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"Strangers!" I shot back, just to rile him up a little. My heart, however, wasn't in it. Today, the sting of Tresa's betrayal felt like a raw nerve under a scab.
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine, strangers it is. But…you remember Tresa, right? Your, uh, ex-best friend?"
The reminder shot through me like a cold wind. Ex-best friend, yeah, that tasted like ashes in my mouth. Every syllable I'd uttered to Tresa in apology had bounced off a wall of icy resentment. "Yeah," I muttered, "we're not exactly on speaking terms anymore."
"Why not?" Greg feigned ignorance, watching me like a hawk.
"Because I did the world's dumbest thing and kissed her idiotic ex-boyfriend," I blurted out, the frustration bubbling over. "Technically, he kissed me first, but that's not the point. Now Tresa's gone AWOL, and I'm stuck in this social wasteland, friendless and adrift."
My voice cracked on the last word, shame burning my cheeks. Why was I confessing my misery to Greg, of all people? But his knowing "Ohh!" as the memory finally clicked, the way his gaze softened at my loneliness…it chipped away at the wall I'd built around myself.
"No wonder you looked like a lost kitten today," he said, a surprising gentleness in his tone. "Tresa was your anchor, the one who made the cafeteria less scary, the one you could whisper secrets to in the back row of English."
I glared at him, my anger momentarily forgotten. "Lost kitten? I'm not some fragile damsel in distress," I snapped.
He chuckled, a soft sound that disarmed me. "Never said you were," he said, his eyes twinkling. "But even the bravest warriors need a fire to warm their hands, don't they?"
"Whatever," I grumbled, waving off Greg's persistent questions like smoke flies from a guttering candle. Tresa? Who needs her, anyway? The truth was stark and bitter – we were strangers masquerading as friends, and her forgiveness felt as likely as unicorns leaping rainbows. Thank God I had my battered Trollope and a head full of fantastical worlds to drown out the schoolyard symphony of drama.
"Not friends, huh?" Greg drawled, his voice a slow, honeyed drawl. "Then maybe you wouldn't mind a quick inquiry, hmm?"
Impatience gnawed at me. "Spit it out," I muttered, my eyes already itching to retreat back into the worn pages of my refuge.
He hesitated, his gaze flicking over my shoulder like a hummingbird tracking a bloom. My own eyes followed, landing on the unmistakable flash of blonde that was Tresa, exiting the classroom flanked by her gossip-glimmering entourage – Rhonda and Johanna.
Suddenly, Greg's interest in "advice" clicked into place. Tresa, queen bee of Rosedale Academy, held a strange magic over the boys here, especially Dax's legion of loyal, and frankly, uninspiring minnows. They'd all taken their turns basking in the fleeting warmth of her fickle affections, Greg seemingly joining the queue now.
My lips twisted in a humorless smirk.
Tresa had them all wrapped around her manicured finger, a puppeteer playing with marionettes on the stage of high school popularity.
The thought sent a bitter tang through me, a reminder of my own tangled history with the queen bee and the sting of betrayal that festered still.
But Greg's inquiry hung in the air, a question mark hovering between us. Would I, the ostracized ex-friend, be the unlikely conduit to Tresa's heart? The choice, like an open book, lay before me, waiting to be written.
"Tress!" His voice, slicker than butter on ice, peeled away from the lockers, morphing from classroom formality to something decidedly more…charming. Not that I was counting, of course. It wasn't like Tresa, perched on her throne of polished nails and perfect curls, hadn't traded spit with half of Dax's posse. A fact whispered like a guilty secret, one I wasn't sure even Dax himself knew. A secret I probably shouldn't have just shared with you, dear reader, but hey, emotional baggage takes all forms, right? (Hopefully, you're not already judging.)
Tresa, queen of the catwalk, turned with a flick of her hair that could rival Shakira in her heyday. "Hey Greg!" she purred, the saccharine sweetness making my teeth ache. I stepped aside, my own aura a prickly cactus compared to their blooming bougainvillea. Her eyes, those pools of turquoise I used to call friends, met mine. A scoff, sharp as a razor, ripped through the air. I still didn't get it. How could a single fight, one stupid kiss, turn a friendship into a frozen wasteland? Was her heart really that cold?
With a swish of her designer denim, Tresa breezed past, leaving me in the wake of their perfume and whispered promises. Greg, still hovering like a moth drawn to her flame, leaned in. "Are you busy today?" he asked, his voice dropping to a register reserved for Tresa's ears only.
"Maybe not," she teased, a breathy Britney-esque coo that made me want to scrub my ears with bleach.
"I was thinking we could meet up after school, just the two of us," Greg asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. Already, he was eager to ask Tresa out.
"I would absolutely love that, Greggy. Where should we meet?" She replied, using the nicknames they had for each other. Looking back, I can admit they were a bit peculiar. Personally, I preferred being called 'Skye' instead of the typical 'blue sky' but with an added 'e' at the end. The pronunciation remained the same, though. I always assumed people used those strange pet names only after being intimate, when all other names seemed inadequate. Dax had once made a comment about the scandalous behavior of students at Rosedale Academy, the all-female institution I attended. They truly were a wild bunch, engaging in explicit behaviors even with teachers present. It was quite shocking, but not entirely surprising. Rosedale Academy catered to the wealthy elite, and as a scholarship student, I often found myself feeling like an outsider. When things like that happened, I would always retreat to the library - my sanctuary.
"I'll text you the address," Greg promised, his voice low and secretive. He clearly didn't want to disclose the location in front of me. Not that I cared much.
"I'll eagerly await your message," Tresa said, playfully giving Greg a wink before turning to walk away towards the other end of the school halls. However, before I could pass, Tresa shot me a brief, disdainful glance before intentionally shoving me aside, obstructing my path. For a brief moment, I teetered dangerously close to falling, but luckily, I managed to steady myself before landing flat on my behind.
My jaw clenched, the annoyance simmering beneath the surface like a forgotten pot on the stove. Tresa's snide remark echoed in my head, and I fought the urge to snap back. Keeping the peace had become my personal mantra, even if it meant swallowing down my frustration like a bitter pill.
Silence hung heavy in the air, a tangible barrier separating us. We hadn't spoken since her barb, and I wasn't about to break the unspoken truce. My shoes clicked on the polished floor as I bent to pick up the book that had become an unwelcome casualty of our chilly exchange. Greg’s abandoned quest for advice seemed as pointless as it was sudden.
"Uh, Skye, I didn't know you were still here," Greg stammered, his voice tinged with surprise. I mirrored his bewilderment. My feet had planted themselves there seemingly of their own accord, defying my intention to leave.
"Me neither!" I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. The impulse to flee was strong, but something snagged my foot before I could take another step. Turning back, I felt a compulsion to speak, to shatter the awkward silence.
