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“How did it even start?” Tina asks.
I look up from where I’m mixing dry ingredients for baking cupcakes for Art’s bake sale. I suck at baking but Doris is sick and I volunteered to help. So I’m helping, or at least trying to.
“What is it?” I ask.
“This whole thing between you and Zach. Like, what happened? Why does he torture you, of all people?”
I go back to flicking the flour. “Because he’s mean. And rich, and that gives him the right to do anything he wants.”
This isn’t something new. I’ve told this to her a thousand times. She’s heard me cry and bitch about it for years. I don’t know why she’s at it again, though.
“Do you remember the very first time you met?”
I stop mixing; it’s already incorporated more than the recipe called for.
The first time.
I hardly remember any of it, except that it was my first day of school and I was hungry enough to borrow carrot sticks and then, I met him in the detention room.
Although, I do remember that he was looking out the window, staring at a water fountain, and his uniform was as messed up and wrinkled as mine. I remember this utter longing to talk to him, the only boy who looked like me: dirty and untidy.
I remember this tug in my stomach. This flapping and fluttering. At the time I thought, I was so hungry that my tummy was making weird noises. But later, I realized that they were the butterflies, and that tug was the miserable connection between us.
Anyway, when I did talk to him, he turned out to be a complete jerk who called me a thief, smirking, looking me up and down like I was a reject or something. I got angry at that, and I might have said something back.
But again, I don’t remember.
“Not really. I mean, I was like, ten and in detention. The only thing that jumps out is that he was super arrogant and rude and I hated him.”
Tina drums her fingers on her chin. “I wish I remembered what you told me.”
“Why are we talking about this again?”
“Because enough is enough.” She slaps a hand on the island. “We need to go talk to him.”
“What? No.”
“Yes. Are you going to wait for him to leave and then go on dates? Or have fun and live your life?” She shakes her head. “You can’t wait on anyone, Cleo. You can’t be scared of him. He needs to learn his lesson. Forget about letting go. You were right. Justice is the answer.”
“It’s not. We’re not going anywhere and I’m not afraid of him.”
I’m not. Not really.
I’m afraid of myself. Of the things I am capable of.
Last night was exactly like prom. Even the words I used were the same.
That’s what he does to me. He pushes my buttons. He pushes them and pushes them and I become something entirely different.
Don’t be like me.
After I ran away yesterday, I spent the night at my old house. I couldn’t sleep, not like I’d slept in Zach’s bed but I lay there, curled up and crying until the morning came. I had enough presence of mind to carry a phone in the pocket of my dress and text Tina that I was spending the night at my parents’ house.
I did tell her things. But not everything. Not about my stupidity in breaking into his room. Not about what transpired between us.
And how I responded.
How I became… all turned on and Jesus Christ, wet.
