Hibiscus Tea (Peter)

3:45 p.m.

“Stop being a pussy and talk to her.”

I wanted to, believe me. I just couldn’t. It was like every time I saw her, I was cemented into the floor. I felt bound to one spot; shackled by fear. Afraid. I was afraid. “Afraid of what exactly?” I turn around to see Billie sipping on her tea eyeing me.

I currently was sitting in a coffee shop with my best friend, Billie, who at the moment, was pooped from exhaustion. I couldn’t blame her either. Jetlag hella sucks; especially, when you’ve been traveling overseas. She wanted to stay awake, but in her condition, I didn’t think she'd have the energy to go to the party. So, I offered for us to come to our favorite coffee shop that we went to as kids. Brandon & Sallie’s Coffee Coup. It was a popular neighborhood spot that has been around since before we were born. It was owned by, of course, Brandon and Sallie.

Brandon and Sallie were two of the sweetest old people I’ve ever met. When we were kids, they would always let Billie and I hangout in the shop until the bus came. They'd also serve us this delicious ass breakfast. Usually, they’d serve us either a Croissant sandwich made with a freshly bake, sliced croissant, freshly cured smoked hickory bacon, homemade sausage, fried egg, and whatever secret sauce they made in the night before; or if we were late getting there in the morning, they would give us a cookie and a freshly made fruit smoothie. Billie and I would always get the same cookies every time we were late. Billie would always get oatmeal raisin, and I would get white chocolate macadamia nuts (A flavor that Billie despises with a deep passion.)

Billie and I basically were siblings even though we weren’t related. We met when our moms took us to the park when we were kids. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was getting picked on that day. Billie came to the rescue. She was like a tornado. She threw everything that she could find at them until they ran away. Billie always had my back even when I got her nerves; especially, since I was 3 years younger than her. She declared that since I was “funny lookin dude” and since I was a “funny lookin dude” that she’d protect me since all “funny lookin dudes” need protection. Every time she told me that I rolled my eyes.

I look back at Billie who was staring at me with her tea in her hand. “What?” I asked, confused. She put her drink down still glaring at me; her eyebrows were arched. “You said you were afraid,” she shrugged her shoulders, “Afraid of what exactly?” I stared at her.

“I said that,” I questioned. Did I? I don’t remember saying that… then again, I don’t remember a lot of things. Especially when I…

“Was I talking to myself again,” I asked. “Yep,” she stated as she leaned back into her seat.

“Of course, I was.” I thought aloud. I felt miserable. In fact, I’ve been feeling miserable for a minute now. (“Minute” used as slang for a long time.) I don’t know where this feeling came from, but wherever it came from I want it to go back. I want it to go back to whatever depths of hell it resided from. It was this feeling of always being drained, like time had slowed down. It felt like I was stuck in a sinking pit of quicksand. I was drowning. Unable to breath. Hollow. Figuratively, I felt like an empty husk that was thrown in a motionless sea of black tar. Always struggling. Always lost. Always….

“Man, I don’t know,” I exhaled. “I just feel like I don’t have the energy to….” Billie cut me off, sat up, and clasped her cup. “So, I’ll ask you this.” she said as she cocked her head to the side. She looked down at her drink and back at me. I could feel her shaking her leg up and down in a rhythmic tone as she moved her crimson red hair out of her big blue eyes. “Those eyes,” I thought, “Billie always had really nice eyes.”

Billie Dordrecht was a rather tall lanky girl. She had natural, fiery red hair that was cut short into a wavy bob that went down to her shoulders. Her cheeks were peppered with red freckles; which, helped light up her face when she smiled. Her eyes were an unnaturally blue color. They were a sunny, ocean blue tint that seemed to literally glow in broad daylight. Billie was dressed in a red, long sleeve turtleneck, a pair of high cut, ripped, dark blue jeans, and some brown closed-toe sandals.

“When will you have the ‘energy’ to speak up on your feelings, Pete,” her harsh voice brings me out of thought. It was disarming. Her voice (even though still soothing, calm, and reassuring) had a scratchiness to it. It was like………... think of it like pecan pie in a weird sense. It's sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste. Now whether it sounded like that because of how she said her sentence or from all the smoking she’s been doing lately; the world may never know. “Lo and Behold, even I don’t know,” I said sarcastically. I didn’t.

