On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that. I hated her for reminding me of Marcus.
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It was another Tuesday, far from the one of Margaret and her pickiness and closer to the times of Elmo and innocence. I was 6 and was about to enter the first grade. I didn’t know anyone since I had just moved into the neighborhood, from Florida. I had brought an orange all the way from Miami, because I didn’t want to forget my orange state. My mom had convinced me to plant it, so I did. Or, at least I tried to.
“Hahahahaha,” a boy laughed, it sounded like honey. “You’re not going to get an orange tree like that. Here, let me show you,” he boasted as he took the moist seeds out of my hand and made a small hole in the light Kansas soil with his dark index finger. He then put the small seeds into the hole and covered them. “There you go, now water it so it won’t die. If you want any other help with that, I can help you.” he continued. I accepted his offer and since then we did everything together; he was always there for me and I for him, we were best friends. We almost became more than that. But we didn’t.

The calamity began on April 13, at school. That was the day of our Annual Orange Tree Harvest, where Marcus and I (and sometimes Mike, another kid from the neighborhood) would collect all the babies our orange tree birthed. This year it happened to fall on a Friday. That morning before school started Margaret, my closest female friend, came up to me, “Guess what I heard?” she asked.
“What?” I replied, not all that interested in what she had to say.

“Well, Mike told Makayla who told Mckenzie-”
“Just tell me,” I insisted.
“Marcus likes you,” she stated.
I froze. “What?” I was shocked. Margaret looked at me as if I was crazy, or extremely stupid, or both.
“You really didn’t know that he’s liked you since, like, forever? Are you really so oblivious? That’s not really what they told me anyways,” she continued, “They told me that he was going to ask you out today,” my heart stopped as Margaret kept on talking. “Anyone could’ve seen that one coming, though. Now the only question is, what are you going to say?”
“That is an excellent question,” I replied, with no intention of answering it. Not that I had an answer anyways. I turned around and began to walk away.

“Come on Michelle,you have to know what you are going to say,” Margaret persisted, now walking by my side.
“Honestly I really don’t know. I mean, I like him and all, but not like that, and I don’t want to hurt him and ruin our friendship,” I sincerely replied, hoping that she would just drop the matter.
“That’s a load of crap and you know it,” she quickly shot back. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, a smirk completing her expression.
“What?”
“Oh, come on,” she began, “ You think I haven’t noticed? You and Marcus walk to classes, go home, and do practically everything else together. It’s as if you were joined at the hip or something.”

“So?” I remarked, not seeing her point, “That’s what best friends do.”
“Ha!” she scoffed. “Oh really? I’ve seen you guys and you two are always laughing, talking, flirting, having a great time. Why don’t you just admit the perfectly obvious fact that he likes you and you like him?” her words left my mouth gaping and my cheeks burning.
“Because it’s not true!” I finally responded. Surprised at my own firmness and exhausted with this conversation I stormed off. I wasn’t completely sure where I was going because in any other situation I would meet up with Marcus and he would cheer me up, but not this time, this time my best friend was the problem.

Later that day, at lunch, Marcus approached me. My stomach churned, please don’t ask me, I thought to myself. He arrived.
“Hey, Mich,” he awkwardly began, “do you want to go out with me?” I looked for any way to avoid that question, no such luck.
“Sorry, but no,” I muttered.
“Ok,” he simply replied.
That totally set me off, Ok? I thought to myself, I thought he liked me! Margaret, of course, had to know every detail. I attempted to evade her questions, but unfortunately I wasn’t very good at it and she just kept on pestering me about Marcus.
“Why don’t you just say yes? You guys are perfect for each other and it would be just adorable if you two became more than friends. What are you so afraid of?”
“Marcus and I are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less,” I stated, now extremely irked with her nosy self.
“No you’re not, what’s the real reason?” she asked, seeming to be genuinely curious.
“I don’t like him! Ok? Now just leave me alone.”
Briiiiiiiiiiiing, the bell interrupted, releasing me from Margaret’s questions. I rushed out of the cafeteria and to my next class. Then, out of nowhere, Marcus showed up. Crap, I thought to myself, and started to look for an escape route.
“Hey Mich, what’s up?” he nonchalantly asked. He caught up to me and begun to walk at my increasingly quick pace.
“Nothin’ much,” I replied, still looking for that route.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I didn’t even say that anything was wrong! You know me too well!” I exclaimed.
“Unfortunately,” he joked with a familiar smile.
“Hey!” I shouted, playfully shoving him as we continued to walk down the hall.
“Hahahahaha,” he laughed, with that same old honey laugh that I had known since the first grade. He told me a few other jokes, most of them not very funny, like “ What do you call a scared dinosaur? A Pterodactyl!” , as we walked down the hall. We were almost at my class, laughing and joking when I caught Margaret’s eyes staring at me, her arrogant smirk reminding me of our earlier conversation and infuriating me. Then she mouthed, “What happened to ‘I don’t like him’?”
I entered my class and Marcus went off to his and I thought about what Margaret had argued, that I liked Marcus, and convinced myself that she was wrong. Yup, that’s the truth, you two are just friends, nothing more, nothing less, but then a smaller, quieter part of me whispered, no, haven’t you liked him since like, the third grade. I tried to ignore this part of me, but it kept on persisting and the battle begun between my brain and my heart. I sided with my brain, of course, but my heart was set out to get its opinion heard and wouldn’t let it go. I was miserable.
I saw Marcus a few times afterwards, but ran off before he could talk to me. I couldn’t hide from him forever, though, and eventually he caught up with me.
“Hey Mich, are you ok? You seem kinda down today.”
If only he knew. “I feel terrible,” I confessed, “like I’m catching a cold or something,” I quickly added, along with an obviously fake cough.
He perplexedly looked at me, probably wondering why I had lied. He played along though. “Well that makes sense, you probably haven’t been getting enough Vitamin C; well don’t worry, I have the cure,” he heroically exclaimed, “because today is the-”
“-Annual Orange Tree Harvest,” I finished, remembering the tradition that had previously gotten me so excited. “Actually Marcus, I think we’re going to have to cancel,” I muttered.
“What? And let all those perfectly good oranges go to waste? No way,” he argued, crossing his arms and shaking his head.
“Well, I’m not going to do it so you can just forget about it,” I shot back. His expression changed, looking hurt and confused, and I knew that I had crossed the line. Ugh, I can’t wait for the end of this terrible day.





