|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 17:28:43 GMT -5
When you’re name is the most interesting thing about you, high school can be a bit daunting. But I’ve been going to school with the same two hundred people for twelve years, if you count kindergarten, so even the affect of my unique name has worn off on them by now. If you had asked Samantha Brown a couple of weeks ago who I am the answer would be a no brainer. “Evelyne Primrose? I don’t know anyone by that name,” she would reply in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers while simultaneously rolling her eyes. Which of course in her mind means that if she doesn’t know who someone is, they’re not worth knowing, might as well not exist. But really, she doesn’t know who a lot of people at our school are, mainly the people I call friends. I tend to hang out with the band/drama/choir nerds, though I’m not in any of them. My mom was worried that with all my friends joining different clubs and electives that I would have no one to hang out with anymore, but she underestimated the ability of quiet, shy girls to stick together. I’ve been friends with the same two people, Macy and Angela, since the fifth grade when we all looked up from our books on the play ground and found out we weren’t the only ones that didn’t get picked to play kickball. We pretty much stuck to ourselves in middle school but when we got into high school and Macy got cast in the lead of the school play and Angela became first chair flute player in the marching band, our social ring has expanded quite a bit. So all things considered, none of us really considered it a travesty that Samantha Brown, the head cheer leader and future homecoming/prom queen didn’t know who we were. But about a week ago that all changed. I was at my locker, minding my own business and getting my pre-calc book, when she walks up to me and even condescends to use my name. I say walk but it’s more like she storms up to me, if you can imagine a 5’3” one hundred pound girl storming up to anyone. Her perfectly smooth blonde pony tail sways back and forth with every step she takes and her perfectly made up eyes look me up and down with almost a disgusted expression. Her lips are so glossed they almost look like they’re melting. I have time to wonder how anyone could find this attractive before she starts to question me. “So I heard that you and Tommy are lab partners now.” It’s not really a question but I know I’m expected to answer anyways and immediately, my defenses go up. If I couldn’t tell from her body language, arms crossed and melty lips scrunched up, I could definitely tell from her tone of voice that she was serious and not only that but angry. As if I knocked the whole world of kilter by getting partnered with Tommy Larson, Samantha’s boyfriend/future homecoming and prom king. Which I guess if you mean the high school world, would be correct. They’ve been together for the past two years and their ups and downs have always been the talk of the school, especially when some rumor starts that Tommy’s been cheating on Samantha with some other girl in school, usually another jock or cheerleader. They always end up back together but not before Samantha publicly humiliates the girls in one way or another. Whether these rumors are true or not, I have no idea but I tend to reserve my judgment of people until I actually get to know them. I’ve always witnessed Tommy’s brilliance from afar, whether it be scoring the winning point at the state basketball game or making some crack in class that had everyone rolling. He really is amazing looking, I’ll admit it, with blonde hair that falls just right and crystal clear blue eyes. Not to mention that million dollar smile. Oh, and he’s tall and all tall girls like me have a particular weakness for tall guys. But like I said, I had always just noticed him from afar. Until yesterday, that is. For the first part of the school year, Macy was my lab partner in Chemistry which worked out well because we were both pretty good at the class and we had been pulling off an A pretty easily over the last few weeks. However, it turns out that our teacher, Mr. Albright, is in fact a socialist and thought it would be best to rearrange lab partners in order to spread the knowledge evenly among us. In other words, the smart kids got hitched with the not so smart kids as partners. I was completely bummed until I heard Mr. Albright call out that Tommy Larson and I would be partnered for the remainder of the year. And then I was terrified. I could see him looking around the room, trying to figure out who Evelyne Primrose is, so I gave him a little wave while really I feel like throwing up. I don’t know why I had such a strong reaction, I’ve had to work with jock types before and usually it isn’t too bad as long as they don’t try to pawn all the work off on the nerdy girl. Maybe it’s because this time the jock is so stunningly good looking? I glance over at Macy and she mouths the word ‘lucky’ at me before turning to her partner, a senior who’s name I can’t remember who must have already taken the class once before and failed it. I grab my book and other supplies before I walk over to Tommy’s desk. He gives me one of those heart melting smiles and instantly I know I’m in trouble. As far as lab partners go, Tommy isn’t that bad, surprisingly enough. He’s as nice to me as anyone else and keeps me smiling with a running commentary on Mr. Albright’s teaching style. Eventually my nerves calm down enough for me to string to words together and we manage to keep a conversation going until the class is over. As we’re packing up he nudges me with his elbow and says, “See you next time, partner.” And then he winks at me as he turns away. I think my jaw literally drops and I hear Macy mumble not fair as she walks up beside me.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 17:30:30 GMT -5
All of this is replaying in my mind as Samantha scowls up at me. Honestly, it never occurred to me that I’d be receiving a talking to from her for having one conversation with her boyfriend. I am just a lowly nerd, after all. What does she have to worry about from me? Apparently enough to stage this very public conversation in the middle of the school hall way… I see a couple of people glancing our way and whispering to one another and I can only imagine what they’re saying but it’s enough to stain my cheeks red. Several painfully long seconds have gone by since she asked her question but still I can come up with nothing better to say then, “Um, yes.” If it’s possible, her scowl only deepens. “Well, what did y’all talk about?” I try hard to not be a smart ass, but it’s just too easy. Besides, this whole situation is so beyond ridiculous that I just can’t help myself. “Chemistry,” I reply in a tone that implies the ‘of course’. Her eyes narrow and I can tell it’s hard for her to decide if I’m screwing with her or not. And, alright, maybe I am a little. But really, on what planet would she suspect that a girl like me would try to steal away her boyfriend. What makes her think I even could? But I guess if you’ve had to watch your back for so long, everyone