One of the first things I ask people when trying to get to know them is, "What's your favorite color?" I can name the favorite color of every person I've ever had a crush on, every close friend or any interesting person I've met over the last two years. I forget names all the time, I forget important dates, favorite song titles or the day we met, but I never forget colors. Maybe it says something about my character that such a superficial detail matters to me the way it does, but I even have trouble saying I know people well if I don't know their favorite color.
Needless to say, the day someone couldn't give me that distinction put me through a loop like no other. I had met Selena two weeks prior during our school's first Gay Straight Alliance meeting of the year, a club dedicated to spreading acceptance and whatnot. I didn't really identify as anything in particular, but the people that went were all so interesting I attended simply for the company. By identifying as "questioning" I was met with open arms of course, promising guidance for the questions I had, which inevitably turned into friendships. I was proud to say I knew the favorite color of almost everyone in the group.
Selena was a freshman, two years younger than me, and caught my attention the very first time she walked into the room where we held the weekly meetings. What probably struck me first was her entire white outfit. She had white jeans, a white tank top and a white vest to go over it. But then her Converse sneakers were bright red and her hair was purple from the roots to the tips, enough to draw anyone's attention. It was long too, she probably had to use three bottles of hair dye just to get it all. She walked in with a smile and headphones snuggly blocking out the noise of the world, looking like an oblivious angel to the rest of us. I immediately knew she was a person worth getting to know, and the ensuing conversation didn't disappoint me.
It was about a week after we had started texting that I asked her. Just a quick text before I headed to bed while the question was on my mind. But it was her answer that surprised me. "I'm not sure actually, i've never rele thought about it. Let me get back to you?" was the reply I got six minutes later, and it left me utterly confused. Who never thought of their favorite color? I mean, I was pretty sure I wasn't the only person on the planet who at least thought of it in passing. Unconsciously, most people chose a shade that they preferred, maybe because it was pretty or maybe because it looked good on them, but not picking favorites was impossible for human beings as a whole. But her answer did, if anything, bring her up to a whole new level of interesting for me. After that text message I started sticking to her like glue, although I'm not sure if the choice was an active one or if we just got along really well.
Six months into our friendship I got my license, and as she lived relatively close to me I offered to drive her home, which she of course took me up on. I remember giggling slightly at her expression of excitement, and thinking how thrilled I'd have been as a freshman to have an upperclassman chauffer, even if I wouldn't admit it. She was so pretty when she smiled, it made my day to give her the expression myself.
That first day I found her waiting for me at the exit, her paint-splattered backpack looking like it weighed more than she did. She was wearing a neon green skirt and an orange wifebeater with the word "jail bait" written in graffiti across it. She never failed to impress.
"Orange and purple look ridiculous together," I told her as I came up, tugging lightly on a lock of wavy hair. She reached up and tugged on a few of my own limp strands.
"Neither does blonde and hazel," she shot back with a grin, putting a piece up next to my eyes. "I keep telling you black is the way to go! I could do it for you if you wanted."
I shook my head and yanked on the handle of her backpack as I walked past her and out the open doors, nearly causing her to fall over. "Do you have your entire locker in that thing?" I asked as she fell in beside me towards the parking lot.
"I left the shelf. Didn't want to bother looking for my screwdriver," she replied matter-of-factly. I snorted and tussled her hair.
"I don't remember having that much homework as a freshman." Granted, I had spent the majority of that freshman year so lost in my own mind that I don't remember too much of it, but I was sure I hadn't had the load Selena kept getting piled on her.
"You probably got a lot of zero's then," she responded. I frowned.
"How are you getting home again?"
"Through the kind hearted benevolence of my genius senpai Kim." She grinned at me happily, but I raised an eyebrow at her in confusion at the foreign word.
"Cent pie?" I repeated. "What the hell is that?"
She laughed as I pointed out my junk of a car and quickly jumped into the front seat. I was suddenly very aware of the McDonald's bag from weeks ago and the various papers scattered throughout the floor of my car, as well as the smoke smell I hadn't managed to remove yet courtesy of the car's last owner. The whole thing was in bad need of a cleaning. Still, I acted like I didn't notice as I threw my backpack into the backseat and started the engine, waiting for the group of morons socializing in front of us to get a move on.
"Senpai. It's a Japanese word for upperclassmen and stuff. It's supposed to be respectful I think," she explained, slumping down in the seat as we finally started on our way.
"Why do you always know the most random crap?" I simply replied, laughing a bit. "You can turn the radio on if you want."
"It's not crap! It's cool!" she cried, ignoring my offer of music. I knew she wasn't really a fan of any genre in particular, so I didn't bother with it either. "I'm going to live in Japan one day. Everything there is so unique."
My heart skipped a beat for a second at that, and not in the good way. "When?"
"For college maybe?" she replied.
For some reason, I didn't like that idea. Japan was really far away after all. Could texts be sent internationally? I doubted it. I mean, I was planning on going to college in the next state over, but I could still see her on breaks and stuff. But Japan wasn't just a few hours' drive away, and I doubted I could afford a ticket to a faraway country every few weeks when I started to miss her. I wasn't even sure I could survive a few weeks, actually.
After that revelation I didn't say anything, so lost as I was in the wonderment of why I felt that way. I had other close friends too, it wasn't like she was the only one I cared about on the planet. But none of their plans for the future perturbed me like hers did. Selena was never the type to fill a silence with mindless chatter, and so she said nothing as well, letting me drown in my thoughts. I wondered what she was thinking about as she stared out the window. Was she dreaming of Japan? A place without me?
Finally when we arrived at her house, I pulled into the driveway and turned to look at her. She sat up straight like she was about to get out, but when she noticed my expression she stopped, staring at me while she waited for... something. I pursed my lips together, trying to think of what to say. I was very confused.
"When I asked you your favorite color, you said you'd think about it. Do you know what it is now?" I asked her. The question had never been so nerve wracking to me in my entire life.
She smiled at me gently. "Well, I thought about it and... I love them all," she admitted. I smirked. That was so like her it was unbelievable. She was so special.
By the time I realized what I was doing in that next second my lips were already centimeters from hers, my one hand on the wheel and the other gently touching her face. A kiss, I learned, is magic. Her lips were sweet poison, making my head go fuzzy and my entire body warm. She didn't pull away, she didn't lean forward. She kissed me as gently as her smile, and when I pulled away she was smiling again.
"But," she added quietly in a breathless voice, "If I had to pick, it'd be hazel."