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Finally, came the last period of the day, English. It normally would’ve been my favorite period of the day, partially because I loved English, but mostly because I had Marcus in that class. Unfortunately, not this time. I plopped into my seat and sighed.
“Ok guys, today we’re going to be finishing our book projects so get into your groups and get to work,” Ms. Annsled, my slightly crazy English teacher, cheerfully announced. Marcus, of course, was in my group.
Perfect, I thought to myself, all of that “professional” avoidance of Marcus has just gone down the drain.
I got into my group and the inevitable happened, we had a great time. I was so confused, did I like him or not?
I went home from there, alone. Dragging my feet, I made it. The orange tree in my front yard stared at me, its oranges urging me to pick them, shouting, “ oooo, oooo, pick me!” and reminding me of all the good times that Marcus and I had shared. I went into my room and sank into my bed, shoulders slumped as tears welled up in my eyes.
Margaret had apparently followed me and entered the room. A nice face, filled with compassion replaced the arrogant smirk and skeptical eyebrows that were usually there.

“You really do like him, don’t you,” she quietly uttered, looking at my pitiful state. I nodded. “ Then what are you waiting for, go,” she whispered. I realized, as annoying as it may be, that Margaret was right, and that I needed to go tell Marcus yes.

I ran into the garage, into my black sedan, quickly started it, and remotely lifted the garage door. I pulled out of the driveway much quicker than I should’ve, and almost hit Mike, who was standing in the middle of it. I swerved to the right just in time, luckily, but hit my orange tree. It screamed but I was so overcome with adrenaline that I barely took notice and instead turned my attention to Mike. “Mike, what are you doing in the middle of my driveway?” I yelled.

“Marcus and I came for the Annual Orange Tree Harvest,” he responded. With a basket in hand he looked towards the orange tree, walked towards it, then stopped. His mouth opened, but no words came out. I began to walk towards him but then remembered the scream the orange tree made and froze.

No, I thought to myself, It can’t be him. No, I’m crazy and there is no way that it was him. I ran over and looked to see what I had hit. There he was, Marcus, my best friend, orange in one hand and the other under my car.

I screamed and rushed to him. Mike called the ambulance using my phone. Once it arrived I hopped in and urged the paramedics to hurry. They probably thought I was crazy, and with good reason. I was crying, holding Marcus’ hand, and yelling all the way to the hospital. As soon as we got there Marcus was rushed to surgery, but right before he murmured, “Michelle, will you go out with me?” I smiled despite the circumstances and nodded, tears blurring my vision and running over my already moist cheeks. We kissed. He then released the now bruised orange he had clenched so strenuously and murmured, “Take care…”
“No,” I firmly argued, “You’re going to help me, you said you would, remember? I need your help to do it!”

He shook his head ever so slightly, “You never did,”

He was then taken to surgery and while I waited a doctor approached me, “I want you to be prepared for the worst,” he warned. I bawled, and waited, for what seemed like an eternity until a surgeon broke the news to me.

“The surgery wasn’t a success. I’m sorry, but Marcus has passed away.” I threw the orange at her and hung my head in my hands, crying with no tears now, for they had already been cried.





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I never bothered to grow another orange tree, not that I could’ve done it by myself anyways, despite what Marcus thought. I buy them now, the oranges. Not very often and not with the seeds, though. When I do buy them by mistake I despise them, because every time I look at them I’m reminded of that dark boy with his honey laugh.