begins to look like a suspect, even someone as innocent as me. “Whatever, just stay away from him.” She gives me one last parting scowl and then stomps off in the same fashion that she came. As I’m trying to figure out just how I’m supposed to ‘stay away’ from my own lab partner, Macy and Angela walk up to me with similar masks of surprise and bemusement. “What was that all about?” asks Angela warily. “I think I just got a famous Samantha Brown don’t-touch-my-man warning,” I say then fill them in on what she said to me. Macy and I had already filled Angela in about my extreme good fortune (or bad fortune, depending on how you look at it) at landing Tommy Larson as a lab partner yesterday after school. “Wow,” says Macy, still slightly stunned like the rest of us, “I think you’re moving up in the world, Evelyne.” “I think a threat from a girl who would fall over if someone blew too hard on her hardly counts as moving up the treacherous rungs of the high school social ladder,” I say, laughing. But really, what else can I do but laugh? It’s not as if anything can come from this, except possiblely a bad reputation if I don’t play my cards right. Despite this, however, after a week with my new partner, I can already tell that things have started to change for me, whether I like them or not. But generally, besides the occasional glares I intercept from Samantha or a couple of other cheerleaders, things are going surprisingly well for me. He waved to me in the hall way last Friday and since then, it seems like I have about twice as many friends as I did just a few days ago. Mostly, I just try to stick with my real friends though it can be hard to strategically remove myself from those who cling to any semblance of popularity they can find, even if that just means befriending someone who’s just a lab partner to a popular person. Which is completely ridiculous and I try to avoid it as much as possible. I have, however, kept up my friendly attitude toward Tommy despite his belligerent girlfriend’s warning. There’s really no reason not to, he’s been nothing but nice though his lab performance has dropped off slightly since our first day. He humbly explained to me his ineptitude at chemistry and even asked if I could help tutor him a bit, and really, who can resist a face like that? Certainly not me. Chemistry is my first class of the day and English is my last, both of which I share with Tommy. He’s in the corner sitting with his other jock friends and aside from a friendly smile or wink in my direction before class starts he’s basically been ignoring me as usual despite our new found partnership. I don’t take it personally. Like they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and we’re not even friends really so I can’t expect him to move across the room away from his friends just to sit by me. Despite myself, I do secretly wish that one day, he will. It’s pretty silly and stupid but I’m only human, after all, and he’s a handsome, tall, funny boy. It’s a Tuesday just like any other when I see our new student for the first time. I’m doodling random images on my notebook, trying not to listen to Tommy and his friends’ conversation when I look up to see him entering the room. I don’t know what made me look up but he holds my attention for some reason. The first thing I notice is that he’s tall. Even taller than Tommy, probably. The second thing I notice is how little he seems out of place. There’s guardedness to his dark brown eyes as he quickly and discretely scans the class room as if trying to detect some secret danger in a public class room. Stranger still is that I’m the only one who seems to notice his entrance. The boy has to clear his throat in front of our teacher, who was busy typing away at her computer, before she notices him.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 17:31:48 GMT -5
He hands her a note, which she quickly scans and then stands up to address the entire class. By this time, I can see that most of the class has finally noticed his entrance, at least the part of the class that consists of girls. And, really, I don’t blame them, even the more bold ones blatantly smiling at him from across the room. He has a swarthy complexion beneath his simple black t-shirt and he has very dark curly hair that is perhaps a bit on the long side to comply with our strict dress code. He has strong facial features and that coupled with his guarded eyes gives him a very mysterious look. I could swear that I can see the hint of a tattoo beneath the edge of his shirt sleeve on what I can see from here is a well muscled arm. “Everyone, this is Oscar Fuentes. He’s a new student here and I expect everyone to help him feel welcome.” He doesn’t look like he really cares if anyone makes an effort to include him but I still here the girl behind me sigh. I try not to role my eyes. It’s hard for me to imagine that this whole bad-boy act that he’s got going is actually real. But then again, something tells me he’s not faking it… “Go ahead and sit anywhere, we don’t have assigned seating.” Considering how these last few days have gone, I don’t really know why it’s any surprise to me that right when Ms. Roberts stops talking he looks straight at me and takes the seat right next to mine. I can feel all the girl’s glaring at me, like it’s somehow my fault that I not only got Tommy as a lab partner in Chemistry but also this new guy to sit next to in English. But really, I wonder how any of them can be so bizarre as to think that choosing that seat had anything to do with me. Surely it was just a random choice. It does not make sense that I would be ignored by every boy in my vicinity for the past sixteen years but that suddenly in the last week I’m being singled out by two of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen. I’m still thinking about all of this when Ms. Roberts starts her lecture. We just finished Huckleberry Finn and we’re about to start The Great Gatsby. I hear a lot of people grumble but they would have the same response to any book she announced. It’s been pretty obvious from the start of my high school career that the average teenager doesn’t spend too much time reading, or at least the average teenager at my school. Not everyone has spent the majority of their time with their nose stuck in a book like I have. But all the reading I’ve done has given me a distinct edge in English and most people know it and try to team up with me. Ms. Roberts is breaking us up into pairs to discuss what we think the meaning behind the cover of the novel might be before we actually start reading it and I have a brief moment of hope that she might put Tommy and me together. But that’s dashed pretty quickly. “Evelyne, why don’t you work with Oscar?” Unfortunately, the teacher also knows of my affinity for all things English and it makes perfect sense in her mind to pair me up with the new kid. What she doesn’t know, however, is how likely it is for this partnership to be awkward since for one thing most of my social situations involving people I’ve never met before tend to be awkward and two he’s just so imposing that I have no idea what to say to him. Luckily for