They had always been in love with each other, ever since Phoebe was in seventh grade and he was in tenth. Of course, they would never say anything about it at that time; it was unacceptable for a tenth grader to date a girl in junior high school. But they both knew, and felt an odd kinship as they sometimes conversed in the hallways, because they were very much alike-shy and rather quiet, but well-liked and never friendless, foreigners. She was American, and he half-Polish, so they stood out in the little Costa Rican high school.
Chris was captain of the soccer team, and Phoebe was editor-in-chief of the junior high-high school newspaper. They were both much sought after, because other than a quiet charm and pensive ways they were very attractive.
She was always petite; around five feet three, and had lovely Welsh features; sleepy long-lashed hazel eyes, a heart shaped face, and a pale complexion with touches of rose in the cheeks. Her long, dark brownish-red hair hung to her elbows, and she carried herself with the beautiful posture of a ballet dancer.
Chris was much more European looking than she; he had all the grace of six feet one, and he was skinny, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. He was slightly stooped over, and gave you the impression his large-looking hands carried most of the weight in his body. He had a narrow, what would have been a stern face; with squinty green eyes; provocative eyebrows and a tight-lipped mouth. His hair was a light, honey-glazed brown; wavy and cut in a British-rock star style, long bangs and shaggy lengths. Phoebe loved the way it fell so mop-like in his face and fantasized about smoothing it back herself.
All through her high school years and all through his first college ones Phoebe and Chris dated other people half-heartedly and kept their virginity; a hard thing because guys actually leaped her and Chris couldn't walk into a drug store without being hit on. They both felt like a tension between them had been left unresolved when he graduated, and constantly thought about each other.
* * * * *
Two years hence after Phoebe had graduated from high school. She waiting in the national airport, one hour and forty-five minutes before her flight to Barbados. She was a little-known but successful sculptor, in her second year of college, studying art. After her first piece was sold, she decided to buy the a flat there by the ocean, where she could relax when Costa Rica got too full of cars, cell phones, and noise. It so happened that Chris was also there, in the conjoining gate. He was flying to Mexico to persuade his younger brother Jon to come back. He had graduated as a marine biologist, and was now living single, in the capital.
Little change had passed in both of them; Phoebe's taste of clothing and hair was a bit different, since she liked the more-practical-for-an-artist style. She was wearing a simple cut of dark jeans and a long, half-unbuttoned cardigan in red, her favorite color. She was still utterly stunning, Chris thought was he gazed at her from across. He wore glasses now, and his face had lost the teenage-boy smoothness. His chin now had that too-much-work-to-finish-shaving look. He was still shy, but mustered up his courage to go saunter over to her gate, where he casually plunked himself down in the seat facing her.
She was reading an issue of Cosmopolitan and occasionally sneering at it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked straight at her. She looked up briefly, and as she saw him staring at her a torrent of junior-high memories came back to her...the first time they saw each other...when he had banged her head on his locker door by accident and brought her a piece of ice...when she had interviewed him for the newspaper. He smiled that devilish, wide grin he had. "Hi, Phoebe."
* * * * *
"Chris Adamski, right?" she said and smiled back at him, not losing her cool for a minute. "I remember you."
Then he heard himself say: "Look at you though - successful something or another, all grown up."
Phoebe pretended to blush and giggled a Geisha laugh, a quirk of hers since he knew her. "Same to you. Would you like to go get some coffee? Where are you going, incidentally?"