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Her, Him, and the Receptionist This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This work has won the Teen Ink contest in its category.

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Our daily jog together. At least I like to think of it as our jog. It’s not like we actually run together, but in close proximity in separate universes.

It is hard to remember the days when we did not run together. My elliptical jogs right behind his treadmill and always keeps up. It would have been so easy to say hi the first time. But with each passing day, it has gotten harder and harder, and now impossible. We have had occasional looks back and forth, but those were probably coincidences. Of course I ­always look at him. As for the times his glance met mine, perhaps something else called his gaze. And I’m way too shy to budge from my routine to approach confirmed rejection. Why can’t he just make the move? I know, that’s a funny one. Look at him and then look at me – especially without makeup!

I don’t turn red from exercising, but I do blush when I’m nervous or embarrassed. So my cover story would be that my redness is from my heavy-duty workouts. After all, I am at the gym. I’m struggling to keep up with myself. My mind is going faster than the elliptical. My fervent fears, my neurotic nerves, my taxing trepidations, my angry anxieties whirling through my brain. Now I’m really dizzy.

Even he has flaws. It’s not like I think he’s perfect or anything. How could he be perfect with shoes that smell like that? He comes close to perfection. And his feet come close to me as he lifts them on the treadmill upwind of my elliptical. Just as my iPod advances to the next song, a wave of toxic air per­meates my nostrils. “Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air? Can’t live, can’t breathe with no air … If you ain’t here I just can’t breathe. There’s no air, no air,” sings Jordin Sparks. Whew, how can I breathe in this air? Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Ahh. How can toxic air be refreshing? But amid these toxins, there is some sweetness. I can just sense it; I have that tingling feeling in my nostrils.

It’s hard for me to hold back a little smile. I can’t get away from it this time. It draws me closer. The occasional silent connection I have with him is worth the foul air I endure. I must be high on either the stench or endorphins, because I don’t believe in drugs. I am exercising longer than usual. I am pumped. I am not getting tired. Exercise is a healthy form of procrastination for what I might do next.

The elliptical bars are sandwiched ­between my palms and my fingers. I am pushing on them with all my strength. Just as I alternately push and pull on the levers – left, right, left, right – my strength to contact him alternates with my fear of rejection. Our closeness has been on a meta­phorical treadmill – no matter how hard I try, no ­matter how fast I run, we don’t get any closer. The counteracting forces of acceptance and rejection are pulling on me equally. I am in equilibrium. I am moving at a constant velocity on the elliptical, but I can’t get myself to move toward him. Physics. Echhh!

I try to look cute in my gym clothes, but it’s hard. The mirror tells me I look fat and ugly. Those are the only things the mirror ever tells me, besides red hair, freckles, Raggedy Anne.

My pink good-luck sweatband hasn’t brought me any luck. I’m going to go buy some new colored ones. I’m getting kind of sick of pink. People must think I wear the same sweaty headband every day, but I have dozens of them from that sale at Costco. I know that’s what he’s thinking when he turns around: freak, loser.

Droplets of sweat drip down my face, ravaging my pores and burning the roots of my confidence. But he gives me a feeling all over my body just by looking at him. So I know it’s worth it.

The odor burns my nostrils, but I can’t resist. I tiptoe into the hallway outside the men’s locker room; one hand holding the heart-shaped Post-It, the other plugging my nose. I see them resting on the wooden bench, right where he left them after “our” jog, laces untied and tongues forming obtuse angles. Why are they here? My hands are shaking and my legs are trembling, but I bite the corner of my lip and stick the note face up in the heel of his right shoe.

I am leaving the gym and I can’t stop thinking about him. Still. I hope he feels the same. But he won’t. I hope he will call. But he won’t. It’s been seven minutes since I put my note in his shoe and put my heart on the waiting list for rejection.

I enter my apartment and begin pacing. It’s been an hour and three minutes. I shouldn’t have done it. He doesn’t like me. It’s ­going to be awkward. No way. I’m not giving in. I’m not going to change my workout routine. But it will be hard to look at him tomorrow. I hope he saw the note before he put his shoes on. If not, I hope the ink doesn’t smear.

