Page 15 of One More Round

We kiss and breathe each other in. I don't know how long we stand there completely wrapped up in teenage love. But I can feel the moment she brings herself back to reality. I can nearly taste it. She leans back and searches my face.

"Simon. We ... we can't ... that shouldn't have happened," she says. But I can tell she is just trying to convince herself.

"No, it absolutely should have happened. Hell, Gia, it should have happened ages ago. And it should happen again. Right now," I reply and lean into her. But her hands are firm on my chest.

"No. Simon." And she takes a big step back putting distance between us.

Shit, it's getting cold out here.

"Simon, we can't."

She's shaking her head like a war is raging on inside it. I take a step toward her as she starts to shake, which I'm sure is due to the dropping temperature. But she throws a hand up, indicating that I should stop. She looks me in the eye, for what feels like the last time.

"Simon. I love you, but we are not meant to be. Move on. Find someone who will stay." And then she turns on her worn pink Chucks and all but runs away.

I stand there, staring at her, trying to process her words.

Not meant to be?

Move on.

Someone who will stay.

No. She's wrong. And I'll make her see this because we still have some time left. I'll give her the night, but tomorrow we will work this out and come up with a plan to get through the next two years of high school.

The next day, she isn't in second period. I shoot her a text after class but no reply.

I skip out of school during lunch because she never ignores my texts. She'll know I'm worried, even if she is pissed and trying to put some space between us.

When I get to her house, my stomach drops like I'm on a roller coaster. Her car isn't in the drive. There’s a big red SOLD sticker slapped on the ugly For Sale sign in the yard.

I hang up my current call to her. It's maybe my fourth or fifth attempt. I head for the front door.

I ring the doorbell, then knock, then pound.

I race down the front porch steps and head around to the side of the house, to her bedroom window. The same window I've crawled through and helped her crawl out of too many times to count.

I tap on the window.

Nothing.

I try to lift it, but it's been locked.

Not only is my stomach in knots, my heart feels like it's about to crack into a million little pieces.

I call her again as I head to the back to grab the spare key they usually hide under one of those fake rocks.

The phone rings once, then I'm sent to voicemail.

Fuck.

"Gia's phone. Leave me a message and I'll call you back!"

"Gia. What the hell? Where are you? I'm here at your house. Where are you?"

I hit the button to end the message as I realize the fake rock is missing from its usual spot.

No.She wouldn't do this.

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