me he takes care of that pretty quickly for me. “I’ve read Gatsby before,” he says to me, looking disdainfully down at the cover. All over the classroom everyone has turned to their partner and are supposedly talking about the book in front of them although I know most of them probably aren’t. I can see Laura Abernathy laughing about something Tommy said to her that I’m sure has nothing to do with the piece of literature in front of them. I turn away from them trying to ignore the idiotic wave of jealousy that sweeps through me. When I look at my partner, however, I somehow know that he’s noticed the last few seconds from my questioning look across the room to the flash of envy across my face that must have happened without my knowledge. He’s actually smirking at me as if he finds this all very amusing before I decide it’s time for a subject changer. “Well what did you think about it?” I’ve actually read the book once before myself and really enjoyed it. It’s strange for me to think that there’s somebody else my age who’s read a school book before it’s actually required. Macy and Angela tend to stick to the mysteries or harlequin romances and mostly steer clear of the classics. “I hated it,” he says simply, looking at me to gauge my reaction, I assume. He doesn’t have to look too hard; it’s pretty obvious that I’m shocked. “You… hated it?” I mumble perplexed. “How can you hate The Great Gatsby? It’s not only a classic piece of literature but a great love story.” He smiles like I made some sort of joke or something. “Trust me; you’ll understand when you read it yourself.” I can feel myself starting to get angry, which is ridiculous, but I tend to get a little dramatic when people blatantly insult books that I love for no apparent reason. I unclench my jaw and say in the calmest tone I can manage, “I have read it.” He looks straight at me then says, “You have? Then you realize that it isn’t a love story at all. It’s a hate story.”
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 17:32:35 GMT -5
Several things go through my mind as he says this. The first being that how can someone with such gorgeous hazel eyes be so completely annoying. Fortunately for me, I don’t say this out loud and instead ask for an explanation as to how one of the most read love stories can in fact be a story about hate. I try to keep the edge out of my voice but if the glint of amusement in those eyes is any indication, I’m not doing a very good job. “Well maybe hate is a bit of a strong word. It’s more of an I-like-the-idea-of-love-but-I’m-really-just-an-asshole story.” “Are you saying that Gatsby didn’t really love Daisy?” I say, a little on the indignant side, perhaps. “Even if he was wrong to love her, he was an amazing guy that Daisy took advantage of right from the beginning. Maybe if he would have been rich or important she would have found him worth loving, but that’s why Gatsby’s the great one, and not Daisy. Daisy was a fool, straight to the end.” “Maybe he did really love her a long time ago but people change and he’s got to be pretty stupid to fall for anyone as heartless as Daisy. He held on to her even though he should have known that she was no good. Daisy liked the idea of being in love with Gatsby but in the end she basically betrayed him, like you said, because of money. And Tom’s even worse. He pretends to care about his mistress and basically ignores his wife but when he finds his wife is with another man, he convinces her that he really loves her and to stay with him. Then when his wife kills his mistress, he not only doesn’t seem to really care but goes on to blame it on his wife’s lover which gets him killed. But like I said before, it’s a hate story.” I just stare at him, flabbergasted, trying to think of something to defend what is one of my favorite novels and hoping that Ms. Roberts never pairs us up again. I can already tell that all we’re going to do is argue. In the end, though, I can’t really think of anything else to say and manage to mumble, “I still think it’s an amazing story.” He laughs. He actually has the nerve to laugh at me and I can feel the anger boiling in my blood and my cheeks staining red. No one has actually laughed at me, to my face, since I fell in some mud in the fourth grade. So I say the only thing that comes to mind. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?” I glare at him but this only seems to make him laugh some more. “You’re probably right. But at least I’m honest.” Now the weirdest thing of all happens. He reaches across his desk and lightly touches my hand resting on the top of my own desk. I can’t describe what it’s like when he touches me but somehow I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is being honest. I don’t know how or why I know, but I do. And even weirder is the feeling that he knew I would be able to tell if he touched me. But before I have any more time to think about what just happened, he pulls his hand away and Ms. Roberts is talking to the class again. “Alright, I’ve think y’all have had enough time to discuss the covers. Now I want to hear some of your ideas. How about you two?” she says, gesturing toward Oscar and I, “What do you think the two eyes could symbolize?” I’m completely caught off guard, still reeling with annoyance and confusion toward Oscar, but before I can embarrass myself, he steps right up with an answer. “The woman’s eyes seem sad and detached as she watches the carnival from above. So maybe they could represent the feeling of being unhappy without being able or willing to make the change to happiness.” Ms. Roberts looks impressed and she’s not the only one. The teacher continues to question other groups about what they think different parts of the cover could mean, but I’m not listening. I’m just staring at him, wondering what I did to deserve to be forced to get to know such a contradictory and mystifying person. Ms. Roberts continues to talk for the remainder of the class and I’ve just resolved to ask him why he touched my hand like that and what that strange feeling I had meant when the bell signaling the end of class finally rings. But before I can get out what I need to say without sounding like a crazy person, he beats me to the punch. “So what’s your name again Miss Lover of Gatsby?” he says with that annoying smirk I’m quickly becoming all too familiar with. I know he’s just saying this to distract me but it bothers me that he knows me enough already to realize that this will annoy me. And while I do admit that I take the bait, I can’t forget what happened, not by a long shot. But I play along anyways. “You can remember all the intricacies of The Great Gatsby but you can’t remember what my name is?” I sigh as if exasperated. “It’s Evelyne. Evelyne Primrose.” “That’s definitely different,” he says. I’m about to make a retort back, seeing as how I’ve had to deal with comments like this before, when he surprises me once again. “It suits you.” Somehow I know he’s saying this as a compliment, not an insult like I would have guessed. His smile is almost triumphant as if he’s the brilliant one that came up with my name and not my parents. “See you tomorrow, Evelyne.”
