Gingerale 1

Not two hours into the day and it's already begun. I knew it would...eventually. But two hours? That must be some kind of world record...at least in my case. As I stood there, on the edge of the school's roof/gardening center, I contemplated how easy it would be to jump. Like leaping off a diving board, I supposed. Quick, yet scary, when you think about it. As I looked about, I wondered who, if anyone, would notice...I was standing so close to the edge that one slip would be it.

If there was even a slight breeze...I would fall.

If I had no sense of self-preservation...I would jump.

Okay, so I guess I sound kind of...suicidal. But, whatever...you would be too if you were in my situation. It all started when I was...well, zero.

See, when I was born something terrible happened. It's a horrible thing that shouldn't happen to anyone. No, my mom didn't die and I have no birth defects...unless you count the red mane of hair attached to my head. But what happened to me was much, much worse. See, when my mom got the little form for my birth certificate...she...uhm...well, she named me...

Ginger-Elle Daisy Sullivan. Yea, I know! Try living out the remainder of your days as the 'Gingerale' girl. Horrible right?

Now I love my parents...I guess. But let's just say they aren't the brightest bulb in the socket...I mean, common sense-wise. I mean, how were they to know that naming me, that god-awful name, would make me a social pariah and subject to getting picked on every day of my life so far. Apparently they, my parents I mean, didn't realize it was a semi-popular soda brand. My mother constantly tells me that it's an endearing name, that I'll never be forgotten because of it, but after living my life, even the most famous movie star of all time would want to be forgotten. I would kill to live a day where nobody in my life knew my name. To find an escape.

To this day, the only way I can find even a little solace in my name is to conclude that my mom was so hopped up on painkillers, and whatever else my mom took before she went into labor, that she wasn't thinking clearly. Because if she had not been strung out on drugs, she would have obviously named me something normal like Britney or Jane. Because my parents love me, and if it wasn't for the drugs, my mother would never have given me a name that probably counts as child abuse in some states. Yep, she would never subject me to that kind of torture willingly, right? Yea, totally.

And what makes the situation even worse, not that a lot of things could make it worse, is that I can't even use my middle name as my first. I mean, Daisy?! Sorry, but they also get a lot of attention and not for the good reasons. Though it couldn't be any worse than Ginger-Elle. Whoever the idiot was who made hyphenated names is the first on my hitlist, followed by Susie Webber from third grade who threw water at my pants and insisted, to everyone in our grade, that I peed Gingerale.

So there I stood, on top the roof. My own sanctuary from the constant teasing and ridicule that comes with being a sixteen year old girl named Ginger-Elle in high school. To be clear, I'm not suicidal. The building is two stories and there's no way a fall from here could kill me. At the most, I would walk away with a broken bone or two, considering there's no concrete within seven feet of the building, just grass and bushes. I would have to give a big leap to even try to touch pavement, which is possible, but, whatever. Sometimes I just get so fed up that I need to be up high all alone, to think, you know?

Well it's been another day at Coleman High and again I felt crappy about my life. I looked at my watch and figured cafeteria lunch lines should be winding down by then. I left the roof's edge to try to go and enjoy a normal lunch. As I headed through the gravel on the roof, and around the fake Gardenia's and Poppies, to the blue, and slightly rusted door, I started to feel, somewhat, better. Maybe today would be a little better than most days...maybe.

When I opened the door to enter the school building, and I'm walking in, something hits me square in the chest. I felt the breath get knocked out of me and figured it was impossible for any oxygen to ever return. I closed my eyes as if I was a possum, hoping that whatever attacked me would think I was dead and leave me.

No luck. I soon heard a voice and felt a warm hand over the top of my breasts. Because of the initial shock I didn't catch what the voice said to me, but the person sounded so scared and anxious that it caused me to open my eyes. I realized I was holding whatever breath I had left, in, and quickly let it go and gave a loud gasp, grateful for the oxygen. It took a moment for me to realize that I couldn't see who it was that attacked me. I know they were there, because of three reasons: One: the person had caught me before I hit the ground and my head and the top of my back was in their lap. Two: I could hear them eliciting tiny rapid breaths, as if they were the one blindsided with the attack instead of me. And three: their hand was still over my breasts.

I gave a loud groan as I twisted my head to try to see the culprit. What I saw shocked me. The culprit was the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Perfectly tossed, light brown hair, amazingly tan skin, and his eyes. His eyes were the best part. A deep, deep blue like the color of the Pacific Ocean but even more beautiful. And around his pupil was a peculiar light blue, like the sky. I stared mesmerized until I realized that he was saying something to me.

"Huh?" I questioned, feeling hypnotized by his eyes.

"I said, are you okay?"

"Uhm, I think so....Why'd you hit me?" I asked, regaining awareness of the situation.

He seemed flustered. "I...uh...didn't mean to...you were coming in while I was going out...too fast I guess...I uh...Why are you staring at me?"

Now it was my turn to be flustered, fully realizing that I was indeed staring. "Uhm, I have absolutely no idea....you...I...," looking down at myself I asked, "Why is your hand...uhm, where it is?" I didn't think it was possible for someone that tan to blush, but sure enough his cheeks turned a pale shade of pink as he withdrew his hand. Was it my imagination or did his hand linger a moment longer than it should have before he moved it? Imagination, definitely.

