by Tucker, RH
She doesn’t hate me. She loathes me. “It’s good.”
“Whatever.” She shakes her head. “What do you want, Carter?”
I stand there, blinking, unable to think of anything. As the seconds tick by, I know if I tell her who I am it’ll be a complete disaster.
“Oh, what? Nothing.”
“Good, then you can leave.”
Chapter 16
Emma
What I thought was the most anticipated lunch of my entire life, was turning into a lousy dream. Where is he? It's been nearly ten minutes, and I haven't heard from him. I pulled out my sketchbook to try and distract myself when who shows up but Carter Dixon. Looking cocky, his light brown hair waves in the air. I don't know if he meant to sneak up on me or not, but he did. And now he's standing over me.
He's looking at me like he doesn't understand that I told him he could leave. I am waiting for someone after all. Not like I need to tell him that.
“You do understand English, right?”
“Um, what?”
I look back up at him. “I guess not. You said you had to meet your coach, and that you’re doing ‘nothing’ here, so you can leave. You know, put one foot in front of the other and walk away?”
“Oh.” He looks down at his feet with an embarrassed look.
I pull out my phone and frown at the time. Fifteen minutes. Where is he?
“You waiting for a friend?” he asks, watching me put my phone away.
“No. It’s none of your business.”
“I know.” He shrugs, still leaning against the tree.
“Don’t you have friends to go eat your lunch with? Or maybe some more cheerleaders to hook up with?”
I look up and see a stunned expression. It's not like I know what he does, but the rumors are out there. Everyone knows he hooked up with Sarah at homecoming, and ever since then, the rumors have spread further, with multiple names. But he seems hurt. His pained expression makes me look away, down at my sketchbook.
I’m not sure if he’s trying to change the subject, but he motions toward my drawing with his leg. “That’s really good.”
"I didn't ask," I answer, feeling guilty about the malice in my voice.
I can't help it. Carter is one of the most popular seniors in our class, who seemingly gets whatever he wants by flashing that smile. His basketball buddy, Jeremy, is disgusting. And sure, Matt seemed like a nice guy, but for all I know he's just as bad. Being the senior class president, I've heard a couple of girls call him President McHottie. With a nickname like that, I'm sure he has the same size ego as Carter.
But the thing that irks me the most is catching him checking me out from time to time. Not that it isn’t a little flattering to know I catch a guy’s attention, especially someone like Carter, but still. I may not be able to see them if they’re checking out my butt, but at least try to avert your gaze if you’re looking at my chest.
“Are you drawing that for a friend?” he asks.
Letting out an aggravated sigh, I close the sketchbook. “It doesn’t matter what I’m drawing, or if I’m drawing it for someone. But I am waiting for someone, so if you don’t mind please, it’d be great if you just move along.”
The hurt that flashed before is gone, replaced by a coy smile. “He must be special.”
The audacity of this guy. I mean, I know who I'm waiting for, but he doesn't. I could be waiting for Jen or another friend who's a girl. Or I could be gay. He doesn't know.
“Who said it was a ‘he’?”
His eyes pop open, and I can't help the small smile that slips my lips. "Oh … she?"
I shake my head, looking at the ground. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. Not she. It’s a he. Now, would you please get out of here.”
He rolls his eyes with a smile but doesn’t move his feet. “Wow, he’s gonna have his hands full.”
“Oh my God.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You are such a jerk, you know that?”
There’s silence for a moment as I sit there. He mumbles something that sounds like sorry, but I can’t understand it. Plus, why would he act all hurt?
“What?”
“I said, I’m sorry.” Again, the candid look crosses his face.
“Why? For not leaving?”
“Jeez, I’m trying to be the better person here, Emma.” He sounds exasperated and shoves his hands in his pockets.
I scoff. “Better person? That’s a laugh. You’re just a dumb jock.”
"Well, I have the best grade in our history class, and I have a 3.95 GPA this year. So, no, I'm not dumb."
My eyes shoot up to meet his, a sudden honesty there. “You keep track of your GPA?”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, looking away. “I’m trying to get straight A’s this year.”
I pull out my cell phone again. Twenty minutes. A small pit of despair starts to form in my stomach. Had he shown up, taken a look at me and walked away? Oh no! What if he showed up while Carter's been here and didn't want to interrupt us, thinking we're … something.
“Carter.” My voice comes out softer and vulnerable. “Please, can you just leave?”
Hoping against hope that he at least has a heart, I wait for his feet to move. They don't. "You must really like this guy."
“And why would you say that?”
"Well, I mean, you're insulting me like crazy, and you keep urging me to get the hell out of here. But lunch is half over."
“Exactly, so you need to leave.”
"Yo!"
Someone yells, and my head spins around to see who it is. A guy runs across the courtyard, meeting up with his friends. My eyes find Carter's and he gives me a suspicious look. I can't keep the disappointment from spreading across my face.
“Guess that’s not him.”
“Carter, I’m starting to hate you more than I did before.”
“You seem like a very hateful person.” He chuckles.
