Theme song thing: 'I Want You To Want Me' xx Letters To Cleo.
Un-betaed and stuff.
You stare blankly at the crisp white curtains clenched tightly around her bed, willing her to break the very rules that she enforces, just once, and whisper something to ease your mind. You know that she won’t, and yet a part of you still hopes that perhaps, after everything that’s happened today, she will. You shuffle restlessly in your sheets, wishing that they weren’t so hot, that it weren’t so awfully steamy, wishing for a midnight sojourn to the Pool. You want Sally to wake up, to twitch back those curtains and smile at you with that once again wooden face, and you want to watch it blossom as you did last year as she whispers “Hurry up, Darrell! We’re having a feast at the Pool, remember?” You would grin back at her, and think how silly of you to forget, how silly of you to not have stayed awake like you always did.
But she doesn’t. And your sheets are still hot, but now, they’re twisted around your legs like thick, sinewy ropes, holding you away from her. Her curtains stay closed, despite all your strength of mind and willpower being aimed at them. You clench your teeth and fists simultaneously, and then realise that you have screwed up your toes, too. All you want is to hold her, really, to comfort her and tell her it’s alright, that Alicia is simply jealous, jealous of what she can never have, and of what Sally already has. You want to gather her, your best friend in the whole world, gather her up in your strong brown arms and carry her to the window, where the breeze from the water will blow over you both, and the moon will turn your dark skins pale and ethereal. And perhaps when the moon slips obligingly behind a cloud, you’d like to lower your [dry bitten] lips to her [candy pink pursed] mouth, and kiss her awake, for surely, this is a dream, and in a dream she would never wake until the perfect moment. And that kiss would surely be the most perfect moment either of you would ever experience, because this is Sally, Sally, the most perfect person in the world for you. Your complementary colour, your opposite and equal reaction, your one in a million.
You know that in the morning, you’ll wake [if you ever sleep] with the remnants of these dreams clouding your eyes, tinting Sally rose-n, making you imagine intimacy where there is none, at least, none of this kind. You wonder if the other girls have ever thought things like this about each other, about another girl. You’re almost sure that Alicia and Betty are hiding something, murmurs skulk in the common room nearly every night after Betty has turned up and skittered away with Alicia, the bane of Sally’s heart.. Your mind turns to Mary Lou, who so faithfully adored you for ever so long, and it occurs to you that perhaps you missed something, that perhaps it was you who was once in Sally’s position, and Mary Lou was once in yours. Now, of course, you have realised, and you cannot blame Sally for not seeing what she should see.
Yet- she sleeps still, and you know, despite everything, that you will never be the one to open her curtains. Strength and courage on the lacrosse field, and on the diving boards mean nothing here, not now. You won’t move, you won’t say a thing, you won’t even smile until she does. And you know, deep down, that until she turns and calls for you, you’ll never be able to make the world disappear for her.