1. Henry

Issue 1 of “Hopeless Henry”

By Alice Bennet

Taken from the University Gazette

There she was again.

From the back of class, I slunk further into my chair so she wouldn’t notice me staring as she entered the lecture hall with her two friends. Tipping my chin down just enough to shade most of my eyes under the bill of my baseball cap, I brought my hand up to my mouth so I could bite down on my thumbnail.

God, she was pretty.

And she was wearing the shirt, which made me smile behind my hand. That shirt was what had drawn me to her in the first place. A crossover from two of my favorite shows, it depicted Lucille, the bat from The Walking Dead, and the Winchester’s Chevy Impala from Supernatural, with text that read, “Dad’s still on a hunting trip.” A fan of both shows, I’d understood the message and laughed the first time I’d seen it, wishing I had a shirt like that.

It’d actually taken me a couple of seconds to realize the material of that shirt stretched across a very lovely set of feminine breasts. When my brain finally registered what I was seeing, my eyebrows perked up and my gaze wandered on to the rest of her.

Since then, I’d been hooked.

As she and her friends found three open seats next to each other near the front, she said something that made the other two laugh. Their reactions had her smiling in satisfaction, which was awesome because I loved her smile. It lit up the entire room.

A band of longing tightened across my chest as I wondered if she was the jokester of the group. And what kind of wit did she have: biting and sarcastic or goofball friendly?

I had no idea. But I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything about her. Like her name. I bet she had a kickass name. Anyone who looked like her must have an amazing name.

She wore her hair down today. As she leaned to the side to fetch a book from her backpack she’d set by her knee, the blonde locks tumbled into her face, and she tucked some behind her ear with one smooth hook of her middle finger as she straightened. She made each move look like art. And as much as I felt like a creeper for always staring, I could never seem to look away whenever we shared this class together.

She fascinated me on every level.

“Yo, man. You hear about Baxter?”

Startled by the interruption as Jordan Rush—a fellow member of the marching band—flopped heavily into the seat beside me, I blinked the girl from my vision and straightened to address the question.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, still shaking my head in an attempt to jostle myself from all the wants and dreams coursing through me. “Car accident. That’s gotta suck.”

Rush snickered in disagreement. “Sucks for him, yeah, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime for you, bro.”

“Huh?”

When I frowned out my confusion, he sighed, rolling his eyes.

“His playing hand is all fucked up. He’s gonna be out for the rest of the year. They’re going to need someone to take his spot as trumpet section leader.”

“What about Chad or—”

“Dude, no one else plays like you. And you gotta be tripping if you think the director doesn’t see that. If you tried for it, you’d get his spot.” Rush gave a low whistle and bumped my arm. “You should totally try for it.”

I pulled back, not having even considered the possibility. But now that Rush had planted a seed…

I shook my head, a part of me instinctively rejecting such a hopeful suggestion, and I laughed it off. “No,” I murmured. I couldn’t advance that far as a freshman.

Could I?

Rush pointed at me knowingly, as if reading my mind. “Think about it,” he said with all seriousness.

Across the room, I saw light hair move from the corner of my eye. I glanced over just as she stood from her chair and crossed the floor to a trash can where she threw something away. Was it a gum wrapper? A phone number some lame loser had tried to give her? The secret to her heart?

Rush chattered on next to me, still talking about band. I didn’t hear a word he said.

Probably just a gum wrapper. Cinnamon flavored, I bet. She looked like a cinnamon kind of girl.

I tracked her as she returned to her chair and sat again, just as a hand waved in front of my face.

“Hey. Wow. Where’d you go there, buddy?”

I blinked Rush back into focus and frowned at him for butting into my staring. “What?”

I only had this one measly hour to watch her, three days a week. This was some precious-ass time for me.

“Dude, you just totally phased out for a minute. And… You’re doing it again.”

When I realized I’d returned my gaze to her, I jerked my attention to Rush and frowned. “What?”

“Seriously, what has you so…?” But he’d already followed the direction of my gaze and was lifting interested eyebrows. “Oh…” he drew out in understanding and nodded sagely. “It’s a girl. Hey, wait.” His eyes widened as he whirled back to me. “Is this the girl? The one you always go on about at band practice?”

“I don’t always go on about her,” I muttered, lowering my voice and glancing around to make sure no one was listening in on us. Then I sank a little in my seat, because shit, had I gone on that much about her during band practice?

“Um… Yeah, you kind of do. Which one is she?” He moved confidentially closer as he studied her and her two friends. “The one in the middle, right? Or maybe the one on the left?”

