by Hazel Grace
Then I remember there is only one way to deal with Colson when he’s angry.
It was to flee because you weren’t going to win. And that’s exactly what I want to do. Problem is, his scowl is pegging me to the cement and it won’t swallow me whole right now.
This was such a bad idea.
He raises a brow. “Well?”
“I...uh—I came to talk to you about...my sister.” His palm lands on the back of the door, positioning to slam it in my face, until I sacrifice my foot into the door frame. “Colson, stop.”
“Fuck you and your sister,” he fumes with flared nostrils. “I’m not—”
“I’m so sorry about your mom,” I sputter, feeling cold under his icy glare. It’s not the best timing but I wanted him know. “I was out of town when she passed, I would’ve come to the funeral.”
“And I would’ve kicked you out,” he deadpans. His words hurt even though they shouldn’t.
They really shouldn’t.
I did this.
I made him hate me. It could’ve been resolved if he would’ve just listened to what really happened. But he was tough and all-knowing, making it almost impossible to get through to him.
“You can’t seriously still hate me,” I mutter, not sure if it was loud enough for him to hear. “We were young, I tried to apologize and—”
“I don’t hate you,” he remarks, sliding his hand down the edge of the door. “I fucking loathe the sight of you, Bases.” He says it so matter-of-factly that it tugs at my confidence. That I’ve spent years slowly picking myself up and becoming myself again after him. That people break up all the time and survived, so why was I any different?
“Colson—” He slams the back of the door with his palm.
“Get off my property before I call the cops.” He then lets out a growl.
Yeah, I’d wish him good luck with that.
The police here wouldn’t do anything but tell us that we’re old friends, we went to school together, and tell us to quit and make up.
“You didn’t have to bring my sister into our little high school fight,” I counter, letting my temper surface just a tad after all these years. “You wanted to play the victim, didn’t want to listen. Then after all these years, you’re back, fucking my sister, and then get me involved.”
“I didn’t get you involved in shit,” he argues, a vein in his neck twitching. “I ended it the moment my eyes landed on you.” He towers over me, taking a step in my direction. “And I was the victim in your little web of lies, Bases. Skylar deserves to know what happened, why I’m not responding to her shit, besides the obvious fact that she’s irritating as fuck. I was just being truthful and shit, you know, something you know nothing about.”
“I tried.”
I did. I tried so fucking hard that it drove me insane.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, good for you, Bases. You tried. Maybe you should’ve just grew a pair of balls and told me that you weren’t into me like that. That way I wouldn’t have wasted my fucking time on someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“That’s wasn’t what it was,” I counter. “I never—”
“I honestly don’t give a shit,” he quickly retorts. “I just want you to get the fuck away from me and stay away. Pass that memo along to your sister too.” I clench my hands into fists at my sides. What I wouldn’t give to have a baseball bat in my hands right now.
“How about you tell her, hot shot,” I snap, my eyes narrowing at the asshole that used to constantly taunt me. Order me around. Try and make me do what he wanted. “Maybe her lack of listening is something you can relate to.”
A smirk slowly plays on his face. “Nah, I’ll let you handle that. She isn’t and wasn’t shit to me.” My nostrils flare in pure exasperation, and I take a step toward him, making me have to peer up at him.
“Does it get you hard to know when you’re upsetting someone? Because having to deal with a very upset—”
“Deal?” he repeats, closing more space between us. I can smell his shampoo, something woodsy and fresh, circulating between us. “Don’t talk to me about dealing with shit, Bases. I lost my chance at a scholarship, my dream, my friends, the only thing I ever wanted—poof—” he elaborates with his hands. “gone. All because you didn’t say you wanted him over me.
Ten years ago
“We don’t have many options here,” I tell my boyfriend, Logan, as we stand in line at the only burger place in town. “But the burgers are so good.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.
“Smells good,” he replies, looking down at me. “I’m just happy my dad let me come down and see you.” I give him a big smile.
Logan and I started dating about two months before Dad moved us down here. We didn’t want to break up, so we’re trying this long-distance relationship thing out. It’s hard, but we talk every night and text each other constantly on the weekends and school nights after nine since minutes and texts are free. Dad about murdered me when the phone bill was almost five hundred dollars last month.
“How’s everyone?” I ask him. A twinge of loss mixes in with my words.
I miss home.
I want my friends back, my school, I’ll even take the disgusting lunch food. I long for the familiarity of home, knowing where everything is and the simple amenity that there is always more than one showing of a movie at the theatre. The one in Freemont closes at ten and shows one movie maybe twice a day if you were lucky.