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 17:48:32 GMT -5
He doesn’t lie. The next day when I walk into class, he’s sitting at the desk beside mine like he’s waiting for me. I’d half hoped he wouldn’t be there just so I could prove that he wasn’t always honest like he said he was. I mentally prepare myself to be annoyed for the next hour when a happy distraction walks through the door. We talked earlier during chem. lab, of course, but I guess he’d rather talk to me then his other friends today, at least during the beginning of class. He leans against the corner of my desk with his back facing Oscar who gives me a quick taunting smile before rummaging around in his back pack. I decide to ignore him and look up at Tommy. “So I’m having a party in a few of weeks before the basketball season,” he says with no preamble. “You should come.” I’d definitely heard about the party, his annual start of basketball season get-togethers are pretty much legendary at my school. But usually an invite to one is hard to come by and would be highly coveted among some of my friends. “You want me to go to your party?” I ask him stupidly. But really I can’t think of anything else to say. I’m still expecting him to get up and say ‘Ha, just kidding!’ “Sure I do. We are friends aren’t we?” Despite the smile that this last bit brings to my face, I’m a little hesitant to say I’ll come and for more than one reason. For one, I’m sure it’s going to be much different from the parties me and some of my friends have. We usually just go over to someone’s house, order a pizza and watch a movie or play Monopoly or something like that. But I’ve heard plenty of stories about what happens at Tommy’s parties to know that ours won’t even be in the same league. Beer kegs and strip poker will probably factor into their source of entertainment somewhere and that’s not really my definition of a good time. There’s also Tommy’s girlfriend to consider. I don’t really think she could kick my ass, seeing as how I have almost five inches and twenty five more pounds on her, but I’m sure she could find someone who could. And besides the threat of an imminent ass kicking, there’s also the part of me that’s wondering if I’m really willing to be that girl, the one that causes drama and gets into fights over a high school boy. Then there’s that stupid feeling I have that I can’t seem to shake, the same kind of thing that I got when Oscar touched my hand yesterday. But this time I know, still without understanding how, that I shouldn’t go to the party, that it’s a bad idea. And of course this just makes me angry because I know that for some reason this reaction’s connected to my knew annoying pal Oscar and it feels like it’s him that’s saying that I shouldn’t go. If there’s one thing that I don’t like, it’s being told what to do by somebody who irritates me. But even then, I decide I need more time and the consultation of my friends to make up my mind whether or not to go. I smile at him and say, “I’ll have to think about it.” His smile falters ever so slightly. “What’s there to think about?” “Um, I have to ask my parent’s permission.” I know right when I’m saying the words that this is the dumbest excuse I could have come up with. What sixteen-almost-seventeen year old needs to ask their parents’ permission before going out? Or what cool sixteen-year-old, I should say when I realize that I do need to ask them first. I can hear Oscar trying to cover up his laugh with a cough. I’m mortified but I see that Tommy only takes this as trivial information. “Oh, well that’s no problem. My parents can vouch for you.” I spare a moments’ thought about what kind of parents would lie to someone else’s parents for their son or daughter but quickly push it away. They probably don’t even know what their son’s up too, not that it’s much different from the typical teenage boy. “Uh, sure, thanks,” I say. He scribbles his number down on a corner of my notebook before giving me one last parting smile and joining the rest of his friends. I just keep staring down at the numbers for a while before I realize that I’m not the only one staring. I glance beside me to see that Oscar’s expression is somewhere between disgusted and amused. “What?” I say, perhaps a little too pugnaciously. “You’re actually going to go, aren’t you?” I don’t know what pisses me off more, the disapproving tone in his voice or the fact that he knows I’ve already made up my mind. “Like I said, I have to think about it. It’s none of your business anyways and it’s rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.” “Even if the other twenty five people in the vicinity are hearing it too? Really you two made it impossible not to listen.” My face turns beat red as I turn toward him. “You really think everyone else was listening?” I whisper. “Um yah,” he says as if this should be obvious, and maybe it should be, “Obviously you’re not that well acquainted with the lime light.” I turn to face forward in my desk again to try to figure out what he means by this and if it’s another insult. Luckily for me, Ms. Roberts gets the class started before Oscar can say anything else that I have to decipher. But I don’t feel lucky for long.
|
|
|
Post by Friday on Nov 3, 2010 21:56:37 GMT -5
((I like it, I feel liek you've written so much more than me!! lol))
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 22:06:13 GMT -5
(( lol. well i'm pretty much burnt out now so we'll how tomorrow goes... this last post was getting hard to write.))