I shook my head, frowning because why couldn’t he already tell? And how in all that was holy had he guessed completely wrong? Twice!

“The right end,” I said, scowling at him.

He wrinkled his nose, before sending me a sideways glance. “You shitting me? The one on the right? That’s the one you’re so crazy about? What the hell, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s cute and all, in a bring-home-to-mama-and-bake-cookies-with kind of way, but damn… The one in the middle screams do-me-dirty. She’s fifty times hotter.”

My frown deepened as my back straightened. No one knocked my dream girl.

No one.

“Um…no,” I told him in no uncertain terms, ready to get physical if he dared to disagree. “She isn’t. The one on the right is the best-looking one.”

She was prettier than the other two put together. Hands down.

Rush merely lifted his eyebrows. “Easy there,” he murmured, letting out a low whistle. “Down, boy.” Then he shook his head. “Wow, you have it bad.”

I sniffed and returned my attention to my dream girl, finally focusing on her friends before comparing. But seriously, Rush was so wrong in his opinion it was almost comical.

He patted my back as if worried about me. “Have you even learned her name yet?”

I tried to ignore him, but he persisted. “Have you?”

“No,” I muttered from between clenched teeth.

Which only got him going again. “What? Are you fucking serious? What the hell, Henry? You need to grow a pair and just talk to her already.”

“I will,” I mumbled petulantly, glancing toward the girl as the professor entered class. She opened a spiral binder on her desk and uncapped her pen with her teeth, ready to take notes. “When the time’s right, I will.”

At the front of the room, class began. Next to me, Rush nudged my arm. “The time won’t be right unless you make it right.”

And say what? I wanted to argue.

I needed a reason to approach her, some kind of strategy that made me appear amusing and awesome, where I could say or do something that would really capture her attention and leave a lasting impression. She didn’t know I existed yet. I wanted to stand out so that she wouldn’t forget me once we did meet.

I just hadn’t thought of the perfect plan yet.

Rush grabbed his crotch and shook his package, mouthing the words, “Grow a pair,” yet again.

I rolled my eyes and focused on the professor.

Maybe it was merely lack of nerve that held me back. I’m sure I did need to grow a pair. But I didn’t want to mess this up, either. I’d been daydreaming about her for two solid months now. Our first meeting had to be classic, unique, memorable.

It had to be amazing.

I alternated between watching her and trying to pay attention to the professor for the rest of the hour. It was a good thing I could usually just read the textbook and catch up later because I never retained much the teacher actually said. Not when she was in the room.

When the hour let out, I started to pack my things in my bag, only for Rush to swipe my phone from the corner of my desk.

I sent him a dry glance. He lifted the phone meaningfully. “I’ll give this back as soon as you talk to her.”

Sighing, I shook my head and reached out. “Just give me my phone back, dick head.”

He held it away. “Not until you talk to her.”

I dropped my hand and narrowed my eyes.

He laughed. “Come on, man. I’m not saying you even have to ask her out. Just talk to her. That’s all. Find out her name and learn if she’s even worth all this daydreaming she’s got you doing.”

“No,” I argued. “The time’s not right.”

“And just when the hell will the time be right for you?”

“I don’t know. Just…not now.”

“Why not? Because you’re a pussy?”

I glowered. He lifted his eyebrows mockingly. Then he pulled his head back as if a new thought had just occurred to him.

“Wait, you do know how to talk to girls, right?”

Not really.

With a groan, I growled, “Stop being such an immature asswipe and give me my phone already?”

He leaned closer, holding the phone against his chest. “Not until you talk to her. Think of this as a learning experience, because if you can’t even talk to a girl, then you’re never going to land one. And if you don’t land one, you’re going to grow old alone, a poor, miserable, pathetic virgin. And I don’t hang with pathetic miserable virgins, so… Go!”

“God. Fine!” I jerked to my feet and stomped moodily toward the front of the class. “Whatever gets you to shut up.”

Now I really had to do this or he’d know I was a coward. He’d realize that one girl whose name I didn’t even know intimidated the shit out of me. He’d never let me live it down, then he’d tell everyone else in band, and no one would respect me for the next four years until I graduated.

This was like high school shit. I glanced back, scowling at him for reducing me to high school shit.

The fucker merely grinned and waved me on.

Once I reached the edge of the desks and stepped into that open space where the professor lectured, I paused. I could either go left and approach her or right toward the exit.

