“Why would you think that?”
“Well, you were online Monday, but then you left and never came back. Then I didn’t see you at school Tuesday or Wednesday, and you haven’t been online but for a few seconds over the weekend,” he shrugged. “When I saw you last Monday in the library, you seemed upset when you left, so I just wanted to check on you.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to reply to that. It made my belly fill with butterflies to hear Jackson say he wanted to check on me. That meant he was worried, right? If he was worried, that meant he cared about me, right?
“I’ve just been busy,” I finally said. It was a big, fat boldfaced lie, and as soon as I said it, I felt just as guilty as I did after I blew Jackson off and signed off of the Internet without a word.
Jackson nodded and after a moment, he finally asked, “So, you’re not mad at me or anything?”
My mouth went dry, and it felt as if all of the blood drained from my face and ran cold; I had to have gone pale. I didn’t know how to respond. His question—or was it worry?—had to be in response to me blowing him off. I couldn’t think of any other reason for him to ask.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and dodged the question with a non-answer. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Jackson shrugged and looked around. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I guess it just seemed like you were avoiding me.”
“Why would I do that?” I knew by not actually answering his questions directly, I was probably only making his suspicion grow, but I was curious. I wondered what he thought he could have possibly done that would result in me growing upset enough to avoid him.
“I don’t know!” Even though his stance was causal and relaxed, his tone belied his ease and gave proof of his exasperation. “That’s why I’m asking.”
The scrunched look of sheer confusion that appeared on his face intensified my guilt. Jackson and I were friends. If showing up to check on me wasn’t confirmation of that, then I didn’t know what was. I felt like a terrible person. I usually didn’t lie to anyone—especially those I considered friends—but I didn’t know how to dig myself out of this hole of deceit I’d mined.
“Well, if you haven’t done anything to upset me, then there’s no reason for me to be mad at you, is there?” I shrugged with a small smile of reassurance as I glanced up, meeting Jackson’s kind eyes. The uncertainty I found in them had me looking away quickly.
“So you’re not mad at me then?” He still sounded a bit unsure, but there was a hint of hope in his voice.
I shook my head and smiled fully for a second before biting my lip to keep from giggling. The guilt was still present, but Jackson’s worry about whether or not I was mad at him made me feel giddy with hope of my own.
Maybe Tegan was right. She’d tried to convince me he liked me for me and perhaps not only as a friend. I hadn’t taken her claims seriously; it seemed too unbelievable. Gorgeous, funny guys like Jackson didn’t go after girls like me when they could have someone like Skylar, who was equally gorgeous and confident.
Even though it went against the grain, Jackson was standing here, in front of me, making sure I was okay and I wasn’t upset with him. For the first time, I allowed myself to rethink things and take Tegan’s seemingly ridiculous ideas into consideration. Maybe it really was possible that Jackson could really like me.
Of course, just as these thoughts entered my head, and I started to let myself believe them, Skylar chose that moment enter the picture. She descended the stairs, waving like she was some kind of pageant queen, as she said, “Hey Jackson!”
“Hey,” Jackson smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels.
“What’s up?” Skylar asked as she reached the landing and walked over to Jackson and I, looking back and forth between us.
“Not much,” he shrugged. “Just talking to Silly.”
“Oh,” she said, glancing at me briefly before her eyes flickered back to Jackson. “So, did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, it was pretty good,” he nodded. “Lots of great food. How was yours?”
“Oh, you know,” she shrugged, smiling to reveal her perfectly straight pearly white teeth.
The sight of that smile caused a sudden intense feeling in my chest. It was like a heavy, thick fog filling my lungs with dirty, black anger. Who’d asked Skylar to join in on this conversation? Jackson wasn’t here to see her. Who did she think she was flashing him her perfect smile?
I had half a mind to blurt out that Skylar had to wear braces for close to three years because her teeth were so crooked. I wanted to tell him she used to get food stuck in them all of the time so he’d laugh at her the way Luke used to when it happened. I knew it was mean and childish and chances were Jackson wouldn’t laugh just because he didn’t seem the type to do that, but I half wished he would. I just wanted Skylar to feel small, stupid, and insignificant for once. Why did she always have to be in the spotlight?
I missed most of what Skylar said and Jackson’s response to it as I let my anger boil inside. Neither of them was even paying any attention to me. It was as if I were no longer there. How did that happen? Jackson came to see me. Why wasn’t he talking to me? Why wasn’t he asking me questions about Thanksgiving and smiling broadly at whatever answer I gave?
It all seemed so unfair, and jealousy reared its ugly head. I felt myself glaring daggers at both of them as they spoke. Words weren’t even registering anymore. I didn’t even care what they were saying. All I knew was Jackson was staring at Skylar with that stupid look of admiration guys always gave her.
What was there really to admire? Once you got past her looks, there wasn’t a whole lot of substance. Not really, anyway. Skylar’s favorite topic was usually herself, and the most interesting thing about her was her artistic ability, but even that got boring pretty quickly. Dark, depressing drawings that made me want to kill myself weren’t exactly worth getting excited over, were they?