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 3, 2010 22:08:57 GMT -5
“Good afternoon, class. A lot of you seemed a little unprepared yesterday with your responses over symbolism. So I’ve decided to assign a paper that will be due next Monday over the symbolism of the Gatsby’s cover art.” Around me I can hear the groans of my fellow students, but I’m not particularly concerned since English essays tend to be my bread and butter. It’s kind of hard not to when you’re dad is a College English Professor… “For those of you who did well yesterday,” and here I’m sure she makes a pointed look in Oscar’s direction, “this will just be extra practice for you.” I’m sure she can sense the resentment in the air directed at her because then she adds, “I know this is a bit short notice and that many of you aren’t yet confident in your essay writing skills. So I’m going to allow you to make this a group effort. But,” and now I know exactly what she’s going to say. I have to fight back the urge to grown in annoyance just as everyone else did, “I want you all to work with the same partners that I assigned you to yesterday.” Chapter 2 Finally, the bell rings and I’m walking toward the band hall to wait for Angela to get out of practice to give me a ride home. I don’t care that I’ll be here for over an hour, bored out of my mind because I forgot to bring my current book from home. I’m just glad to be getting away from him. We spent the entire class arguing and I was at my wits end. We weren’t even really fighting about our project. When Ms. Roberts releases us to work in our groups on the paper, the first thing he says sets me off. “So, will we be going to your place or mine, Gatsby?” I’m already scowling after eleven words from him. “What are you talking about, your place or mine? And why did you call me Gatsby? You’re not still going on about our disagreement yesterday, are you?” “To your first question, I meant where are we going to work on the assignment? And to the last two, I think Gatsby’s a good nickname for you and it has nothing to do with our discussion yesterday.” He just smiles and I feel like my anger is somehow tied to his happiness. I know he thinks he’s being clever somehow and I don’t want to give the satisfaction of being right. Still, I can’t figure out what he means exactly and I want to know, if for no other reason than to defend myself. “Ok, I give up, why is Gatsby an appropriate nickname for me?” “Because you’ve both fallen for jerks. Jerks that are taken, I should add.” It takes me a minute to understand who he’s talking about but then he makes his point clear. “Would you prefer the nickname Evey?” he teases. By now I’m pretty obviously outraged. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence; I don’t even know where to begin!” He just looks at me and raises his eyebrows, as if to say ‘Try me’. “Well for one I am not in love with him!” I practically hiss. “We are just friends. End of discussion. And you don’t even know him, what makes you think you can go around calling people you don’t know jerks? And I am well aware of his girlfriend, thank you very much.” I pause, trying to calm my fury. “Are you done?” he asks calmly. “Because I don’t think that you’re doing a very good job at keeping a low profile by yelling at the new kid,” I look over to see several people around us looking at us with strange expressions on their faces and I can only hope that they haven’t overheard what I was just saying. I also notice that Ms. Roberts is glaring at my across the room, her fingers still poised over the keys, probably upset that I’m speaking so harshly to her knew star pupil. When I turn back to face him and nod, he says, “Alright, you don’t love him. But it’s pretty obvious that you like him a lot. Anyone could read your face like a book.” My response is to simply glare at him. “And I don’t know him personally but I know the type. He’s got self important ass practically stamped on his forehead.” “He has only ever been nice to me, which is more then I can be said of some people I know,” I say indignantly with a pointed look at him. “Maybe so but it’s probably just because he wants something from you. Since you seem to be such a braniac it probably has something to do with that,” he says gesturing towards my advanced chemistry and pre-calculus text books. “But then again…” he gives me a look up and down that makes me sit up straighter in my seat, “he might want something else from you.” “Are you… Are you trying to flirt with me?” I say incredulously. He gives me a sneer. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just warning you, you look naive enough to actually believe a guy like that’s bullshit.” “Alright so now I’m predictable and I’m stupid. Thanks.” “I didn’t say you were stupid. Being innocent and being stupid are not the same thing.” For some reason, I feel more insulted when he calls me innocent then I would have been if he had just said I was stupid. “And what makes you think I’m so naive?” He laughs and says, “What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?” I actually think for a minute but quickly realize that stealing a five cent piece of gum when I was ten hardly counts as dangerous. “Well, just because I’ve never done anything really dangerous doesn’t mean I’m innocent. I read! I know what’s out there!” “Trust me. Reading about something dangerous is completely different from doing something that’s dangerous.” For the first time in our short acquaintance, I see a shadow of bitterness wash over his face before it disappears the next moment. Right then the bell rings and I’m out the door before he can blink.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 4, 2010 16:29:25 GMT -5
I sit down in the band locker room, knowing that even if one of the directors notices that I’m here, they won’t mind. I’ve never been in band but no one seems to mind that I’m always around. I remember that even though I forgot to bring my book from home I do have the school copy of The Great Gatsby with me. I consider reading it for about a minute before I dismiss the idea. I don’t really feel like being reminded of the so called similarities between myself and one of the main characters. So I pull out my Pre-Calc book and am trying to get some studying done when I see a pair of sneakers appear in my peripheral. I don’t even bother looking up. “What do you want now? To piss me off more, because I really don’t think that’s possible.” I can just make out Oscar’s figure sliding down the lockers to sit directly in front of me as I continue to stare at the page of my text book without actually reading anything. “I came to apologize,” I hear him say grudgingly. “Really? Well that’s a shocker.” “Will you please just put that book away for a second so I can talk to you?” I sigh exasperatingly before I close my book and finally look at him. His voice may sound reluctant and a little annoyed but his face looks sincere. I raise my eyebrow to indicate that I’m listening. He sighs and runs his hand through his thick dark curls as if he’s frustrated. “I told you I’m honest. Sometimes I guess that means I’m too willing to share my opinions even when I know no one cares to hear them. That combined with the fact that I’m not really a nice person can