All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
He was standing right at the street corner. I had to tell him the truth, it was the only option that remained to reclaim the fairytale ending that was rightfully ours. I sensed his tension. Hugo did have a right to hold a grudge. I mean, he didn’t know the truth, did he. I gazed into his jade-green eyes. He was melting me, breaking me down, although it wasn’t intentional. I couldn’t do this when all I had repeating through my head was, “Run Genevieve. You can’t do this!” But before my legs could do the laboring, my mouth started to run.
“Look,” I started off. My lecture was not as deep as I had been anticipating. “Hugo, I didn’t cheat on you. I mean, well I probably sound insane. You saw me with Raul, yes indeed you did. But I was threatened, by Celine. She threatened us. She was going to tear us apart. But now I realize, the only one who really tore us apart was me. Celine told me she would let you die. I didn’t understand that. She coveted you! She deplored me! So why bore your life away, when I was her ideal culprit?!”
He subtly turned his head away from me. I had to vigorously concentrate to hear him mutter, “Geni, I have a confession as well.” I cringed, bracing my heart for a solemn breaking. Before I could hear it, I gaped, but not just any gape. It was one that concluded with me babbling. “Hugo, I know what you’re trying to say. And I know you’re breaking up with me…”
He interrupted me before I could continue. “No, that’s not it. I knew it was only to please Celine. You were completely and utterly faithful, but I…I’m a jerk. I’m sorry, Geni, I went out with Celine.”
I fill you in on all the details. Celine is the monstrous devil of Mouton High School in France. I live in Paris, and Hugo is my boyfriend, or was my boyfriend in this current state.
Forbidden love was all I ever dreamed of, right? But frankly, as the dull, solemn rain weeps on me, I stand corrected. My phone vibrated, startling me. It was a text from Celine. I was reluctant to retrieve it from my inbox, yet my curiosity overcame me.
“I heard Hugo broke the news. Sorry Geneva, but you snooze, you lose.”
I stormed home, and wept. I somehow, had a peculiar craving for vengeance, and maybe, a side of retaliation. What was with me? But whatever my problem was, I would seek it on Celine. A thought suddenly occurred to me.
The dance was tonight and I was dateless and in desperate need of a dress. I wasn’t a girl that would fret over the dateless portion, but a dress was mandatory. I rummaged through my closet for a decent dress. This was one of those moments in my life where I was in desperate need of a Fairy Godmother. But there was no “bippity-boppity-boo” in reality. So much for that! At least, I had a dress that I wore to my cousin’s wedding. A blue halter dress with yellow flowers may not compare to Celine’s wardrobe, but it was enough to boost my confidence. As I hurried to warm up my curling iron, I slipped—in dog pee. I now could not manage to go to the dance without at least a brief shower. No worries, I’d make it on time. But as I inspected my curler, it appeared to be shattered. Pink ceramic smithereens were scattered in my beige rug. They were entangled in fabric, and some were submerged beneath my carpet. I swiftly retrieved the vacuum and labored away. I kept telling myself that this would be the night of my dreams. I reassured myself that tonight my diary would conclude with the words coveted by every teenage girl: “Happily ever after.” But I was so preoccupied to realize that the vacuum was stuck to the carpet. It had already consumed bits of my carpet, but I couldn’t fix that, so I just detached it from the rest of my carpet.
Subsequently, I took a brief shower. I then, did my usual makeup routine: a thin line of cat-eye eyeliner, my favorite mascara, a sprinkle of blush, and a light coat of pink lip gloss. I then scrunched my hair with detangling mousse. I accepted this look because it was unique to my normally-flat-ironed-blonde-hair. It displayed how exquisite my natural waves were.
After that heart-felt moment of self-appreciation, reality had kicked in. I had no ride to the dance. Since I’m only fifteen years old, I don’t even have a permit. How could I be so ignorant? Not only that, but I’d also been naïve. I mean, why would Hugo choose a dorky writer that stutters over a haughty and gorgeous cheerleader that’s a size zero? She was especially skilled at hypnotizing boys, a skill I, for one, would certainly never master.
I could walk there. My only dilemma was that I could just envision me getting sloshed by a mixture of mud, rain-water, and any creepy-crawler that dwelled in the roads, like in the movies. But I relented because love was about being fearless, and that was the theme of tonight. I laced up my skater sneakers and headed out the door.
I had to endure ten miles of definite taunting. Whether it was a seven year old on her tricycle or a seventeen year old in her fiesta-red convertible, I heard malicious snickers. I was injured—my soul and my body. My blisters began to bleed through my soaks, and just when I was about to tell myself that this dance was totally overrated, I saw our school’s neon sign. For the first time in my career of education, I really and truly appreciated my school.
I inhaled, followed by an on-going exhale, and entered the building, my adrenalin sped up. I saw Celine, who scoffed. I was befuddled to find that she was not with Hugo. Hugo was standing alone. He appeared to be pondering. And to my surprise he approached me. We began to waltz, and as heartbroken as I was, it satisfied me.
“Genevieve, please wake up.” A familiar voice pleaded. That voice belonged to Hugo. I suddenly realized I’d dreamed this chaos. He held out to me an orange daisy, my favorite flower, or as I call it “my kinda red rose.”
“What happened?” I asked. It was lucid that I was completely baffled.
“You were at my house, and you knocked into a door.”
A nurse suddenly came in. “The X-ray results came in and it appears she fractured her skull. Must’ve hit your head on the hinge or something. Luckily, there was no brain damaged. You’ll have to stay for at least a week.” She informed.
In that mere moment, I received my first kiss. The best part was nothing superficial was involved: no flawless dress, no sticky lip gloss, just the basics, all I ever needed Hugo and I.