“I’m not!” I argue, before letting out a sigh. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“That’s true, I guess.” He lifts his shoulders and elation jumps into my heart as I watch his feet move. He’s finally going to leave. Then, as quickly as the excitement hits me, it zooms on by, giving me the middle finger, as Carter slumps down and sits next to me.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” My words come out slow, as I grind my teeth.
“Sitting,” he says, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a protein bar. He nods to me with a smile, unwrapping it and taking a bite.
“Uh, no. Absolutely not. You need to leave.”
“Why?” He takes another bite, before looking around. “It doesn’t look like anyone else is gonna show up.”
The words sting. My face drops as I look around the courtyard. The couple that was sitting in front of me has left. There are a few other people, and they seem to be on their way out too. Tears prick the back of my eyes. No, I'm not going to cry in front of Carter Dixon. Besides, lunch isn't over yet. Maybe he got distracted, or detention or a teacher wanted to talk to him. It could be anything. But in my heart, the sad truth is starting to form. He isn't going to show.
As if sensing my discomfort, Carter gets to his feet.
“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”
His voice is soft. It’s comforting. But it doesn’t help the pain that’s stabbing my heart.
Chapter 17
Carter
What did I do? I wanted to try and be charming or flirty. I wanted to try and make her laugh and then be all, ‘Surprise, it’s me!’, but it completely backfired. The more time went by, the more she looked around, waiting for him—me—to show up. And the last comment did it.
I didn't mean to say it like a jerk. I was leading to something. I was going to say, ‘It doesn't look like anyone is going to show up' and as she looked, I would say something. Anything. But it all went out the window as she looked around and I saw what looked like her heart break. Shatter. It looks like she's going
to cry, and I feel like the biggest dickhead ever. How did I mess it up so bad?
I stare down at her in her derailed state. In class, even when she’d hurl death stares at me, she had this life about her. Vibrant. And thinking about it, that’s how her messages come across. Even sitting here, in her defeated state, she’s beautiful. I have to do something. I can’t just let her sit here, thinking I stood her up.
“God,” she snaps at me. “Stop staring at me. You do it enough during history.”
All thoughts of trying to cheer her up vanish as I look down at her, confused. “Excuse me?”
Putting her sketchbook in her bag, she stands up. “You heard me. Ogling me like I’m a piece of meat. All you stupid guys do it. It’s disgusting.”
Okay, she’s pissed off. That’s understandable, but I don’t want to be looped in with every guy in school. Guys like Jeremy, who actually did check out every girl’s ass that walked by.
“Ogling? Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She has every right to be annoyed. I know she’s hurting and feeling stood up, but I can’t stop the next words that come out. “Oh, and you don’t think whoever you’re waiting for—Mr. Perfect—isn’t gonna want to ogle you?”
Her eyes met mine. “Maybe, but that’s different.”
“Are you serious? How?”
“It just is.”
"Wait, so he can ogle you, but I can't ogle you?"
“Stop saying ogle.” She puts a finger in my face.
She’s inches away from my face. I see the tiny scar on her chin, almost like a cute dimple. And I can smell her. She smells like roses and some type of fruit. Is it a body spray? Perfume? As my eyes meet hers, she looks like she’s going to tear my head off.
“Fine, he can check you out, but I can’t?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Why?”
“I told you, it’s different. He’s different. I know him.”
A cocky smile crosses my lips. She does know me, more than almost anyone. Why can’t she see that I’m standing right in front of her? Oh, that’s right, because she hates me.
“You know him? How much?”
“It doesn’t matter, okay?” She turns around and starts walking away. “He’s nice.”
Oh, that does it. I’m totally offended, in a confusing kind of way. I run in front of her, stopping her path. “I’m nice!”
“No, you’re a douche. And a flirt. And a horndog.” She stares at me as my jaw drops. “Oh, don’t act all innocent. I know you and your friends. All the pop-jocks, getting whatever they want from the cheerleaders. Like at homecoming.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh, really? Enlighten me.” I fold my arms, waiting for her response.
She narrows her eyes, giving me a wicked smile. "Carter Dixon. Captain of the varsity basketball team. Every girl in school drools over you and you take full advantage of that like you did with Sarah Donovan at homecoming. Alicia Thompson loves giving the details of how you two hooked up over winter break. Oh, and Naomi Aguirre says she lost a pair of panties in the back seat of your car."
I just stare at her. I made out with Alicia that first weekend of winter break, but we never did anything more. I guess she liked to try and boost her rep too. And who the hell is Naomi Aguirre?
"You've probably been with at least a dozen girls this year, and it's disgusting. It doesn't matter how smart you are, Carter. Sleaze-balls like you are in every high school, every year, and yeah, girls are the same. But we're talking about you. It doesn't matter how many baskets you score. You'll still be a high school jock, just trying to get a piece of ass, probably not caring how many hearts get broken along the way. Oh,” her finger presses into my chest as a lump of shame lodges in my throat, “and the way you check out girls needs some work. I always catch you looking at my tits.”
“I …” I try to speak but can’t think of anything.
“Just because you look like you do, and have the talent you possess, doesn’t mean you can get whatever you want.”
