Friend Zoned

My eyes skim the parking lot again, looking for that familiar 2001 Chevy. It’s painted bright purple and impossible to miss but I can’t find it anywhere. My phone buzzed with a text from Jean, saying she was stuck in traffic and would be here in ten. I texted her a thumbs-up emoji and sat down on a hay bale to wait. They were set up in lines all around the edges of the apple orchard, where Jean should have met me five minutes ago. We’ve been planning to come here for weeks but she’s been so busy lately that I haven’t seen her much. It’ll be great to catch up.

I looked up at the fence that separated me from the orchard, wooden planks eight feet tall running down to the parking lot. Trees poked out from above the fence, one in particular, rose high above the rest, planted nearly a hundred years ago, or so their website says. I pulled my sketchbook out of my bag--I bring it everywhere--and a pencil. I moved to a hay bale farther away from the fence, and the guy staring at me from the gate that people were streaming through, to get a better look at the big tree. I started sketching it, just a rough sketch as I mapped out the twisting branches and the few red leaves that I could see from here.

After a few minutes, a voice said, “Sorry I’m late, Seth. Traffic was… ugh.” I turn to see Jean walking up to me, flashing her sparkling white teeth. Her long, dirty blond hair was trussed up in a braid that wrapped over her shoulder. She was wearing black pencil-jeans, making her long legs look even longer, and a red tee tied at her side. Her signature ruffed up jean jacket was thrown over her shoulders like she doesn’t know how perfect she looks, though I suspect she does. Jean never wears any makeup, she says it’s because she’s naturally beautiful, I can’t help but agree with her, though I would never say it to her face. 

“It’s okay, let's just go in,” I say, starting to put my sketchbook away and thanking the world that she wasn’t telepathic. She snatched it out of my hands.

“Hey, this is really good.” Her dazzling green eyes sparkled as she looked over the drawing, a wide grin on her face. I smile, though, not enough for her to see.

“It’s just a rough sketch. I’m not finished.”

“Well then, let's get closer so you can finish. Shall we?” She gestured grandly to the guy with a pot-belly and five-o-clock shadow from yesterday standing at the gate. I laugh a little and throw my bag over my shoulder. As we walked up to the gate, I caught sight of the dark birthmark just below her left ear. A blob with no particular shape but she insists that it looks like the waning moon. When we got to the guy, I paid for both of us and he handed us green cloth bags to carry the apples in.

Inside the fence, apple trees ran down in distinctive lines from the front gate to the back somewhere far behind them. At the front were the smaller trees, though I couldn’t guess when they were planted. Farther back were the older ones, including the massive tree that I had seen earlier. People were milling about touching every apple in their path before walking away. A baby sneezed on one and his father laughed. I wrinkled my nose.

“Definitely washing before eating,” I mutter. She laughed a quick, loud song that made my heart skip a beat. She knocked her shoulder into mine.

“Stop worrying so much. You're going to worry yourself to death. Do you really want that on your tombstone?” Her eyes sparkled with joy. “Come on, I have to be home by eight.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me into the trees. I don’t resist at all. Her hand was warm in mine. Her long, slender fingers fitting perfectly between mine. Jean stops when she sees an apple she likes, pulling her hand away from mine to pick it. It was round and bright red. A sign stuck into the ground in front of the tree read Honeycrisp. Jean’s favorite. She dropped it into her bag and reached for another one that was just out of her reach. I stepped on a root and plucked it from the branch without even thinking. I handed it to her.

“Thanks, Seth.” She walked past me, heading to another tree. Man, why does she have to walk like that? Her braid swung over her shoulder as she reached for another apple on a low branch. “So, what’s been going on with you?” She turned to look at me and I suddenly became very interested in the closest apple, hoping that she didn’t see me staring.

“Nothing much. You're the one that’s been running around with the popular kids. What’s that like?”

She sighs. “They're my friends but there’s just so much drama. That’s why I’m glad I have you, I can always rely on you for the same old, same old.”

“So, I’m boring?”

“Yep.” She paused. “Well, in a good way, you know what I mean, you're a loyal friend.” She grinned then started inspecting another apple.

A loyal friend.

Friend zoned. Ouch.

I would tell her about all the things I’m thinking about when we’re together but we’ve been friends since Kindergarten. Twelve years. I don’t want to risk our friendship on this. I’ve seen the movies. Boy likes girl, boy tells girl, girl says she wants to be friends, then they drift apart. The boy ends up working some low rent job while she goes on to be a Hollywood actress that he sees everywhere and never gets over her. I’m fine with staying in the shadows on this.

I pretended to look at another apple while I watched her. Her eyebrows scrunched up in the cutest way as she concentrated on her apple. Her wide eyes narrowed as she started chewing on her bottom lip. When she looked up at me, I picked the apple I had been pretending to study and shoved it into my bag without looking at it. I’m not even sure what color it is. After about twenty minutes of our usual banter, Jean insisted that we head directly to the old tree so I could finish my drawing before she had to leave. She then proceeded to look at what felt like every apple in the orchard on the way. I don’t mind, I just want to hang out with her. I can always pull an image off their website to finish it later.

When we finally reached the tree, both of our bags were about at their limit. I’m not sure what most of the apples are or look like, I was too busy watching Jean. I’ve missed being with her. I’ve missed seeing that look of intense concentration that she gets during math tests and video games alike. I’ve missed hearing her voice, a sweet tone that I couldn’t get tired of after a million years. I've especially missed the sparkle in her eye that she gets when she’s excited. Yeah, just seeing that makes coming out here totally worth it.

The sun’s edge was at the treetops and Jean’s phone said that she had forty minutes at the most before she had to high tail it back to her car and get home. We stared up at the towering tree. The gnarled and twisted branches that seemed to be reaching for the sky, grasping at the few clouds floating by, were outlined in gold by the setting sun. It’s beautiful. It’s last red and orange leaves clung to its branches as an autumn wind brisked by, cutting into my skin. I shivered but Jean didn’t notice the cold. She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the tree.

“Awesome,” she breathed.

I plopped down on the ground with my back against a younger tree and tugged out my sketchbook, flipping it to the right page. As I got to work, Jean went for a closer look.

“This apple tree was planted by the founder of Cruiz’s Orchards, Aidan Cruiz. The orchard has been lovingly cared for by the cruise family since 1920,” she read from a plague stuck in the ground at the tree’s base. I glance up at her, silhouetted against the fleeting light. I flipped to the next page and began sketching my new subject. I studied her curves and the angles of her arms as she reached up to touch a low-hanging branch. “Imagine the kind of storms this tree had to have gone through. That’s pretty cool, don’t you think? It’s beautiful.”

I smile when her sparkling green eyes flit to me. “Yeah, beautiful.”

Just as I was finishing my sketch of her, she walked up to me. I quickly flipped back to the tree while she was distracted, rustling through her bag of apples. She sat down beside me, leaning over my shoulder to look at the page. I could feel her warm breath on the back of my neck.

“Have you been doing anything? That looks the same,” she complained.

“I’ve been working,” I say defensively. Just not on this. She pulled out her phone and groaned.

“I’ve gotta go. If I don’t get home my parents will kill me.”

“Yeah, mine too.” They wouldn’t have cared if I stayed out all night, they like Jean and they trust her. We walked back to the gate and said goodbye as we separated. She hugged me and I hugged her back. Her hair smells like lemon shampoo.

“I had fun,” Jean said when she pulled back. “We need to do this more often.”

I grin.

“Definitely.”