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Miss Stacey was, objectively, the best. A simple fact. One plus one equalled two, the sun was a ball of fire, electricity was the future, and miss Stacey was the best teacher in the entire, vast universe. Granted, Anne only knew so much of the universe, but she knew it to be true. The teachers at the orphanage couldn’t have cared less about their students and mister Phillips was a tyrannical barbarian, a person that Billy was on his way of becoming.
(No, Anne corrected her thoughts. At least mister Phillips was a scholar. A bad one, but an educated brute nonetheless. Billy was just that: a brute.)
But miss Stacey was wonderful, one Anne aspired to be. Funny, kind, smart and pretty. Anne has yet to discover her tragical romantic past, but it must’ve been juicy, like a good book. One time, a few months ago, she had pried, but before she could finish her sentence Gilbert had dragged her away, whispering she was doing that thing again.
(‘I’m doing what, Gilbert?’, ‘You know what you’re doing.’, ‘... fine .’)
‘Anne, stop daydreaming.’ The girl flung upward, dropping her hand from her cheek to the table with a smack. She blinked thrice, looked around, and met the eyes of miss Stacey whose lips were pulled into a wry smile.
‘Sorry,’ Anne said, unapologetic. If this wasn’t under casual circumstances, she’d be red of embarrassment. But in miss Stacey’s kitchen, sitting at the dinner table and Gilbert on the bench near the window, there was no need to feel flustered.
As they were close to graduating, a few students had asked Stacey to help them with their vocation and prepare them for university. Anne and Gilbert, most eager of the bunch, had claimed Sundays (right after church) as their study time. Gilbert for medicine, Anne for English. Her dream was still to become a teacher, but Stacey had advised her to firstly focus and excel in English before trying other endeavours. That was fair. Anne realised after a few lessons that, aside from writing fiction, she wasn’t quite able to write simple prose or essays, which was equally as important.
Today, a dreary Sunday afternoon, she’d been prompted to write an opinion piece on what the world could expect now that they’ve stepped into a new millenium: the twentieth century. It was terribly exciting and a great exercise too. Anne believed it would be a marvellous time! (In a little more than a decade, she’d wave her husband goodbye as he was needed as doctor on the western front. She’d think back on this moment with a huff and tears in her eyes.)
‘Gilbert, pay attention for a moment.’ He looked up, both teenagers focused on their teacher. ‘I have to run some errands, so I’ll be gone for an hour or two. Don’t make any ruckus, but if you need anything that’ll help you further, take it.’ She smiled. ‘Inspiration is everywhere. I’ll be back in about two hours.’ She pulled on her coat and hat, waved them goodbye and slammed the door behind her shut. Silence settled over them like dust.
Ever since Bash and Mary’s wedding, Gil and her have just… clicked. Like finally finding the corner piece of a puzzle, slotting the entire frame in place. It wasn’t awkward or tense or confusing - they were friends. Best friends. (Anne has differentiated Diana and Gilbert in her head under two categories. They were both kindred spirits, but Diana was a bosom friend and Gilbert a best friend. She has told them both just that.)
Because of that, silences weren’t charged or uncomfortable, but easy. The sporadic noises of the scribbling of her pen and the turning of his pages were calming.
Anne halted on a particularly rough spot, holding her tongue between her teeth as the words were unable to tumble from her brain to the ink. She looked up from her paper, eyes travelling across the room to find the inspiration, when they fell on Gilbert.
He looked utterly handsome today, with his striped henley and vest that fitted his broad shoulders perfectly. It was honestly unfair, she thought. How come he got prettier as the years went by whilst she stayed… plain and - she shuddered - ginger. She had presumed that by seventeen she’d be auburn, but alas. Perhaps Marilla was right and her heathen ways had indeed come in the way of her true beauty. She’d never know.
But Gilbert. She’d lie if she said she didn’t dream about his hair sometimes. Or the way he walked, talked, smiled, laughed, read (he read with pursed lips and a small frown, skin pinched between his eyebrows). It wasn’t intentional. It just was. It existed without having to explain itself or prove itself.
Gilbert met her gaze, the frown dissipating and a smile (which was often more smug than not… idiot) appearing on his lips. ‘What?’
‘Do you…’, she propped her head on her fist, ‘do you remember what you said at the Lake the other week?’
He put his book down, flat on his lap. ‘Can you be more specific?’
‘After I taught you how to braid,’ she smiled, ‘you were talking about something about the women in one of the countries you explored. I can’t… quite recall it.’
‘Aren’t you only allowed to use books to make your paper?’ Yet in his face she saw he was willing to break the rules. She jumped up from her chair and paraded to the spot next to him, raising her eyebrows with expectation. He laughed, ruffling his curls.
‘Fine. You win, Shirley.’
‘I always do, Blythe.’
He pondered for a moment, tapping his fingers against his leg. ‘I told you about how women were treated in Trinidad,’ he drawled, tilting his head. It seemed both of them had been drunk of the sun that day. It had been nice, Anne could admit. Laying in the sun-drenched meadow side by side, talking about everything and nothing. It was one of those days where he was just Gilbert and she was just Anne. No expectations, no duties - just them. She crossed her legs, ready to hear the rest: Gilbert was an amazing storyteller.
‘They’re not treated very nicely, they’re like… like slaves. Not like slaves, they are slaves. People like us don’t have to lift a finger and live in these… grand houses whilst the locals do all the hard work. It wasn’t fair at all.’ His jaw clenched, remembering the moments.
