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I tolerate him at practice, but he hasn’t dared show his face at lunch in a week. As expected, the trash bag turns the other way from the moment he sees me.
I’m halfway to the exit when Brie pulls out the big guns.
“You know, I heard orange is the color this season.” Brie grips my forearm, digging her red acrylic nails into my arm. “Bet your mom would look great in it.”
Her prison jumpsuit reference paralyzes me. She does it every time I wander too far. Tug on my leash like I’m her fucking property. Dangle my mother’s sins over my head.
Remind me where my place is.
Screaming inside, I dive my hands into my pockets, curl my fists into tight balls of rage, and accept defeat.
“What time is this get-together?”
* * *
Aveena
I just wanted to eat lunch in peace.
Watching Brie straddle Xavier in her Instagram story is the opposite of peace. To be fair, I’m the one constantly checking her profile. What can I say?
I must lovegetting my heart stamped on.
Just because I cut all ties with Xav doesn’t mean it’s not killing me to know he went to some party with her yesterday, on a school night, at that. Because I removed myself from the equation doesn’t mean I don’t turn into a pathetic, broken mess whenever I see them holding hands in the halls.
I know their “love” is a load of shit.
But… part of me dreads the day where it’s not. The day Xavier forgets it was ever a lie to begin with.
In a moment of weakness, I allow myself to glance toward the jocks’ table and lock eyes with the devil himself.
Turns out he was already staring.
I maintain the eye contact like I’m compelled to. Like I physically can’tlook away. If eyes could speak, we’d be writing a whole damn novel. Shit, I’ve been so good this week. Delivered an Oscar-worthy performance, if I say so myself. I never once looked his way, no matter how much I wanted to.
Until now…
Brie is sitting on his lap, her arm knotted around his neck as she chats with Lacey. I wince when she kisses him hard, jumps off his lap, and walks away with Lacey. I peel my eyes off the picture-perfect couple and shift my attention back to Dia sipping on a water bottle. That’s when my phone pings with a new message.
From him.
I skim his text, my heart beating double time.
Xavier: I wish it could be you.
I look up, meeting his eyes. Xavier won’t budge, staring at me so hard my skin prickles. Pain wraps me up like a hug I can’t escape. It’s too tight.
Too strong.
I wish it was me, too.
It hurts so bad I pretend I didn’t see his text and shove my phone into my back pocket. I should be happy. My drunk speech at the party seems to have done the trick.
All signs point to people buying my story about Zac not being a student at Easton. The confessions are slowly becoming old news, along with the whispers in the hall.
The name-calling has also gone extinct.
So, why do I feel like I’m dying?