***

There she is. I could set my watch by her if I had one. Same gym. Same time. Same workout. Same as me. She never misses a day. I don’t think I ever will either. My mom and dad are both kind of, I don’t want to say chubby, but yeah, they are. I can’t let that happen to me. But I have another reason too.

Crack. Crack. My neck always cracks when I turn my head swiftly to check the clock behind me. At first this was a pain, but then I saw her. When I realized I got to look at her every time I turned to check the time, my neck strain didn’t bother me. I must be discreet. I love looking at her, but I don’t want her to know that her beauty keeps me staring. At least not quite yet. I’m not a stalker, just shy. I want to talk to her. I want to go up to her. But what if she thinks I’m just hitting on her? I’m really interested in knowing her. How is she supposed to tell the difference?

What a cutie. She’s just my type: tall, slender, and I can tell her skin is smooth. The cutest freckles. Milk chocolate eyes. Her gorgeous, wavy red hair is tied is back in a ponytail and she wears a pink headband. She must love pink. She should, it’s her color. Her hair sways with every step. Thank you, pink headband – not a hair is blocking my view of her face.

What I like most is that she doesn’t act like she is beautiful. She doesn’t know how nervous she makes me. She doesn’t know the grace she exudes. She has a story to tell. I want to hear it. But I’m afraid to ask her. Wimpy, maybe. Intimidated, definitely. I feel like I’ve watched the same Candid Camera episode 5,500 times. My failed attempt keeps replaying in my head. With every day that I say nothing, she’s more and more likely to think I’m either gay or I need a watch.

I want to know her name. Seeing her every day for weeks, I refer to her as Pink Headband. How pathetic. I have to know her name. At least for now, it would be easier to ask the receptionist for Pink Headband’s name than to ask her. At least if she refuses, it won’t be as humiliating as a no from Pink Headband.

So I make my way to the desk. I say excuse me to the nerdy girl behind the counter. I have caught her staring at me in the past, but the one time I actually want her attention, she’s preoccupied. I’m the only person here. The phone is resting comfortably on its hook. But she is talking to someone or something nonetheless. I sigh. I’m getting impatient. I feel like I’m hailing a taxi. Waving and waving, and they just drive by. Same with her. I’m waving and that freak seems to be talking to her stapler. Finally I get her ­attention. I ask. She answers. I write “Molly” on the envelope containing my note to the woman I used to know as Pink Headband. I ask the ­receptionist to please give it to her.

As I sit on the bench outside the men’s locker room, I fight my urge to chicken out and retrieve the envelope. I bolt into the locker room to take a shower. The hot water is soothing. Shoot! I left my shoes on the bench. Not to worry. Who would want to steal those smelly old things?

Realizing I must have left my cell phone in my car, I get dressed quickly, jump into my shoes, and leave. I don’t want to miss her call.

***

I hate working at this place. Why do I work here? I need out. I need a work out. I’m so funny. I always laugh at my own jokes. Ha ha ha, snort, snort.

All day I inhale air tainted with the smell of sweat. And no, it’s not me doing the sweating. Oh, here comes Mr. “I’m so much better than you that I won’t respond when you greet me.” I scrunch my nose to push up my glasses, the way I always do when my hands are busy. He’s headed right toward me. It seems like he needs to ask me something. This will be a first. How will he do this and still keep his perfect record of never saying a word to me? Of course, it must be so hard to say “good evening” to someone who has just said it to you.

I can feel my nervous twitch starting up again. My top lip is moving diagonally; my invisible enemy has strung a thread through my lip with his needle. I try to yank it in the other direction, back into place, but it won’t budge.

The name of the girl in the pink headband? Uhhh. The girl in the pink headband! If she’s wearing her pink one today, it must be either Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. Gross. But apparently he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. How sweet. For once he is nice and it is hard to hate him. He writes “Molly” on the envelope and hands it to me. Sure I’ll give it to Molly, all right.

He heads for the locker room; he is out of sight, but he sure isn’t out of my mind. Neither is the favor he asked of me. He wants me to give the envelope to Molly. Sure I will. I’ll be as good at giving this to Molly as he is at responding when I say hello. Actually, better because now my paper shredder’s name is Molly. Molly loves envelopes. She’ll fall bin over wheels!