The longer I thought about it the more I began to wonder if Skylar even had any talent at all. I knew it was mostly just anger making me harbor these feelings toward my sister, but I couldn’t help myself. It seemed so unfair. Why did Skylar always get everything? Why couldn’t I just have this? Why couldn’t Jackson just be mine? I didn’t care if it was only as friends. I just didn’t want Skylar butting in. It felt like as soon as she stepped into the room, I no longer existed.
Any feeling of guilt I had for ignoring or lying to Jackson no longer existed either. In fact, I felt angry for letting him off the hook so easily. I should have just confronted him about what Skylar said. I had half a mind to just jump in and ask if this was the real reason he had stopped by—use the excuse of coming to see me as a way to strike up conversation with Skylar. I chided myself for being so stupid. I should have seen it sooner. Why would Jackson care about me? He wouldn’t. He just missed having me as a means to get to Skylar.
I could feel myself starting to crumble. I’d allowed myself get my hopes up only to have them smashed seconds later. I felt stupid, used, and just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as I watched Jackson and Skylar for a moment longer.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed myself off from the wall and brushed past them, wordlessly, and rushed up the stairs.
I thought I heard Jackson call my name, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what either of them would think of me rushing out of the room so quickly, but I realized I didn’t care. In fact, I found it shocking they’d noticed at all. Of course, it was probably harder to ignore me when I shoved past them, reminding them of my presence.
When I made it to my room, I slammed the door behind me, turning the lock for good measure, before crawling into bed. Finally, I allowed the tears I’d been holding back to spill over.
What was I thinking? I asked myself for what seemed like the millionth times. It was stupid to even hope, allow myself to consider, I could ever hold Jackson’s attentio
n when he could so easily have Skylar.
Sunday, November 25th, 2006
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
My name’s Cecilia.
How do you do?
Everyone who knows me calls me Silly.
Growing up, I was rambunctious,
and not at all frilly.
I like a boy;
his name is Jack(son).
Every time he talks to me,
I have a spaz attack.
His hair is blue-black and eyes green-brown.
He once gave me a ride home from town.
He’s older and wiser and cooler than me.
My sister says it’s plain to see.
He wants to get to her through me.
I don’t know if it’s true,
but if it is, what shall I do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
While I was often prone to daydreaming, I was usually good about shaking myself out of it pretty much unscathed—and by unscathed I mean no one noticed the blank stare that typically came with distant thoughts and wonderings of my imagination running amuck. However, for first the time, at school on Monday I found myself wondering if I was caught in a daydream I couldn’t shake myself out of because the only other possibility was I’d stepped into an alternate reality; quite possibly the twilight zone.
The day started off normal enough with me riding to school with Skylar.
She asked, “What’s with running off like a lunatic last night?”
I ignored her, deciding I was no longer speaking to her, and after a moment of huffing around haughtily, like I’d offended her, she turned up the radio and sang along with it the entire drive. It wasn’t until that morning I actually realized my sister couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, and I wanted to rip her tongue out, so she could never sing again, by the time we arrived at school.
I immediately went to find Tegan, so I could tell her about what had happened the night before. I’d wanted to call her, but I’d been unable to locate my handset. I suspected Luke had likely nabbed it after misplacing his own, and I refused to leave my bedroom—even when Mom came upstairs to tell me dinner was ready.
Stomach growling, I’d lied through the locked door, claiming I wasn’t hungry because I’d snacked all afternoon. It certainly wasn’t one of my best moments, and I’d fallen asleep a hungry angry, sad liar.
“Oh, Silly,” Tegan grimaced as she pulled me into a hug once I’d finished telling her about my evening.
“It’s just not fair,” I complained. “I don’t know why Skylar feels like she has to butt in and take over everything.”
“She’s not even really that pretty,” Tegan commented. I pulled out of our hug to look at her face. I thought she had to be kidding, but, aside from scowling, she seemed sincere.
I might have agreed that Skylar had an ugly personality at times, but not even Tegan, as much as I’d liked to believe her, could convince me that my sister was anything but physically attractive.
Still, the lie made me feel a little bit better.
“And perk up,” Tegan added. “I’m still not sold on the idea that Jackson was there to see Skylar.”
I wanted to argue, but she held up a hand, cutting me off. “Let me tell you about our trip to see my grandparents,” she said, sighing heavily.
I raised an eyebrow, in askance, and she launched into the harrowing tale of the drive that should have been two hours that turned into a four-hour drive. I knew it was partly a distraction tactic, but I was happy to listen.
Tegan was pretty great about being there for me when I needed to vent my frustrations. She might not have agreed with my conclusions lately, but she allowed me to feel angry and resentful without telling me I was wrong for feeling that way. I felt bad, though, because things had been so much about my drama lately.
Tegan’s story about her the holiday weekend helped to perk me up a bit, and she insisted that I come over to her house after school so we could pig out on junk food, watch funny movies, and just veg out for a while. It sounded like heaven to me.
The first two blocks of the day seemed to drag on forever. I tried my best to pay attention, but the teachers just couldn’t hold my interest. They could have discussed pop culture for all I knew, and still I wouldn’t have cared.