Truth be told, I don’t know if i'll ever have the courage, the will, or the balls to ever have a full-on conversation with HER. That one person that left me complete and utterly speechless. Every time I saw her, my heart became a racing mess. It was like her very existence threatened my being. “Rachel Starling,” I stammered. I chuckled to myself. Hell, I can barely say her name without choking on my own words. I can remember the first day we met. I was in 7th grade. It was the 3rd quarter and I was heading to my B block Math class. I had stumbled into the classroom and sank into my seat. I was exhausted that whole morning, because I had stayed up all night playing the new “Honor of Duty''. Something that I had, in fact, KNEW I shouldn’t do, but did anyway. Surely you can understand, the anticipation was killing me, and I couldn’t wait any longer. However, when I got to school, I automatically regretted it. Without a lick of sleep, I was stuck fighting demons from since sunrise. Demons that, without an ounce of mercy, ravaged me by trying to drag me into a vengeful coma. In every quarter up to the 3rd quarter, I think I’ve accidently headbutt the person behind me as I fought to stay awake at least twice. I low-key felt bad for them, too. I got a hard ass head.

However, when I got to 3rd quarter, I could tell something was different. The bell had rung, and everyone was already sitting down. Ms. Waits, a beautiful slender middle aged woman with long black hair, was standing up at her podium. “That’s unusual,” I had thought. Ms. Waits was our Algebra teacher. Usually, she would be seated at her desk doing roll call. However, that day was different. Ms. Waits stood slouched over her podium. Her long black hair was knotted in a messy bun. She was wearing tight denim jeans and a pink, button-up, floral blouse. I could literally hear the rest of my class muttering under their breath…. mainly the male populated portion. The thirst was real as several students during the commotion of class whispered about how “hot” their math teacher was. Which, they weren’t wrong. Ms. Waits was pretty hot. Others were more focused on what was going on. “Why the hell are just sitting here?” questioned one of the boys in the back. Ms. Waits looked up searching. “Who said that?” she questioned sternly. The class went silent. The only sound heard was from the school’s out-of-date air-conditioning unit for the class. The soft whining only broke the awkward silence.

Ms. Waits stood, still slouched over the podium, aggressively tapping her pen rhythmically in her hand. She looked up and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let me hear it again.” She grumbled. The class agreed. After a moment of silence, she then stood up straight and looked at the door. “Everyone,” she turned back towards the class, “I would like to welcome a new student to the crew.” She motioned for someone at the door to come in. A girl walked in. The whole went silent. We all just stared at her in awe. She was, indeed, gorgeous. “No,” I had thought. Gorgeous wasn’t even doing her justice as a description. Whatever was 10x better than gorgeous, that was it. She was a slim thick girl. She had long, luscious, dirty blonde hair that reached just past her shoulders. Her skin had a natural dark tan that complimented both her hair and her eyes well. Her EYES. It seemed like time literally froze when I looked into her eyes. The eyes that she possessed were a dark, saturated, gamma green. I looked into them and it almost seemed I was stuck. I was completely shell shocked. “Everyone,” Ms. Waits announced, “this is Rachel Starling. She’s a transfer student from the Ukraine. Her english is still a bit funky, but for the most part she still can understand you and you can understand her.”

Ms. Waits looked down, smiling at Rachel, and then back to the class. The air was stagnant. Not a noise could be heard except for the buzzing of the air conditioner. I looked around and I was met with a hard wall of hormonal glares from both genders of the class. I automatically felt awkward and ashamed for me and my classmates. We weren’t even trying to hide it. The entire class was starstruck. Hell, even some of the girls were blushing. Others had their eyebrows raised in astonishment. Ms. Waits took notice and rolled her eyes. “Dear god bless your heart,” she muttered under her breath. Rachel heard her and looked up, seemingly confused. Ms. Waits looked back and waved at her sporadically. “Never mind. Just, uh, try to distance yourself from the male population of the class,” Ms. Waits looked up at the class and back at Rachel, “and some of the girls too.” The class laughed. Rachel blushed. “Alright, Alright,” said Ms. Waits. The class went silent again.

“Let’s see. Where do we put you?” Ms. Waits looked around the class and eyed one of the seats right beside me. “There you go,” she pointed towards the seat and motioned for her to take a seat. “Have fun.”

Rachel quickly made her way to her seat. All the while, every student was eyeballing her. She sat down in the desk next to me. I was nervous. “Nervous,” I had thought. Nervous hadn’t even begun to describe how I felt. I glanced over towards her, and she looked back at me. “Uhm, hi,” she whispered. She was a mess. Her accent was thicc with TWO C’s. Her cheeks were still a tanned rosy pink. She smiled at me and moved her blonde hair from in front of her eyes. “Hey,” I muttered back. My palms were a sweating mess. She looked down at her desk and back at me. Her eyes were glowing a seductive green glow. “Say something,” I thought to myself. I tried. Seconds passed. Minutes. Days. Months. Years. Nothing came. Why? What was I afraid of? Was I really that thrown off by the way she looked at me? Did I really fall that hard? I’m now in my senior year of high school. I’ve dated OTHERS. I’ve fallen for OTHERS. However, no one has ever captured me like she did. Nobody has ever put me under a spell like she has.