Seniors Rey Rubin and Alan Guzman have been dating since 8th grade. 

They met in foods class. 

Guzman enjoyed rearranging and moving all of the ingredients and pans that she had displayed so neatly. And teasing her with the other group of boys.

“I thought she was cute,” Guzman said.  

“I thought he was irritating,” Rubin said. “But to be fair, all boys are like that in middle school.”

Guzman started walking her to class. He listened to her complain about her ex-boyfriend.

He stayed in the after school tutoring program that Rubin’s parents made her take. They talked the whole time.  

They walked to the Walgreens across from Trailridge after school every day, where Guzman waited for his mom, and before Rubin walked home. When it was cold, Guzman would give her his dad’s oversized jet black windbreaker with “Mexico” running down both sleeves. 

Rubin is effervescent. Her glossy brown hair cascades past her shoulders. She talks with her hands often, smiles with her teeth and wears pastel sweaters. When Guzman doesn’t remember something that happened — a date, or something one of them said — she does. 

Guzman is more reserved, with dark curly hair, brown eyes and a dry sense of humor. 

He plans on majoring in microbiology and becoming a doctor one day.

She is thinking about culinary school or pursuing art. 

Guzman didn’t ask Rubin to be his girlfriend until Christmas Eve, when the two were in 8th grade. That night, they were glued to their phones.

“I’d been spamming him and at one point said ‘I like you,’” Rubin said. “And then he started spamming me, and said, ‘I like you.’ We kind of just said, now what?”

In one week the two made it official. 

“I can’t really think of much that changed,” Guzman said. “It’s hard to get closer than that.”

Since then, it’s rare that you see one without the other.

They’ve walked through St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City and watched in awe as streams of light beamed through towering stained glass and listened to the cacophony of Latin chants and tolling bells. 

They’ve gone to every school dance together, Guzman always matching his tie to Rubin’s dress. In a photo from freshman year homecoming, they’re holding hands on Rubin’s living room couch, with smaller features and shorter hair, but the same eager smiles are plastered onto their faces. 

They work at the same country club, bussing tables and food running. Rubin counts her tips in the passenger seat of Guzman’s red Chevy Cobalt 2008 when he drives them home. 

Guzman picks up Rubin for school each morning.

He’s at her house every day.

“I’ve never gotten tired of hanging out with her,” Guzman said. “Even when we do get bored of staying home, watching shows or reading together, we’ll change things up. We’ll cook together. Go someplace different. Or try something new.”

When asked what it is they talk about in all the time they spend together, Guzman paused for a moment.

“Literally anything,” he said.

Rubin no longer sees Guzman as the irritating middle school boy.

She sees him as her first real kiss. 

And the initial on her gold heart pendant, which she never takes off, except to shower.

“I’ve had a lot of issues with family and friends in my life,” Rubin said. “Whenever I’d talk it felt like I was a burden. That I was annoying to other people. But when I would talk to him, he was actually listening. Not only that, but he cared about what I had to say.”

Right now, both are saving up for another trip to Europe this summer. So they don’t go on many expensive dates. But sometimes, Rubin said, running errands, fighting over the correct way to make ramen and bickering over Latin vocabulary in class is more memorable anyways.

“I’ve had big crushes before,” Rubin said. “But I’ve never actually been in love with a person. I honestly didn’t think it would be this intense. I didn’t know it would be this good.”

Guzman said they’ve started planning a life together. They talk about having kids, parenting styles and where they’ll go to school. Where they might live. 

“Maybe Minnesota,” Guzman said, turning to Rubin.

“That would be good,” Rubin said. “That’s where the Mayo Clinic is. You could work there.”

Most high school relationships don’t last six months. Let alone a year. Let alone four years.

“And to think we were in middle school,” Rubin said.