It was a cold, rainy day. I could hear the the pounding of the rain drops coming from outside my window. I had a lamp on that stood in my night table besides my bed, where I was fidgeting with the pages of a book. My phone lay just beside me, just close enough for me to answer it if someone would call.

For the last ten minutes I had been taking occasional glances at my phone, expecting for the call I would have gotten ten minutes earlier. The nerves ate the inside of me, with each glance, a little bit of hope faded from my system. I had barely been able to read a page of the book I was holding, I was too focused on the phone to be distracted by the book. I replayed the moment in my head fifty times; he said he would call at seven o'clock at night. Maybe I heard wrong, maybe it wasn't how I made it out to be. I had been in a sort of shock when out of the nowhere he seemed to have crept beside me in the crowded high school hallway. He had tapped my right shoulder and I had spun around in such a rapidness that I almost hit him. He smiled at me and looked at his shoes, then at his hands, and then – finally – me. I smiled back, trying my hardest not to be awkward. He had asked my number and told me he would call at seven. I had caught my breath for a second that seemed like an eternity. I fumbled to reach for a notebook of mine and ripped a whole page out, writing neatly in the middle with a pen I had stuck in my ear the seven digit number: 955-0768. I've been waiting for that call ever since.

It shocked me when he had said that for various reasons. The first one being that I had had a crush on him for a long time, never imagining that he would ever even look at me, much less talk to me. But I had been wrong. We had been talking for a few weeks now, ever since we got paired up with an English Literature project. But I always had told myself never to think much of it, it would just become disappointment.

But instead of shrugging my shoulders and taking a dive into the deep blue waters of the Get Over It Lake, I sinked in deeper into those blue eyes of his. Emerson Jett, that was his name. Every time I heard a teacher call on him or a friend mention him, my heart skipped a beat and I was no longer paying attention to anything else. He was all I could see at that moment. His lightly tanned skin and his blazing red hair. And somehow, amidst all of the talking, he had slithered his way into my dreams and into my heart.

It was eleven minutes into seven and my heart kept racing. Was he going to call? Had I expected too much? This was stupid, I couldn't waste my time here in desperation for his call. I started to slip down off my bed when the phone started to ring. I turned around with wide eyes and stared at it, as if it would hurt me to touch it.

Ring...Ring...Ring...

I almost couldn't pick it up, my heart was beating an eon a minute and my hands were sweating. My knees felt week and I could barely breathe and just at the fifth ring did I manage to throw my limp body on the satin covers and grab the phone. I flipped it open, automatically answering.

“Hello,” said the velvety voice on the other end of the line. I felt as if I couldn't say a word. It was a few seconds before I managed to say, “Oh, hi.” I was trying to sound all cool and collected but I noticed the slight shake of my voice.

“Sorry, I've been trying to call for the last few minutes, couldn't get through with it,” he confessed. I sighed in relief, knowing that he was just as nervous as I was and I began to relax and enjoyed the moment.