mean I’m a bit of an ass on occasion. So, like I said, I’m sorry.” I look at him for a few moments, thinking over what he just said before I finally say, “Apology accepted.” He smiles and I can genuinely tell that he’s happy that I forgave him. I can’t seem to figure this guy out with his literary wherewithal, cynical attitude, and honest sincerity. I’m beginning to believe that the mysterious look that he has about him that I rolled my eyes at upon first meeting him might actually be real. But before I can think too deeply into anything he changes the subject. “So what are you doing in here anyways?” “My friend Angela gave me a ride to school today so I’m waiting for her to get out of practice. How did you know where I was?” “I saw you headed this way when you got out of class so I just wandered around a bit until I found you.” I’m a little bit impressed that he went to the trouble to look for me after class when he’ll just see me the next day and almost say as much to him. I leave out the part about me being impressed though; I don’t want him to think that I can be that easily gratified. “I’m not actually going to be in class tomorrow. And we still need to decide where we’re going to meet up Saturday.” He starts to stand up as he says this then leans over me and sticks out his hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” I stare at his hand for a moment knowing that he’s doing the same thing again that he did before. He knows after I take his hand that I’ll go with him for some reason, this person that I’ve known for two days now. Most importantly I know that he knows something that I don’t, something about me. And that’s a fairly frightening prospect to behold. There are a million questions buzzing in my mind and he can tell that I’m trying to decide what to do. He just smiles and says, “You can trust me, you know.” I finally give up and accept his helping hand up. Sure enough, I’m immediately overcome with the feeling that he’s telling the truth and that I’ll be more then safe getting a ride home from him. Not that I ever felt in danger, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something, that same feeling that I’m getting right now. I look at him without trying to hide the accusation in my eyes and cross my arms in consternation. “How did you know?” “How did I know what?” he asks to innocently. I frown and role my eyes. As if that would fool me. “How did you know that I’d believe you if I took your hand? You did the same thing yesterday too, when you put your hand on mine. And don’t lie to me, you’re the one that said you were honest, remember?” Now it’s his turn to frown and I know he regrets telling me that he’s always truthful. We stand there glaring at each other for a few minutes and then he exhales a breath of air like he’s giving up. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” “Oh come on,” I say indignantly, “You don’t honestly expect me to accept that as an answer do you?” “No, not really,” he says with an ironic smile, “But that’s all I can tell you for now, ok? I promise that I will explain.” I narrow my eyes at him distrustfully. “Will this so called explanation be any time soon? And how do I know that you really are telling the truth?” “You are really stubborn, you know that?” He says this like he both admires my stubbornness and is disgusted with it at the same time. “Yes, I’ll tell you soon.” Here he reaches out and lightly places his fingertips on my arm. “And you already know that I’m telling the truth.” I sigh in frustration. He’s right. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it. “But how do I know?” He just smiles and says, “You ready to go already? I hate being cooped up in this place.” I sigh again, this time in defeat, and lead him out of the band hall and toward the student parking lot after leaving a note for Angela that I found a ride.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 5, 2010 1:42:19 GMT -5
We walk in silence for a few minutes before I finally decide that it’s too much. “So what do you think of Anderson Park High School so far?” He just shrugs. “Seems just like any other high school.” “Does your family move around a lot?” He glances at me for half a second before facing forward again and shrugs. “I guess you could say that.” “You know, that’s not really an answer,” I say, giving him a frown. “I don’t really like to talk about myself very much.” I actually scoff when he says this. I sentence like this totally supports my whole tortured-badass routine theory that I had going for him. I know that he’s being serious, I can just tell, but at the same time I’ve only ever heard people say things like this when they were trying to get attention because they have self confidence issues or whatever and want people to feel sorry for them. I mean come on, this is high school for God’s sake; all of us feel insecure at times if not all the time. But what’s really making this hard for me is that he’s just trying to direct attention away from himself instead of the other way around. I don’t know how to react to a person like that. “Yah, saying things like that… It doesn’t really inspire feelings of trust.” He laughs at that like I’m joking or something. Which I’m not. Finally we make it to what I assume is his car at the back of the parking lot. It’s an old grey Toyota Corolla but somehow I was expecting a sleek black mustang or convertible but I guess I’ll never stop being surprised by him. He unlocks the driver’s side then reaches over to the passenger side to pull up the lock. I climb in as he cranks the engine. “It’s not much but at least it runs.” His car is very clean with no trash on the floor board or in the back seat, so unlike my friends cars with gum wrappers and empty fast food containers scattered everywhere. He watches me as I take a look around the car and smiles. “Do I pass inspection?” I give a smile in return. “With flying colors,” I give him directions to the neighborhood that I live in before I buckle my seat belt. He cranks the engine and puts it into first gear before gracefully changing into second and third as we pick up speed. “What a person’s vehicle is like inside can say a lot about them. For example, if I was lucky enough to own a car there’s no way I could keep it this neat.” “Oh yah? Well what does my car say about me?” he asks bemusedly. “Well it’s very clean which says you probably like to stay in control and keep things organized.” I glance up at his review mirror and see nothing hanging from it, not even an air freshener. I suppose with a car this spotless there really wouldn’t be any need for an air freshener anyway. “Also you don’t have any bumper stickers or personal objects in your car which could mean you don’t like to get too attached to anything.” My sentence ends with my voice sort of trailing off and I feel like I’ve said too much. I glance over to see that he’s not smiling anymore and that his posture has gone rigid. “You can tell all that from someone’s car?” He makes his voice sound lilting but he’s not fooling anyone. We slip into silence once again and this time it’s even more uncomfortable then the first. And again, I’m the one to break it. “Can I ask you a question?” I get the desired effect and the corner of his mouth quirks up in