All I could think about was crawling back into bed or, more accurately, lounging around on Tegan’s couch. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so thoroughly drained. The holiday had been a nice reprieve from the stress, but it wasn’t long enough to erase the confusion and stress that had me feeling like I was on an emotional roller coaster.
I could remember being a very sensitive child. When I was happy or excited about something, I wanted everyone to know. As happy as I often was, I cried just as easily. Anything could trigger it—a sad movie or story or a song.
Even when I was angry, instead of yelling or throwing things, I’d start crying. Apparently that hadn’t changed. I had no idea why, and I often felt ridiculous afterward. After all, who cried because they got in a fight with their brother or sister?
It had been even more embarrassing when the bouts of tears happened at school. I’d been called a crybaby more times than I could even begin to count. I’d learned to curb the emotional outbursts pretty quickly, but it was just another thing that set me apart from my peers. Sometimes I still longed for the days when it was just Mom and I at home. Back then I never wished I were more like everyone else.
As much as Skylar aggravated me, I knew my jealousy stemmed from wanting to be more like her. It didn’t make much sense because, most of the time, I didn’t really like my sister, but what she lacked in kindness she more than made up for in looks. It wasn’t even so much that I even wanted to be some great beauty like Skylar, but, like most girls, I had those moments where I wished I were better looking or could change certain parts of my body. I didn’t necessarily think of myself as ugly; I was just average looking.
There wasn’t anything particularly special about me. Often times I couldn’t see what everyone thought was so great about Skylar either, but sometimes I’d find myself thinking, “If only I had half of her charm.” Because she could be charming when she felt so inclined. She could also be funny, and even though I wasn’t a fan of her dark drawings, she was talented in her own way.
To other people she just had something that I seemed to lack, and as much as I hated myself for it, I wished I had a little bit of whatever it was as well. I didn’t want or need to be the center of attention. I just wanted to be noticed every once in a while. I just wanted someone—namely a guy—to look at me and think I was pretty great.
My melancholy was further intensified when I spotted Skylar in the hallway, flashing that damn perfect smile of hers at some guy between first and second block.
Thankfully, Mrs. Willis wasn’t a sadist and didn’t call on me during Spanish because I wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. If she had asked me how I was doing, I wouldn’t have known how to translate “I feel like shit” into Spanish.
As much as it had been instilled in me over the years—mostly by Dad—that life wasn’t fair, I couldn’t help but feel slighted. Skylar could have her pick of any guy she wanted, so why did she have to continually come around and butt in whenever Jackson was around? He seemed far too normal for her taste. He wasn’t pierced and didn’t have any obvious abnormalities. Sure, he smoked, but by Skylar’s standards, he was rather boring.
Besides, her claim was that he was using me to get to her, but that didn’t mean she had to be so receptive. If she were a decent sister, she’d back off. Of course, that meant she’d have to acknowledge my feelings for Jackson. Or, rather, I’d have to admit that my feelings for Jackson went beyond simple friendship.
As much it appealed to me, I couldn’t fully blame Skylar. It was easy to say, “This is all Skylar’s fault, and she just needs to go away,” but the truth was Jackson wasn’t helping the situation any because as soon as my sister pranced into th
e room, she was his point of interest.
Tegan had tried to make the point before that Jackson couldn’t very well ignore her because that was just rude. I almost wished he were rude to her. After all, she didn’t need any more attention to fuel her ego. It was already taking up far too much space. If she kept it up, I had a feeling I was going to die of suffocation before the school year was out. After all, how was a girl supposed to breathe when her sister was sucking up all the air?
I couldn’t even console myself in saying that Jackson was just my friend because, in all honesty, he and Skylar knew each other first. It felt like a stretch to say they were really friends, though. I’d never seen him around other than that one time he came to the house with Scott, so they couldn’t be very good friends, could they?
It had also occurred to me that maybe Jackson was going through me to get closer to Skylar because he didn’t want to be obvious about moving in on her so soon after she and Scott split up because he’d known, and I thought was friendly with, both of them. Befriending me gave him a good pretense to come over to the house.
I felt like I just kept going around in circles. I didn’t know what to think or believe anymore. I almost wished I’d never met Jackson. It felt ridiculous to be so torn up over a guy I’d only met a couple of months earlier and had only been friends with one of those months.
We weren’t even close friends. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, and he hadn’t, technically, done anything wrong either, so it wasn’t as if I really had the right to be jealous or angry. Still, technicalities did little to make my resentment go away.
As much as I wanted to claim it was just the friendship I cared about, I couldn’t, in good conscience, say it was true. I really liked him. Sure, I was still getting to know Jackson, but everything I knew about him thus far, with the exception of smoking, I liked. It wasn’t that I just thought he was cute or cool either.
I’d never liked a guy the way I liked Jackson—not even when I had a hardcore crush on Justin Timberlake in the fifth grade. This was a whole new territory, and I really felt like I was in over my head. I was beginning to realize why these things were called “crushes” because it hurt like hell to realize those feelings probably weren’t mutual.
Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) Page 25