She stands there, waiting for my reply, but I have none. There are literally no words. Most of what she said isn't true, but as far as my reputation goes, it is. And I'm the one that let it get to that. I thought it was cool. I thought it'd make me cool. The guys never seemed to mind. The girls didn't mind either. But to the one girl I cared about it did matter, and I have no way of defending myself. It hurts being called out for it, but not as much as knowing that's how she honestly feels about me. While texting I'm one person, a person she believes in and trusts in. But me, Carter, she's disgusted by.
She stares at me for a moment, reveling in the accomplishment of telling me off. I can’t stand to be in front of her, knowing how she really feels about me.
“I … I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
Chapter 18
Emma
For all the timidity I usually possess and being shy around guys I like, if someone gets me mad I have no problem telling them off. To me, getting angry at someone is not the same as flirting with someone. Yes, they both bring out high emotions, but when you're mad at someone, the words come out easier. Like liquid venom. Not that I like being a bitch, but sometimes people just need to be told. I try to convince myself that Carter is one of those people, but he just stands there, looking more stunned and embarrassed than I think I've ever seen him look. A wave of regret washes over me. He looks hurt. No matter how pissed off I am, I shouldn't be taking it out on him. After all, it isn't him I'm mad at.
He turns to walk away, and I want to stop him, at least to say sorry. Yes, most of the things I said are true, as far as I know, but still. They were ruthless. But I don’t stop him. I just watch him walk away, his shoulders slumped, and then turn around and lean against the tree. Now that he’s gone, maybe he would show up. But I know he isn’t going to. I wait the entire lunch period for no one to show.
I’m angry and hurt and embarrassed. I’m not feeling one specific emotion, but a torrential downpour of everything. I want to cry, feeling stood up, but I want to yell too. I want to scream at the top of my lungs but know doing that will just draw attention to myself. Who the hell is this guy? Why didn’t he show up?
My phone chirps and a flicker of hope sparks before I check it to see that it's just Jen, wanting to know how it went. The first bell rings to get to our next class, and I text him. I have to know what happened.
Emerald22: Where r u? What happened?
I stare at my phone, anxiously waiting for a reply to come. I never take my eyes off it, as I make my way to history. No response. Turning a corner, I look up to see Carter and Matt standing by the door. It looks like Matt is trying to talk to him, but he’s ignoring him and staring at me. A new wave of regret comes over me. His eyes meet mine, before he looks down, heading inside the classroom.
When I walk into the class, I glance over in his direction, but he isn't looking at me. His eyes are locked on his desk, his phone in his hands. He's probably tweeting about me being a royal pain.
I slump in my chair and pull out my phone again. I know he probably has his on silent, if he’s even bothering to stay in contact with me, but I send him another text.
Emerald22: I don’t understand…
Emerald22: Can you talk to me???
As Mrs. Yanick closes the door, I wait and watch my phone, switching it to silent. But there's no response. Putting it away, my face slumps into my hands, as I stare straight ahead. Trying to act like I'm paying attention, I do everything I can to not unload a downpour of tears.
When I get to art class, I should be excited. Ms. Hales had been speaking to me about our art show coming up, and she's very interested in the three pieces I'm preparing. For the next few weeks, we'll be working on them in class. I have a realism painting of a waterfall and an abstract painting, using our school colors. I planned on doing a self-portrait for my third, but as I wallow in misery, an idea hits me. I'll paint heartb
reak. And it's going to be my largest piece, six feet tall and three feet wide. I start by adding the base to the canvas with nothing but shades of blue and gray.
When the bell rings to end the day, I have flecks of paint all over my arms, but don’t bother to clean up. I even have it all over my shirt. It had been one of my favorite shirts, but now I hate it. It just reminds me of today’s terrible experience.
As I trudge along, I make it to Jen’s car; she’s waiting for me inside.
"So?" she says in high-pitched excitement. But as I sit down, it finally all comes crashing out, and tears stream down my face. "Oh no! No, no, no. What happened?"
“He didn’t show up.”
“What?”
“He …” I take a breath, trying to stop the tears, but there’s no stopping them. “I was just there. Waiting. He never showed.”
“Oh no, Emma.” She reaches over and hugs me. “I’m sorry.”
"I texted him, and he hasn't even replied. I don't get it." I look at her for answers.
"Boys are stupid jerks. You know this." She wipes away one of my tears. "He probably forgot or something. He's just an idiot."
“No. I think … I think it’s something else. I don’t think he would’ve just stood me up.”
“What do you think?”
"I don't know." I stare at my fingers, which are now nervously fiddling. "Maybe he did show up, and I didn't see him. Maybe he saw me and—"
“No. Don’t even go there, Emma. He’s an asshole. You’re beautiful. Hell, you’re hot. No, if he didn’t show up, for whatever reason, then he’s a worthless piece of crap.”
A small chuckle comes out as I try sniffing my tears away. “Thanks.”
“Come on.” She starts the engine. “We’re going to get chocolate.”
“What?”
"We're going to Patties, over on Fifth Avenue. That cake place? Chocolate always helps."
