Smells Like Teen Spirit

April burst into the city with fierce determination, swiftly dealing with the snow and taking command of spring’s army. The water flowed, the ice broke. It had broken long ago — unlike me. I kept moving in spirals. I walked blindfolded, unable to tell whether I was ascending or descending. Maybe I was just going in circles.

Still, my path to school followed a clear trajectory. Mornings remained just as agonizing, but I had an extra motivator. Yes, let’s be honest — it was her. The person at the center of the spiral. I just liked being near her. And I saw nothing wrong in that.

Three months of this strange attraction. A voice inside whispered daily: "Now you’ve really fallen for it." It gave me advice — as if it knew what I should say, how and when. Or was that me? Sometimes I had to rein it in. Pointless fantasies. I wasn’t expecting anything yet, just inching forward along the spiral each day, trying to reduce the hesitations and setbacks. Reducing them wasn’t easy. I could feel countless little… no, not failures. Missed moments. You could’ve done this, but didn’t. You could’ve said that, but stayed silent. And then came the internal reassurance: "What’s done is done." Yes, my inner friend wasn’t just about mockery.

Though these dialogues sometimes drained me, the truth stinging my eyes. Those unused moments weighed on me. You could’ve scored ten instead of five. An endless chase for the maximum. And this had been clogging my mind for weeks.

Too bad I never noticed the line between proximity and… friendship, I guess? It blurred somewhere between essays and April, amid mud, coughs, lectures on the Republic’s greatness, sickness, music, and morning tea. Unless I was imagining things.

Sleep was probably my only peace. My last refuge, free of feelings, thoughts, sounds, or smells.

Speaking of smells — that scent, her scent, returned. As if freshly laundered, losing its cloying sweetness, now just crisp and pleasant. Maybe it was a different smell — I’d grown used to the old one. Or maybe there was no smell, and the one I remembered was just an illusion. Do such hallucinations exist? I sometimes misheard things, but my vision was sharp, and I never confused hot with cold. Can you even fake a smell?

I never encountered that exact scent again, though I caught myself noticing similarities in other fragrances. No, we sat side by side for about four hours a day — I knew its precise shade. And I doubt my nose deceived me. It wasn’t some overwhelming storm. Just a faint trace. With heavy consequences.

What about the points? Scores, pluses, checkmarks — call them what you will. I was falling short. Sometimes I stayed silent, cursing myself for it. Then I’d argue: "No reason for self-flagellation — it’s all trivial." My own defense attorney. Comrade Attorney. Comrade Prosecutor. Yes, I had things to say.

Enough with the self-interrogation. Relax. Let’s just have some tea. Swap the judge’s robe for a T-shirt and worn-out pants, the gavel for a cup and sugar bowl.

And then I’d laugh at myself.

But she seemed fine with it. Really, why not? A bit slow in places, but decent conversation. No clowning, no irritation. "The best"? "Cool"? Hell no — convenient, that is what who I am to her. Looking back, that’s how I see it. I’m not insisting — I can’t read minds. But calling someone convenient… feels a bit inconvenient, doesn’t it? Maybe she genuinely liked sitting together. We had facts, words, events. Anything you say can and will be used against you. But I wasn’t accusing anyone. I had enough self-blame to go around. Then self-justification. Then blame again. Rinse and repeat.

And so April began. Minimal action, maximum overthinking.

"You’re wasting your energy. Looking for meaning where there is none. Try not to lose your mind along the way."

It sounded more like friendly advice than mockery.

"I’ll be careful," I muttered, pushed the door open, and stepped into the store.

I liked this place. Spacious, bright, clean, and cool, no matter the weather outside. I grabbed bread, a bottle of mineral water, and a couple of buns — same as always —and headed to the checkout. A short line had formed. Scanning the counter, I noticed a pack of strawberry mints. "Why not?" I tossed them into my basket. Clever product placement. I hadn’t planned on buying them.

Was that her? By the next register. Hard to tell from behind. Looked similar, but… no, unlikely. She didn’t even live in this area. I didn’t turn to check, just left the store.

A pleasant, slightly damp wind blew. Right now, I just hoped no one was home. The last thing I wanted was to hear my father’s empty chatter.

I got home, left the bag in the kitchen, changed, washed my hands and face. Good. No one was here — lucky me. Time to unwind, listen to music. Or whatever. I could do anything. Burn pen caps, belt out songs, crack open a drink — to each their own. A few hours of little freedoms, capable of bringing big joy.

Remembering the mints, I opened the pack. The taste was nothing special — mint and strawberry. But the smell…

Damn.

No, not the smell. Not the ideal. Not a substitute. But… close. Closer than anything else I’d tried.

"Tried? So you need the smell?"
"Need it? Absolutely not."
"Who are you trying to fool…"

Back then, I really didn’t need the smell. It was just an interesting coincidence.