***

Is there something in my shoe?

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

This work has won the Teen Ink contest in its category. This piece won the April 2009 Teen Ink Fiction Contest.




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This article has 1736 comments. Post your own!

Laura said...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 11:35 am:
Today is 9 months in a row that Her, him and the Receptionist has been #1.  Still my favorite on all of Teen Ink.
 
Laura replied...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 11:38 am :
The first time that I read HH&R, it was not ranked and did not get ranked for a long time but I said to myself "This story should be #1".  I am glad that so many others agreed with me.
 
Laura replied...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 11:40 am :
I have not said anything in quite a while about begging for chapter 2 and I am not going to beg now . . . . . . . . .
 
Laura replied...
Mar. 27, 2011 at 11:41 am :
If I were to beg, I would say . . . .   (my cliffhangers are not as clever as Samantha's.)
 
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xLoser said...
Mar. 25, 2011 at 9:01 am:

I love the receptionist's sarcasm at the end. And how he finally discovers the note in his shoe. I wish there was more for me to read, but i wouldn't count it as a cliff hanger ;D

Very good writing!

 
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ChoCho1001 said...
Mar. 23, 2011 at 4:23 pm:

wow...amazing...i suggested it to a friend that isnt much into romance or the cliche sort of thing and she loved it...she's not easily pleased so be proud :)

again-amazing

 
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SierraDavis said...
Mar. 22, 2011 at 7:49 pm:
Fave!!!!!!!!!!
 
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SethWical said...
Mar. 19, 2011 at 10:11 pm:
dis got me for real hot, like hot. k.
 
RedheadAtHeart This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Mar. 23, 2011 at 7:34 pm :
Uncalled for, SethWical. Take it elsewhere.
 
Laura replied...
Mar. 26, 2011 at 11:03 pm :
Thank you Redhead.
 
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BBChick said...
Mar. 17, 2011 at 3:43 pm:
wow this awesome, it makes you feel like your really there! Keep writing, and maybe check out my stuff too? haha
 
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CoconutGrove said...
Mar. 17, 2011 at 7:30 am:
Loved it :) it's a great composition.  I'm new to Teenink and I'd love it if you checked out my work for some feedback too!
 
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Kakashi Nuttcasse said...
Mar. 14, 2011 at 9:17 pm:

 I really loved this, it makes me want to read more, if only.  This little tidbit is quiet descriptive.

Sincerely                                   

A unknown source.

 
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LiveInTheMoment said...
Mar. 14, 2011 at 5:15 pm:
WOW! THIS ARTICLE WAS BEATIFULLY PUT TOGETHER, AND WAS SO SWEET! I HOPE YOU CONTINUE WRITING! I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR MORE FROM YOU! :)
 
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Emodarkmagiclove4ever said...
Mar. 13, 2011 at 11:10 am:
WOW!!! Spectacular
 
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Katie said...
Mar. 10, 2011 at 8:05 pm:
Caroline, you are right.  entering sassiecassie322 in the advanced search does go directly to the authors sisters story.  and powerful is a good adjective for it
 
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mo122 said...
Mar. 8, 2011 at 6:56 pm:
this is literally one of my favorite stories!! its so adorable!! i love it!! i would love it if you also checked out my story too?
 
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Avonleamercy said...
Mar. 8, 2011 at 3:52 am:
Great story...It had a great comedic air about it that made the story so enjoyable. Write more. For sure.
 
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A.C.Worsham said...
Mar. 7, 2011 at 8:54 am:
What I really liked about this story is that when you changed the point of view, you could tell who was talking. You could tell the point of view had just changed from a girl to a guy just by the language that was used. This is a very good story. i love it.
 
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TeaCat said...
Mar. 5, 2011 at 6:21 pm:
The ending is the best part!
 
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Carolinelovestoread said...
Mar. 5, 2011 at 2:05 am:
It has been a few months since i read this but just did again and it is still my fav.  Please write more.  PLEASE
 
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