‘Do you think that’ll change? Did you feel a change?’
He nodded slowly. ‘I think it is changing. There was this kind of… stance… I don’t know how to describe it.’
‘Defiant?’, Anne prompted, edging closer.
Gil nodded, ‘Yeah. Things are happening. But have you seen how people look at Mary and Bash when they’re in town?’, he spit his last words. Anne couldn’t help but smile despite the connotation. Only Gilbert called him Bash; Anne knew him as Sebastian. ‘He asked for dasheen leaves and coconut milk and the merchant screamed at him to get out of his store, as if he was a thief .’ Dasheen , Anne mouthed, jotting the word down in the margin of her notebook. What a word!
‘That’s despicable!’, Anne replied, aggravated. Gil didn’t often tell about the murky side of situations. Anne knew not everyone was as kind to Sebastian and Mary as Gilbert was, but to be yelled at in a store? Truly vile. ‘All those close-minded, awful people are missing out on Sebastian’s scrumptious crab callaloo. More for us I suppose!’, Anne perked up, grinning from ear to ear. It lightened Gil’s mood, making him grin at her with that heart palpitating smile. It was barely close-lipped and lopsided, one eye closing more than the other.
She scoffed inwardly. How many times will Mnemosyne remind her how handsome he is? (It was ridiculous, honestly.)
‘Thanks, Anne,’ he said, patting her knee. She tensed up, watching his hand linger for a second longer before falling back in his lap. She wondered what it would be like to hold it, actually hold it. She’d held it before, late at night when they had gone to a play in town. By the time it was done it had darkened outside to an inky blue. Frightened by her own boundless imagination (vampires! witches! ghosts!), she’d grabbed his hand in a frenzy and stayed one step behind him. She wasn’t one to pray for a knight in shining armour (she’d wear it herself, thank you very much), but in that moment… well, it was moment of weakness. At least that was what she told herself.
Her gaze fell back on him. He was still watching her, pensive.
‘I can write as an assumption that in the near future, they will break out of their shackles and become more independent and accepted by all of society. We are all human, one kind. Not two,’ Anne whispered, unable to divert her eyes. Gil and her were like magnets, always gravitating to one another. It felt inevitable. Whatever it may be (though she had an inkling).
‘If you publish that, it’ll probably go to the library of banned books.’
‘Even better,’ Anne grinned. Who didn’t want their book between a list of renowned philosophers?
Gilbert gulped visibly, eyes roving across her face. They’ve been here before. Where they’re both stunned in silence by the other, where they leaned in without noticing, where the eyes rested on the lips, where breaths became shallower and fingers touched.
They’ve been here before. A hundred times before. Maybe even a thousand.
When she was fourteen, she’d told her friends that if she wanted to kiss a guy, she would do it. But Gilbert was different. He wasn’t Cole or Charlie or Moody - he was Gil. Her kindred spirit. Someone that made her heart burst and cheeks redden and palms sweat and unbelievably happy. She missed him if he wasn’t at school.
She might be halfway in love with him.
(Not that she would admit that to herself.)
Without realising, they’ve closed the space between them, his lips centimeters away from hers.
‘May I…?’
They’ve been here before. And they would be here again, as right at that moment she heard something rumble on the front porch. A woman’s mumble. Miss Stacey.
Miss Stacey was, objectively, not the best anymore.
Anne sprung backwards, falling on the floor with a thud and scrambling back to her seat at the dinner table, miles away from Gil. Her face must’ve been as red as her hair. Gilbert stared at her stunned, fumbling with his book. He took a hand through his hair, seemingly nervous. Both let out a deep breath.
‘Sorry, I forgot my wallet,’ their teacher said as she walked in, barely taking note of the two flustered teenagers. She walked passed them, into the kitchen and found it on the windowsill.
‘I think I should go,’ Anne blurted. She felt the hot stare of Gilbert on her temple.
Miss Stacey frowned. ‘You’re already done?’
‘I - no, but I feel like I should’ve done more research before diving into this expansive study.’ Anne blubbered words without thinking.
I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert, I almost kissed Gilbert.
The woman nodded. ‘Great thinking, Anne. How are you doing, Gilbert?’
‘Good,’ he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. She quirked an eyebrow at him; she loved a fool.
‘Well then,’ miss breathed, ‘I suppose we can walk together for a while. You’ll be fine here, Gilbert?’
‘Yes.’ Anne stared at his lips as they formed consonants and vowels. Pink, thin - almost on hers. ‘I’ll finish my chapter and then head home too. Good day Anne, miss Stacey.’
The pair nodded at the boy, walking out. It felt like she could breathe again, taking big gulps.
‘Everything alright?’, miss Stacey asked.
Anne forced a smile, looking over her shoulder without wanting to. There, at the window, Gilbert stared back at her, a smirk on his lips. Anne, in a moment of bravery, winked back.
‘Yes. I’m wonderful.’
(Exactly one week later, Anne’s lips would fall onto his. She would blab his ear of about the importance of Diana’s birthday party when he’d cup her cheek and place one on her. And then ten more. She would kiss him back and smile. Their foreheads would fall together and their fingers intertwine. “It was inevitable”, Gilbert would say with a smug face. Anne would want to bicker and say that he was ridiculous, but instead would kiss him again.
Their romance was one written in the stars, etched into their DNA, engraved in the callous skin of their hands.
It was something that was.)