What every one of you wants to know / Will you pour my orange juice?

I'll get real with you.

Let's talk about the real question. What everyone one of us stutters about, binges about, loses their conscience about.

Can High Schoolers fall in love?

 

It's cheap love, really.

It's love and it's infatuating and will keep you scattered through your morning prayers and left handed in first period. Your nighty rituals go from prayers to sleepwalking for this love and everything is up for this love. But it's cheap love, really.

You text till 4AM but he isn't there to pour your orange juice in the morning.

He and I. We really. Everything is up. We're up and up and we we're running our hikes we're up, we sing bad country and we're up. We attend Ash Wednesday and we're up. We drink so much Fanta, it's always on sale. I met his parents and even that was up. It's obvious we kiss not enough but that department is still up.



Everything is up, I'm telling you. It's perfect, we never sleep, and when we do it's  together (hey Jackie, I'm still the Marilyn) *throws champagne*. We got caught making out at the Library. He sings Minnie Ripton on the coffee table and squeezes my name into the lyrics. We found this kitten, a black one (we named it Michael), one night at the cemetery it was raining and we were dancing and the police officer told us to go home. It was thrilling and hilarious and Michael peed in the car.

But it's cheap love, really.

He writes me notes in first period and by lunch I'm folding my reply into a heart. It's adorable, really. But it's cheap. He hates it when I read, even if he funds my personal library. He spends more money on his skinny ties than our dates, and we text till 4 AM but he isn't there to pour my orange juice in the morning. I'm wanting snow cones and he's wanting sorbet and we can't ever compromise because he's 18 and I'm 17 and he's technically an adult, but clearly we, whoever he and I make up, are still children according to me.

Maybe I'm kidding myself and we aren't cheap. Maybe I'm pushing the panic button on commitment so I call us cheap and say "I'm only 17" when he brings up promise and maybe this post is too long.

But it's cheap love.

It's cheap love,

I'm only 17 and 17 love has got to be cheap love.

You say I'm overreacting, he says I'm a wreck. I say it's cheap love. Maybe it's the orange juice thing that has me up at night.

Will you pour my orange juice? Asking for a friend.


Diamond Fangs,
Miss Carter