked. Why reinvent the wheel? All I had to do was drop one of our usual insults in front of Jackie and hope she laughed. Not genius, but time was running out.

The lunch bell rang. Mike, true to form, leaned over his notebook like a scholar.

I went for it.

“When did you learn to write Egyptian hieroglyphics, Mike?” I said, loud enough for Jackie to hear.

Mike scowled. I grinned.

And it worked. Jackie laughed. Not a fake polite giggle - a soft, real laugh. Like a reward. I felt like I’d just unlocked a cheat code to life.

Then disaster struck.

As I laughed with her, a giant glob of spit shot out of my mouth like it had been plotting its escape for years. Time slowed. All three of us stared as it landed squarely on the floor between us.

Silence.

We all stared at it like it was radioactive.

My soul left my body.

Credit to Jackie. She didn’t laugh at me - not even a smirk. But the damage was done. My brain filed that moment under Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments of All Time and started looping it on repeat. She gave me a sympathetic smile, turned back to the front, and fixed her things.

When she finally looked away, I face-planted into my desk with a dramatic thud. Maybe if I stayed there long enough, I’d fossilize and future archaeologists would dig me up and conclude that teenagers in the 2010s died of social humiliation.

Kyle came by. “Let’s go down for lunch.” He nudged my back. I didn’t move. I waved him away. I heard Mike whisper something to him. Kyle laughed, patted me on the back in a “there, there” kind of way, and left with Mike.

Kevin, the guy sitting beside me, nudged my arm. I waved him off like a mosquito.

“Hey, can you teach me this... physics? I think we have a quiz later?”

With my face still pressed to the desk, I groaned. “Ya think? It’s written on the chalkboard, man.”

I sat up and sighed. Kevin looked genuinely worried he’d fail, so I figured I might as well help him. Maybe tutoring would distract me from the puddle of shame I was drowning in.

We had an hour break, but he was struggling. I had a soft spot for triers, so even though I hadn’t eaten lunch, I stayed.

It almost worked. I almost forgot about my humiliation. Until I looked up and caught Jackie staring right at me.

It felt like someone had poured **** into an open wound. My shame flared up instantly, and I whipped back toward Kevin.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, frustrated at myself.

“What?” Kevin asked, looking hurt. “I’m really trying here.”

“Not you, moron,” I said - then immediately regretted it. I was just so frustrated that I forgot my vow. “You’re not a moron. Just… here, do this.”

I scribbled an equation and added filthy acronyms for each term to help him remember.

Kevin laughed and repeated them under his breath. Perfect memory hack. Teenage boys loved dirty words. He’d remember it... until tomorrow, maybe.

The quiz came, and Kevin looked happier than I’d ever seen him. He got a passing grade - which, for him, was a victory. I gave him a pat on the back. "Sorry for calling you a moron," I whispered to him.

He didn't even acknowledge me. Just continued to look at his passing grade like he found the scroll of truth.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t focus. I imagined it wasn’t actually God who sat Jackie in front of me - it was karma. Beautiful, merciless karma, in goddess form. Jackie was her holy hand grenade, and I was the idiot holding the pin. I never stood a chance.

Every time I tried to look up and listen to the teacher, my eyes would wander to Jackie siting right in front of me. It made me want to smack my head into the desk again. When Mike talked to me and Jackie turned to join in, I’d look down at my shoes - which killed the conversation.

She probably thought I didn’t like her. It wasn’t impossible. People get embarrassed and start blaming everyone else for what happened. She might’ve thought that’s what I was doing.

Meanwhile, I was just trying to figure out how to exist without embarrassing myself a second time.

When class ended, I watched as Jackie left, wishing I could walk home with her. Not even all the way home - just up to the school gate. I was determined. My second impression would be better. Stronger. The kind that would bury the first one six feet under and dance on the grave.

On the way home, I crossed the bridge near school. The sunset bled across the water, gold spilling into rust. I bit my lip as that old unease crept back in. The bridge had this effect on me. It held too much silence, too much memory.

A black stray dog stood at the other end, watching me. Its eyes caught the light - sharp, reflective, patient. I stopped. It didn’t bark or move. Just watched.

I glared back, then crouched while my hand reached into my bag. The dog took a cautious step forward. I pulled out the kibble I always carried and dropped some on the ground.

It crept closer, growled once - low, uncertain. I stepped back and waited. It sniffed the food, then started eating.

I watched it for a while - the slow, careful chewing, the way the wind rippled the fur on its back - then looked up at the sky. The orange faded into purple, the first stars flickering through.

“Please,” I whispered. “Anything else. Just don’t let her be my punishment... my karma.”

The wind whistled through the bridge rails - hollow, distant, and long. Like it heard me but hadn’t decided what to do about it.