Fuck. My stomach began to churn. Nausea welled. Sweat clogged my glands. My vision darkened at the corners, and I suddenly felt dizzy.

So I shifted to the right, away from her.

The nape of my neck burned, knowing Rush was back there in his seat, laughing his ass off because I hadn’t been able to do it.

A new fear rose when I pictured the humiliation I was going to have to endure at practice later that afternoon. I couldn’t decide what would be worse: trying to talk to her and just flat passing out at her feet or living through hell from my bandmates for the next four years.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. I paused at the doorway and stepped to the side, letting others pass, then I turned to look her way.

She and her friends were standing, all their things gathered.

What the hell did I say?

My mind went blank. My palms went damp. My breathing stuttered. My vision grayed out completely before sharpening and focusing on only her to the point that everything else blurred around her, giving me a surreal sense of vertigo. Oh God. What if I really did pass out?

I guess that would leave a lasting impression. Who would forget the guy who collapsed at the sight of you?

Seriously, though. What did I say?

Nice shirt?

No. Too lame.

I love you?

Shit. No. Anything but that.

She approached.

It was now or never time.

I stepped forward.

She smiled over her shoulder at her friends, who were leaving out the other exit on the opposite side of the room, calling goodbye to them as she veered my way without looking where she was going.

Oh, damn. Too close. We were going to collide.

I tried to step back, out of her way, but she plowed right into me, her shoulder bumping against my arm.

“Oomph,” she said, stumbling a step back, her slight frame no match against my bigger one. “I’m so sorry.” Then she looked up, and that was it.

Game over.

Her eyes were so freaking big and brown and beautiful; I was instantly lost.

She looked better up close than she did from across a room. And her scent…holy fuck. She smelled really good. I might’ve swayed forward, my nostrils eager for another whiff.

Which probably appeared weird. So I pulled back, only to realize…

Damn it all to hell.

This wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t going to work at all. I’d built her up too much in my head. She may be a complete stranger, but I’d already convinced myself she was perfect. If I got to know her now and she didn’t live up to all my expectations—which I don’t see how she could—I’d only be disappointed. And if she actually got anywhere close to the person I imagined her to be, then I’d never be worthy of such an amazing girl.

The entire relationship was fucked before it had even started.

It was my own stupid fault for obsessing about her before ever talking to her. I had ruined everything.

And now… Now I was totally staring at her for far too creepily long.

Her brow crinkled over my ogling ways. “You okay?” she asked when I swayed on my feet, my head so empty of oxygen that it left me disoriented.

Reaching out, she clutched my arm to steady me. Her grip was firm but friendly, and the compassionate concern in her gaze as she scanned my face slaughtered me.

A million visions flashed through my head: our first kiss, me kneeling in front of her, proposing, then standing beside her at an altar in a tux as she wore a wedding gown, Christmases together, Thanksgivings, zoo trips, vacations, late nights watching TV on a couch, raising children, spoiling grandkids, sitting in a pair of those old-time rocking chairs side by side and holding hands as we watched the sun set on our golden years.

I swear, an entire lifetime we could share together zipped through my brain.

Then she let go of my arm, and the moment was over.

I nodded my head stupidly, bowing my face and bereft at the loss of her touch, the loss of that future I’d just envisioned. “Uh…yeah. Fine,” I mumbled, briefly squeezing my eyes closed. “Sorry.” I stepped back to let her by. “I-I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

“No, you’re okay.”

I risked a glance up, just in time to catch her uncertain smile of reassurance before she stepped past me.

“Well… See you,” she murmured before taking off out of the room and away from me.

Forever.

“Stupid,” I hissed under my breath. I was so incredibly—

“Wow. That was just plain painful to watch.” Rush stopped next to me and whistled under his breath. “Bud, you really suck at this shit.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, punching him in the shoulder. “Give me my phone back.”

He let me grab it from his hand without a fight, which told me one thing. He wasn’t going to make fun of me. Hell, he probably wasn’t even going to tell the others about my epic failure of a conversation. Because the bastard felt sorry for me.

Which was so much worse than getting heckled.

“Never fear, my friend,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders as he ushered me toward the door. “I can help you. By the end of the week, I’ll have you sweet-talking your way into her panties like you were born a fucking Casanova. You just trust ol’ Rush here. I am the love doctor, and I got your back.”

“Or how about you just fucking kill me now,” I uttered.

Because I was doomed.

I was never going to grow enough courage to really talk to her. And all the what-ifs were going to haunt me forever.