"Right, sorry about that...I was checking your heart to see if you were still breathing...guess I don't know my own strength, is all." With that he lifted my head so that I was no longer on his lap and stood, grabbing one of my hands so that he could bring me up with him. I stood slightly lighthead, and groaned, putting the palm of my free hand over my forehead.

"Do you want to go to the school nurse?" he asked me, concerned.

"Huh? No. I'm fine. Just a little lightheaded," I muttered groggily.

He wasn't entirely convinced. "Maybe we should go...you know just in case..."

I looked at him with confusion. I felt better than I had a moment ago, but, wanting an excuse to keep him there, I gave in. "Okay...lead the way...please."

As gorgeous, mystery, culprit guy walked with me down the stairs, I feigned being faint, so he would have to put his arms around me and I could lean against him. He smelled like sweat, laundry detergent, and surprisingly, pomegranates. I resisted the urge to tell him just how good he smelled, when we left the staircase and started down the hallway towards the nurse's office.

"So...who are you? I don't think I've ever seen you around before," I asked hoping to break the silence.

"Really that's odd. I've been going here all year. I'm Kevin. Kevin Shore. Come to think about it, I've never seen you before. What's your name?"

Moment of truth. I could almost hear the suspenseful music start up around me. I couldn't tell him, I mustn't. Wait. How couldn't he have heard of me? He says he's been going here since the beginning of the school year which was...almost four months ago...How could he not have known? Well, whatever the case, I can't tell this scorching hot guy my name was Ginger-Elle. He'd laugh in my face as so many others have already done. Daisy won't do either. He must have sensed my hesitation because he quickly murmered, "Right well...privacy is key..."

He had a strange look on his face, but because I didn't know him well enough, I couldn't tell what it meant. "No, sorry, my name is...Ginny," I hastily replied. There. That was easy. It's not as if I lied. My parents, as well as my best friend, practically my only friend, Monica, calls me Ginny. When I introduce myself, it's always as Ginny Sullivan. Why did I have so much trouble figuring out what to call myself in front of him? Why am I so nervous?

"Oh...Well...Pleased to meet you," He mumbled as we entered the nurse's office. Pleased? Who says that? I've never heard a guy, ever, say "pleased to meet you." Most girls are lucky to get a "oh...cool" from a boy, never mind a pleased to meet you. That's a strange word either way. Pleased. I wonder if guys say that in Britain, or England, or whatever you call it. Maybe he's british. Before I got a chance to reply, The nurse walked briskly to us.

"Hello, I'm Nurse Paulina. What seems to be the problem?" She said in an extremely cheerful voice.

"Oh, well, she was coming in while I was going out and we sort of collided; I'm not hurt, but she might be," he told her in an equally cheerful voice that was making my ears hurt.

"Oh dear! Well let's see here. Did you guys trade insurance? Who was the one responsible for the accident? These medical bills will be high!" When she said this, she gave a great big laugh, as though her joke was the funniest in the world. I looked at Kevin. If he thought it was funny, he gave no sign of it.

"Well, let's get the patient onto the table," She remarked after she finished her hearty laugh. Kevin, still holding me, walked me to the table/bed-like-thing, then, half carrying me, helped me get on. When he was sure I was on, he let me go.

Slightly disappointed, I examined Nurse Paulina. She was short, well, shorter than me, and plump wearing a green nurses outfit. Her long, curly black hair was gleaming under the florescent lighting of the office. I thought, noticing the lines around her eyes and mouth, that she couldn't be any younger than forty-five, maybe fifty. Nurse Paulina came over to me and looked me over. "Hon, what is your name?" she demanded as she walked to the computer in the back of the room.

"Uhm, Ginny Sullivan?" I answered, more as a question than a reply. As she typed in my name, I began to get nervous. She would say my real name out loud, like so many other had. Like it's the most comical thing she heard in her life. Then she would follow my name with a tremendous laugh that I'm sure she's capable of. I wouldn't worry about it this time, except that Kevin was here. He was right behind me in one of the chairs, bound to hear my true name.

When Nurse Paulina finished typing, she elicited the same laugh I heard her give before with the insurance "joke." She turned to look at me. As my face got hot, I gave a nervous glance in Kevin's direction and hoped she would understand what it meant.

Apparently she did, giggling to herself, but not repeating my name. The only thing she had to say was, "What were your parents thinking?" and laughing once more, she got up, walked towards me and asked if I was badly hurt. If you say one more thing about my parents, I'll show you the meaning of hurt! I stifled my tiny burst of anger, and decided I was going to tell her that I was dizzy, but otherwise fine, when she turned towards Kevin.

"Young man, you may go if you like, or you can stay with your girlfriend here."

I turned to look at Kevin and he blushed the same pale shade of pink as before. "Oh no! She's not my girlfriend. I've never met her before today," Kevin justified quickly, as if me being confused as his girlfriend is totally unreasonable.

"It's okay. You can go if you want. You can probably catch the end of lunch if you hurry," I uttered, pretending I wasn't upset by his reaction to the 'girlfriend' comment.

"Oh...Well...Okay then, I guess I'll go...See you later Ginny. You too, Nurse Paulina."

He hesistated for a moment and looked me straight in my eyes. We stayed like that for at least three seconds before he turned and left. When he looked at me, it felt like there was a boulder in my throat and my stomach flopped around as if I was on a rollercoaster. I've never felt like that before, you know, unless I was actually on a rollercoaster. I couldn't place what that feeling was, but maybe I would ask Monica when I saw her. She knew everything about guys, whether she admitted it or not; She would know what it was I was feeling.