High School Sweetheart
The Early Days
When I was a schoolgirl I used to have Maths on the ground floor. The classroom faced out onto the path to the unofficial smoking area, taken by the bad people on the way for a fag. There was one boy, in the year above me, who had a free period at the same time as I had Maths, so I'd see him sloping past with his mate for a sly cigarette. I used to point out to my friend Jenny that this boy was passing: 'ooh look it's C!' (she must have got so bored of this -literally every week) that is was blatantly obvious I fancied the pants off him. He was in the year above me, and he was one of the rebellious crowd who smoked and drank loads, spoke back to teachers (gasp!) and skived lessons. I meanwhile, was part of a group that, while we weren't angels, went to classes, didn't smoke (at least I didn't), and only drank as much as we thought we could get away with (which admittedly was a fair bit, but still, you know what I mean). We had no mutual friends really, as our two groups didn't mix.
I'd been going out with someone for a few months, and had only just plucked up the courage to end things with him (which consisted of avoiding him, and not phoning him for long enough that he guessed and made it pretty easy for me to dump him), when a friend of mine said that immortal line to me: 'I know someone that fancies you'. Assuming it was going to be another of the geeky guys of my own age I had attracted thus far, I wasn't all that excited.
But then she told me that the person who fancied me was, in fact, C. The one who taunted me every time I had Maths, with his heady mix of bad-boy-smoker and cute-bespectacled-boy-with-big-blue-eyes... And apparently he'd had his eye on me for a couple of months (he'd spied me during our Higher English exam. He later told me what I had been wearing that day. He could still tell you what I was wearing - the one and only time he's ever paid any attention to my clothing!).
Anyway, I was completely gobsmacked as I had no idea he even knew I existed. When I heard this I looked over to the Other Side Of The Common Room (territory of those in sixth year), and there were those big blue eyes watching me from behind an upside-down copy of Vogue. He lowered his magazine and gave me a wee smile. I smiled back, and from that moment on I was smitten. I told the friend that yes I supposed she could give C my phone number. I wasn't fussed really. Trying to play it cool...
'OhmyGOD, C wants MY phone number!'
It was just too bizarre. By the time I got home that day I was convinced it was all a cruel joke. But I was to be proved wrong - half an hour after I got in the door, the phone went. I answered it, not even thinking that it might be C. It was of course, and I sputtered and 'emmm'ed my way through the call. We arranged to meet up the following night. And for the next six months, I was deliriously happy - we were like Cory and Topanga, but not quite as preppy. And not American. But it didn't matter because I had managed to bag the man of my dreams.
Then it all went horribly wrong. He called me up out of the blue, not long after our six month 'anniversary' and DUMPED ME. He said he didn't want a girlfriend. And that was it - over. I was heartbroken.
Later that year my friends and I went on a girly holiday where I was, truth be told, a bit of a tart. I then started uni, and had a few boyfriends, but nothing serious. I was in my second year at uni (a year or so after The Dumping) when my friends and I decided to go to our local pub in the town where we all went to school. It was a popular weekend haunt for lots of people our age, but I'd never bumped into C there. I saw him that night, for the second or third time since he'd binned me.
We'd been there a while, and it was getting close to last orders when he stoated in and went over to join his mates on the other side of the pub. After about half an hour of agonising 'will I/won't I' (with my friends cheering me on) I saw him go over to the juke box. Seizing my chance I walked over, heart pounding (the eyes of my own friends boring into my back, and his friends watching me from the front), to say hello. I remember my first words because they were so stupid, and a little nippy:
'Are you not speaking?'
He answered that of course he was speaking, and how was I doing? We chatted until the pub closed. It turned out that he'd gone out for drinks in Edinburgh after work, and for some reason he'd decided to come to the pub instead of going home as he would normally have done (he lived close to the train station so the pub was a bit of a detour). He invited me round to his house the following night and I agreed, trying desperately not to look too eager (the bastard had DUMPED me after all). After spending that night wide awake and the following day bending my best friend's ear with 'it was meant to be!', I went round. Within about five minutes of me getting there I had abandoned any pretence and we were most definitely back together. He opted to dispel any doubt about this by kissing me soundly for most of the rest of the night.
That was nearly eight years ago, and we're now planning our wedding (which I think I may have mentioned...?!). We've had our ups and downs like everyone else, and we nearly called it quits a couple of times, but I love my bespectacled boy. He knows exactly how to make me feel better when I'm down, and he doesn't laugh at me when I cry at nature documentaries. I can't imagine my life without him.