that half taunting smile of his. “Besides that one? And you can ask any question you want. I just might not answer it.” “Alright, how about this: Why don’t you like to talk about yourself?” “You say that like I’ve heard so much about you. We haven’t heard many insights into the life of Evelyne Primrose either, have we?” It pretty obvious that he’s just trying to deflect my question but I decide to let it go, for now. “Fine then, ask me anything you like.” I can tell that this takes him by surprise and I have the satisfaction of catching him off guard for once. He doesn’t take long to think about what he wants to know, though, and asks a pretty obvious question. “Why don’t you have a car?” “My parents want me to save up money to buy my own car. Because I’ll apparently respect a vehicle more if it’s bought with my own money.” I role my eyes. “You know, parent logic and all that. I’ve been babysitting since I was thirteen and I almost have enough to get myself a pretty decent used car.” He segues into the next fairly obvious question though I’ll admit not many people our age have asked me it. I guess most people don’t care to know. “What are your parents like?” “I hope you realize that all these questions I’m answering right now are going to have to be paid back later by answering some yourself.” I figure I should give him a heads up now so he won’t be surprised when I no longer put up with the whole I-don’t-like-to-talk-about-myself routine. I can see his knuckles begin to turn white from grasping the steering wheel so hard and he roughly shifts gears, not like he’s angry but like he’s resigned himself to a particularly uncomfortable fate. “I know,” he replies simply.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 6, 2010 2:01:42 GMT -5
“Right so my parents,” I begin, gratified that he’s actually agreed with me for once. “They’re pretty average, really. My dad’s a college English professor which doesn’t hurt my grades much, especially in English, and my mom’s a cut throat civil defense lawyer. It doesn’t pay as much as other lawyers can make but she says the work’s more gratifying so I guess that’s something.” “Do you have any siblings?” “Nope, I get to ask a question first,” I say with a mischievous grin. He already looks uncomfortable so I decide to give him one that’s pretty obvious and easy to answer. If he knows about my parents then I want to know about his, too. However, I know it’s not as easy a question as I thought it would be which becomes obvious as he shifts in his seat uncomfortably before the words are all the way out of my mouth. “My parents…” He gives me an uneasy glance before he continues. “My dad was never really in the picture much. I haven’t seen him in a while.” He doesn’t specify how long ‘a while’ is but I can tell that it’s been years. “And my mom passed away when I was fifteen. Breast cancer.” “I’m so sorry.” The words sound inadequate and over used but I have no idea what else to say and I hope he knows that I’m truly being sincere. I try to imagine my life without my parents and it’s impossible but the pain that it would cause is easy enough to picture. He just shrugs and I can start to understand why he doesn’t like to talk about himself. How tiresome and agonizing it would be to bring up the past over and over again to people you just meet, having to deal with their reaction and subsequent pity when all you want to do is forget about the hurt yourself. Yes, I can understand why he might close himself off from others. So I try to ease his anxiety a little by moving away from the ache without awkwardly dropping the subject entirely. “So who have you been living with since then?” I wonder if I actually see some of the tension ease from his posture or if I just imagine it. “I lived with my grandparents, my mom’s parents, for a while but then I moved in with some… friends of mine. I’ve been with them for a year before we moved here.” This statement causes me to think of about a thousand more questions, not to mention the fact that I don’t like how indistinct he’s being again. ‘Friends’ my ass. Like why his grandparents would let him move in with these so called friends when he’s still just a kid and why is he reluctant to go into detail about them? But he cuts me off before I can ask any of them. “Now answer my question, the one about if you have any siblings.” “Oh right. I have an older brother, Landon. He’s twenty one and about to graduate from Harvard Law School,” I say in a none-too-pleased voice. He whistles and says, “Pretty impressive. But you don’t seem too happy about it for some reason.” “No I’m happy for him and all. It’s just a lot for a younger sister to live up too, I guess. Our parents are really proud of him and they kind of have high expectations for me too but I don’t know…” My voice trails off. “But what?” he asks. “Do you ever feel like you have no idea what to do with your life? Like you’re searching for something but you don’t know what it could be?” He smiles like this is ironic. “I used to feel like that every damn day. But I’ve been answering more and more of my own questions in these last few months.” We finally make it to my neighborhood and in about a minute, we’re stopped in front of my house. “See, you just shared something about yourself even if it was still a bit ambiguous.” I sound like a pleased elementary school teacher who’s just taught there student how to read their first sentence or something. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He gives me a look that can only be described as annoyed. “Why are you so hell-bent on getting to know me anyways?” “Call me crazy,” I say as I pull open the door to get out, “but I was always under the impression that that’s how normal people make friends.” I step out of the car, close the door and lean through the open window to smile at his half startled face. If he had fun messing with me and the feeling was mutual. “So I’ll see you on Saturday to work on the project?” He leans over the seat and his face is only a few inches from mine and I have to fight the urge to back up. If he was trying to pay me back for my last comment by intimidating me, he was doing a pretty good job of it. He gives me that infamous smirk then says, “I’ll be here at noon.” He puts his car in reverse, I back away from the window and then he’s gone. We really need to stop this game of who can get to the other one more, I think as I see the tail of his car whip around the corner. I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed or not when Alex didn’t show up to English like he said. He keeps me on edge constantly with his sarcastic remarks and vague comments about what’s going on when he touches me. And if I was disappointed would it be because he proved himself to be true to his words once again and I really wanted to prove him wrong or if I was actually starting to enjoy his company…? The upside was that I did get some down time in Chemistry to talk to Tommy and have a conversation that consisted of more than “Will you pass that beaker?” or “Is that supposed to be bubbling like that?” The only problem was that he kept directing the conversation over to Alex instead of, oh say, how pretty he thinks my eyes are which is what I’m secretly hoping he’ll say to me one day.
