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elilah working on a piece of butcher paper on the floor. She holds out a marker, her fingernails dirty and her blonde bangs hanging in her eyes. She always stays in for recess. Unlike me, she stopped trying to fit in a long time ago.
I take the marker, coming down to the floor with her.
“Thanks,” I say, looking at her hand-drawn Eiffel Tower that’s almost as tall as me.
She smiles, and we begin working, coloring it in as the weight starts to lift from my chest.
She’s always nice. Why do I care so much what the other girls think? Why do I want to be friends with them?
I try to be nice, but it’s never good enough.
But they’re mean and everyone loves them.
Why is that?
I bend over in the shower stall, resting my hands on my knees and pushing the memory away. That’s not me anymore. I’m fine. I’ve got this. He pushed, they laughed, and I choked. I got complacent. I just have to push back next time. I’m good at that.
Or just ignore him. This was no big deal anyway. None of these people will be a big deal in a couple months.
Damn Twilight. How could he possibly have guessed that? I breathe in and out, my muscles finally relaxing. Masen Laurent is consistently a step ahead.
I slip the inhaler back into my pocket, shut off the water, and exit the stall, leaving the locker room. I’m late for Math, but I push forward and act like the episode in English never happened.
No one’s talking about it. No one’s texting about it. Masen Laurent is still far off anyone’s radar, and no one believes I’m the superficial brat he’s making me out to be.
Absolutely no one.
The rest of the school day passes mercilessly slow as I brave lunch and every single class, feeling like another shoe is going to drop at any second. But as soon as the final bell rings, I drop off my books at my locker and grab my duffel for cheer and swim, hurrying out of the school and
to the side parking lot.
“Ryen?” I hear Lyla yell behind me.
But I just keep going. “I’ll be back!” I call over my shoulder.
She knows we have practice and is probably wondering why I’m leaving the school.
Making my way through the parking lot, seeing students piling into cars and hearing engines fire up, I scan the crowd for the new guy. I finally see him, stepping up to a black truck and not carrying a single thing. No books, no folders, nothing.
As I walk toward him, I notice a couple of guys greeting him while my friend Katelyn approaches him, coyly grazing her hand along the side of his truck and acting all shy and shit.
My hopes are dashed. He’s definitely on peoples’ radar.
I hesitate, watching her hug her books and talk, giggling at something she said, while he stares down at her, calm and cool, looking no friendlier than he did with me.
Why does that please me?
I guess it’s a relief to know that maybe I’m not special. He’s rude to everyone, except the guys who came up to him just a moment ago.
Or maybe I wouldn’t have liked seeing him smile at her and not at me or…
I take in a deep breath, growing impatient. I don’t want her to see me talking to him, but I need that notebook.
I walk over to them, tipping my chin up and nodding once at Katelyn. “I’ll see you at practice.”
She pauses, looking taken aback. I hold the strap of my duffel hanging on my shoulder and stare at her, waiting for her to leave.
She eventually gives a little eye roll and walks off, leaving us alone.
