[ WP ] You 're on a first date and its going very well until you make a huge mistake . You somehow get a sign from future you telling you that this person is `` the one '' . Do n't screw it up .

The lights had just been switched off by Joan ’ s mangled squirrel hand. I always wondered why she didn ’ t see a doctor about that. The wound just didn ’ t heal properly by itself as it would have if done by a professional. Meh, whatever, maybe I should pay attention. I raised my hand to seem aware. 
 
 “ Mrs. Froide, is Humphrey Bogart in this one? I remember this title, I think Humphrey Bogart is in this one?! ” 
 
 “ No, sorry, this one has Cary Grant, Simon, but I think you ’ ll like it just the same. ” Joan smiled her response as she flicked play on the VHS. 
 
 She really was a lovely woman. Small, green emerald eyes that were deep in-set—probably from the lack of sleep staying up late grading all of our shit work. Well, not *my* work. My work was pretty good. Definitely above shit level. Anyways, her perma-wet curled hair sat just above her bony-ass shoulders. I liked it though, but it said, “ I ’ m a woman who doesn ’ t care about my appearance, but I definitely shower, so at least I got that ”. I ’ m not sure if that ’ s what she was going for, but her look just positively screamed it. Next, green dress—always the take on the green dress. 
 
 Today it was the short, laced green dress with tiny yellow flowers that had small dots of orange inside the yellow—marigolds—yes, they were definitely marigolds. Well, I never asked her about them, but why would I ask her something like that? Regardless, I ’ m pretty sure. The dress hit her just above her spider knees. Then, short, stubby black heels, the kind my grandmother Abby would wear to all the latest funerals. Not cute. Sometimes I wanted to leave her a note on her desk; anonymous of course, that mentioned something along the lines of purchasing better heels. Too much? I thought so too. What a tragedy. She really wasn ’ t half bad, but she was single and everyone knew. She ’ s young, so I ’ m sure she ’ ll find that special someone. 
 
 “ Okay class, it ’ s… Intermission…well, it ’ s lunch, so we ’ ll pause here. ” 
 
 Good one, Joan, good one. 
 
 At lunch I always sat next to my best pal, Grimes. Well, his name was Arthur Grimes, but everyone called him Grimes. He was n't grimy in any way, but the name suited him. As I watched Grimes walk over, I waved a relaxed wave that said, I ’ m waiting for you, but I ’ m not breaking my back over it. Keeping it cool as always, Simon. Grimes waved back, but did that signal, you know—that signal where you put your one hand to the side of your mouth to cover what you ’ re saying and use the other to attempt to secretly point at someone across the room that only you and that person your signaling to knows who you mean. Bridget Himmel. That ’ s who he means. She ’ s a nice gal. She has long, black and shiny hair -- too shiny if you ask me. I wondered what she used for it to get that shiny -- and bangs, blunt bangs that just fell atop her eyelashes. I bet she had to cut those all the time to maintain that length. Seemed time consuming. Other than that she was purely ordinary, but Grimes had a sweet spot for her. The one? Maybe, but we ’ re too young for that sort of thing. At least that ’ s what Grimes always spewed. 
 
 I started to put my pastrami sandwich into my mouth. Stringy sucker. Fucking coleslaw everywhere. Frank Veluto stopped in front of my table. Frank Veluto never comes by my table. His mouth was about to open to greet me with some form of speech, but then his mouth stayed wide open. What, cat got your tongue, Frank? Suddenly, something else caught the corner of my eye. 
 
 A man, dressed in a light-blue button up, not buttoned all the way to the top, collar iron and standing perfectly. Button up tucked into his dark-washed blue jeans. Nice and tight, but not too tight. Blonde hair just like mine, except a little longer now—it definitely suited him. His eyes were blue and large, similar to mine now. Same nose. Same tight-lipped mouth. Same over-grown ears, except I finally grew into them. It was me. He starts putting his right hand to the side of his mouth to cover what he is trying to say. He then motions with this left hand, doing that secret pointing motion to someone that only he and I know about. He ’ s mouthing the name -- Frank Veluto. He shows me a wedding ring on his long fingers and leaves the cafeteria. 
 
 “ Whoa, got ta mouthful there man, take a breath. ” Frank said in his Frank-voice. I can ’ t explain it, it ’ s just 100 % Frank. 
 
 My thoughts are racing—I have no idea where to go from here. I ’ m trying to recap in my head the last 10 seconds and simultaneously trying to eat like a proper human being with food dripping from my mouth. Wait? So, that was me from the future? And I ’ m married to Frank Veluto? That ’ s what I got from that. I ’ m not going to question if that was real, or my subconscious, I ’ m just going with some sort of a sign. Okay, Simon, get yourself together—Frank Veluto, newest kid in school, the one and only, the head of the Mighty Spears News Paper Press at Union Middle, is my future husband. Well, at least, that ’ s what I ’ ve always wanted. Keep it cool, Simon. Don ’ t shit this up, Simon. 
 
 “ Ya, pastrami, man, stringy shit, huh? ” 
 
 Pastrami? Stringy shit? Huh? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 
 
 “ Haha, ya, I can never bring the stuff to school, too embarrassing to eat—but it looks like you got it under control ”. 
 
 Hmm..maybe I do got this. Frank sat down and started to open his brown bag. 
 
 “ It ’ s cool if I sit here? My table ’ s feeling crowded today. ” 
 
 “ Ya, sure, Grimes ’ over there, trying something with Bridget ”. 
 
 “ Who ’ s Grimes? ” Frank questioned as he cocked his said to the side like a small cocker-spaniel. So cute. So untainted. 
 
 “ Grimes ’ is, well, my, well, best…friend, you know—Arthur—Arthur Grimes? ” 
 
 “ Hmm, ya, the name rings a bell, I guess I ’ m just not familiar with everyone in this school yet. ” 
 
 “ Pff, ya, I understand, middle school is hard ”, I rationalized, channelling the wisdom of a 9th grader. 
 
 Frank let out a small “ pfft ” in recognition of my “ pfft ” and started to eat his turkey on rye. 
 
 I got this. I totally got this. 