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 6, 2010 2:02:32 GMT -5
“So, what’s the new kid like?” he asks like he just can’t help himself. “He looks kind of shady if you ask me.” I’m surprised that he says this and then I realize that I thought the same thing when I first saw Alex too. What’s more amazing is how much I already trust him when I barely know anything about him. I decide to stick to the truth as much as possible without casting an impression on Alex one way or another. I’m a big believer in forming your own opinions and trying not to influence others too much in what they do or decide. “Well I don’t really know him that well,” I admit, “But he seems like a decent guy, very… straightforward.” I try to keep the smile out of my voice but I can feel it creeping in. This doesn’t seem to make Tommy too happy if his frown is any indication. “I hope he doesn’t influence your decision to go to the party.” “Why would he do that?” I say, taken aback. He just smiles like he finds it reassuring that I have no idea what he’s talking about. “It’s just that I don’t really know the guy very well and since he’s not coming I thought you might not want to go as much.” “Of course not, that has nothing to do with it.” I don’t like that him saying this embarrasses me but I can feel my cheeks growing warmer. Luckily, Tommy doesn’t seem to notice. I see a flash of his perfectly straight teeth and he simply says “Good,” in a satisfied way. We’re silent for a few minutes before I say, “Well while we’re on the subject, you don’t really know much about me but you still gave me an invitation to your party.” I don’t know what makes me say it but I can’t help myself. I find it slightly odd that he commented on the fact that I don’t know Alex very well when I’ve only really known Tommy a few more days then him. “Sure I know you,” he says with a laugh. “We have been going to the same school since we were six.” He does make a valid point and I can’t deny the fact that I’m pleased he can remember me from our elementary school years. But I still can’t help myself from comparing my two new ‘friends’ with the two best friends I already have. Besides the fact that they’re not girls, I know very little about Alex or even Tommy where I know almost everything about Angela and Macy from Angela’s parents’ divorce to every guy Macy has ever had a crush on. Pretty much everything I know about Tommy is gleaned from what I hear from second hand rumors and who knows how much of that is fact or fiction? And as for Alex… well he’s just a whole mystery all too himself although I did feel like I was able to learn a lot about him in our car ride home yesterday. Despite my endless loop of unanswered questions, I manage to push any misgivings aside and talk and laugh with Tommy the rest of the Chemistry and even the beginning of English before he joins his friends at the other side of the classroom. The end of the week brings with it both the familiar relief of having a couple of days free of learning and the new anxiety I feel about spending part of my Saturday with Alex. I go to bed ridiculously early for a Friday night after going to the movies with a group of friends including Macy, Angela, and a random smattering of theater, choir, and band kids. I usually sleep late on Saturdays but I manage to get myself up at 8:30 to take care of some last minute details before Alex comes over like making sure there aren’t any dirty socks on my bedroom floor and reminding my parents again that yes, I had a boy coming over and no, he’s not my boyfriend. I still have time to kill, though, and pick up the latest book I’m reading about a de-evolved futuristic society that is very fascinating but very sad. Several of my favorite characters have been dying in extremely dramatic ways and being the over emotional person that I tend to be, I cry. I don’t like to admit it, but I tend to get lost in books sometimes, especially ones that I find addicting, and at some point I look up at the clock to see that it’s 11:56. I shoot out of my bed, grab the handful of tissues that I had been using to dry my eyes and race to the bathroom. But I’m too late, and the damage has already been done with very little time to fix it. If my suspicions are correct, Alex won’t be late and the evidence that I’ve been crying recently will be as plain as the nose on my face. I quickly do damage control: I blow my noise one last time and try to cover up my splotchy cheeks with some face powder my mom got me. It helps a little but my eyes are still noticeably red rimmed and my lips are also looking pretty ruby themselves. Luckily I didn’t have to worry about any mascara tracks down my face as I hardly ever where it. My mom bought me a whole slew of makeup products like lip gloss, eyeliner, and blush when I first got into high school but most of it has just stayed shut away. I guess I never really found a point to wearing it all the time, although I do admit that getting dressed up every now and then can be fun. I shrug my shoulders in defeat and have half way convinced myself that he probably won’t notice or think to ask anyways when I hear the doorbell ring. I glance at the clock on my desk as I’m leaving my room and sure enough it’s twelve o’clock on the dot. I practically run to the door in an attempt to get there before my parents do to avoid a potentially very embarrassing moment. I yank open the door and politely ask him to ‘please, come in’. Wouldn’t want to shame my mother and ignore her good hostess rules and all. However, someone must have never explained these rules to Alex because the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “You been crying, Gatsby? Hope old Tom didn’t break your heart while I was gone yesterday.”
|
|
|
Post by Tuesday on Nov 6, 2010 2:23:58 GMT -5
((as soon as I finished reading I was all "MORE!!!" lol I really like it a lot meghan! haha I saw the whole alex thing and was all "Who?" then I remembered lol))
|
|
|
Post by Monday on Nov 6, 2010 12:03:43 GMT -5
((lol thanks! oh yah, i forgot to tell kaylie, i changed his name from Oscar Fuentes to Alex Herrera. lol))
|
|
|
Post by Friday on Nov 6, 2010 12:17:15 GMT -5
((Yeah I figured it out rather quickly ))
|
|