Oklahoma was so much different than Michigan. The kids are more sports driven and close-knit in Freemont. Our high school had over a thousand kids, whereas here, I think we were brimming three hundred. Everyone knew everyone, you know, the normal stuff you hear about in small towns. Mama warns me repeatedly to watch myself so that gossip doesn’t spread about me. I’m not sure what she means because I keep to myself, get good grades, and try hard to keep a gracious distance from Colson and his friends.
“Mia misses you,” Logan conveys, tapping his fingers on my upper arm. “She asks about you in class while she is texting you.” I laugh because she would do something like that.
She’s been my best friend since third grade, and if I’m being honest, it was harder to leave her behind than Logan. From doing homework after school together and going to the mall, to our late-night conversations on the phone; she was my other half ripped away from me by a horrible life change in my family. AKA Dad’s new job opportunity.
“I miss her too,” I reply as we scooch closer to the order window with the moving line. For a spring evening, it’s a little chilly. I sniff Logan’s sweatshirt that he lent me and insist I keep, smelling of American Eagle cologne. The same one Mia and I used to smell every time we went into the store, gawking at all the things we wanted to buy.
“Are you going to come home for the summer?”
“I hope so,” I say. “Mama doesn’t want me to go on a plane alone, but I’m working on Dad.” Logan chuckles as he eyes the menu.
“I hope you do. My mom said you could stay with us if you want.”
“Mia already offered, but you live five minutes away, I’ll see you all the time.”
“Let’s go to Cedar Point and ride every roller coaster.”
I snap my fingers. “And Soak City.”
“We can sneak into two movies at the theatre one night too.”
“And we can ask your brother if he’ll take us to a nightclub.” Logan wrinkles his nose, and I fight to roll my eyes. That was one thing I wish he would loosen up on, being so restrained.
He didn’t do fun. Well, my definition of the word, anyway. Logan liked stargazing and rock hunting. His favorite thing to do was, not to camp, but to traipse through the woods and along the shores to find “treasures.” I went with him and his friends once, thinking we were going to build a campfire and make some s’mores at night before heading back. But Logan looked at me like I grew a second head with the idea.
Mia and I, however, liked to dance and g
o to the art museum in Detroit. We liked to go to the Woodward cruise to watch all the classic and expensive cars drive by. We’d buy nose-bleed tickets to a Tigers game and binge on nachos and pop. Logan skipped out on all those things. Which was okay, it didn’t bother me, it just gave me more time with my best friend.
“You know I can’t dance,” Logan points out. “I’ll be that loser on the wall.”
I look up at him. “You’ll be with me. And besides, you’ll have to learn at some point because of homecoming and prom.” He blinks at me. “You are going, aren’t you?”
He gives me a weak shrug. “I dunno, we’ll see, I guess.” A tinge of disappointment flickers in my chest. I was hoping he’d ask me. I’ve never been asked to a dance before, I got to watch all my friends grab dates but I’ve always been the third wheel. And getting Logan to ask me would also give me the opportunity to go back home and see all my friends.
“Well, if you don’t take her, I will,” a voice interjects behind us. Logan and I both turn around to see Colson and another guy from the baseball team, I think his name is Ben, standing behind us.
My eyes widen before my mind registers that I can’t stand him just like he can’t endure the actual sight of me. Especially with his insufferable nickname of “Bases,” reminding me of my humiliating faceplant between first and second base last week.
“What are you doing here?” I ask lamely. It’s pretty self-explanatory, all the kids come here because it’s this or the mini sub shop down the street.
“Eating,” he deadpans, eyes narrowing on me.
I can't read him. Since I've known him, I've always had trouble with that. All I did was accidentally bump into him that one time on the baseball field, gave him back a stupid ping pong ball at the party, and now, I’m on a hit list of people he wants to taunt whenever he sees fit.
“Hey, Sawyer,” his friend next to him chimes in. He could match for Colson’s brother, same chestnut hair, almost the same height, but he’s a little bulkier. Minus Colson’s brown eyes to his friend’s blue ones, they could be related.
“Hi,” I reply back. “Ben, right?” He nods. “This is my boyfriend, Logan.”
Logan extends a hand out to Ben. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, man.” Ben looks at me. “From Michigan, right?”
I can’t help the tug from my lips. “Yeah.”
“Came to visit my girl,” Logan states while pulling me back into him. Colson’s gaze moves to his fingers that are firmly gripping my shoulder. “We haven’t seen each other since she left.”
“That’s cool,” Ben chants, shifting his weight to one leg. An awkward silence falls between us, and now I’m anxious to just grab our food and go.
“Well,” I say. “I’ll see you at practice.”
“You need any more help with that swing?” Colson interjects, looking at Logan instead of me. “I’d be happy to stay after practice again to help.”
Ew, no.
“I’m good,” I quickly reply. “Gavin has been working with me.” Logan bows his head down in my direction.
“Who’s Gavin?” The corner of Colson’s mouth lifts, thrusting dread into my veins.
He wouldn’t.
It’s not that I’m hiding Gavin, there isn’t anything there. He just pitches the ball, gives me words of encouragement, and leaves me be. He’ll high five me in the hallway to say hi, ask me about Logan, and that concludes our “relationship.”
“A guy on the baseball team,” I verify. “I’ve been having a hard time seeing the ball on the inside of the plate.”
“She doesn’t like them,” Colson adds, which gets Logan’s attention again.
“But I need to hit them,” I counter, getting my boyfriend’s focus desperately back on me. “I don’t want any weaknesses to be shown to the pitcher, ya know?”
“You hit inside pitches now, Bases?” Colson retorts, crossing his arms. His eyes scan my face, looking for my blatant lie. “Did you take my advice on how you could get whatever you wanted if you just tried? Because I’m still waiting.”
I exhale a floundered breath, feeling my cheeks burn from anger and pure annoyance. I hate that he’s implying that I’m doing inappropriate things when I’ve been distinctly keeping a large distance between us.
“Do you want to go grab some Mexican food,” I ask Logan, needing to escape. “There is this small little place on—”
“It tastes like shit,” Colson dismisses as though he has a say in what we do.
“I...uh…” Logan glances at both of us, not knowing what to do. Like we’re on some weird three-way date with Colson, splitting him in half with making a decision.
I purse my lips together while Colson smirks at me again then slowly lets his gaze fleet over my yellow spaghetti strap shirt and shorts. He takes his time, biting the inside of his lower lip, as though he’s imagining what my skin looks like under my clothing.
He might not see it, but I feel completely bare under his gaze. His scrutiny is intense, causing a violent shiver to roll through my spine. He notices it too because the corner of his lips curve more upward.
Just shoot me now, please.
“The line is moving up,” Ben chimes, giving me a reason to turn around so I don’t light up more like a Christmas tree at Colson's eye-screwing me.
He’s doing all this on purpose.
I can feel his eyes on my back, and I clutch on to Logan’s arm like an anchor of safety.
Colson intimidates me. I hate admitting it to myself, but it’s true. He’s confident while I’m paranoid. He’s loud while I keep to myself and open up with time. And I find myself wishing that Logan was like him.
Wait, no. I don’t want to date an asshole.
Just a tad bit of initiative would be nice though, to stand up to Colson’s obvious crap of trying to make me feel uncomfortable.
But Logan is nothing like Colson, he’s mellow, relaxed, and...well, a goody-two-shoes. He’s never tried to move past first base with me, and even then, he kissed like I was a fragile doll.
And sometimes, I find myself wishing for a little more.
Mia has gone all the way with a guy, she raved about it for weeks. And while I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, I wouldn’t be opposed to him touching my butt or something.
When we are finally ready to order our food, I’ve lost my appetite. Logan clearly hasn’t, ordering a double cheeseburger with bacon. We find a picnic table for us to sit at and eat after we grab our food. I pick at my fries, suddenly feeling weird about continuing to date Logan.
It’s like a slap to the face that he doesn’t want to do anything but go on roller coasters and to the movies. That he blatantly didn’t see Colson messing with me, and if he did, didn’t do anything about it.
For the most part, I can stand up for myself but isn’t that part of his job description as my boyfriend? I should feel safe and secure when I’m with him, not feel like we have to leave a burger joint because I can’t take Colson’s antagonizing anymore.
“Take care, guys,” Ben voices, waving at us. I give him a weak wave back before glancing at Colson. He pops a fry into his mouth and gives me a wink, plainly happy with himself.
“They’re...nice,” Logan mutters in between bites of his burger.
Ben, sure.
Colson, are you deaf?
“I didn’t know you were having trouble with softball.”
“I’m not,” I object defensively, dipping my fry in ketchup. Logan glances up at me and I readjust my tone. “I just...don’t like inside balls.”
He perks a brow. “So, that guy was right?”
I give a light shrug. “My coach wants me to be able to hit the ball anywhere around the plate.”
“Can I come to one of your practices?”
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
“Um…sure.”
“When’s your next one?”
“Saturday. We’re having a small scrimmage.”
Logan grabs his Pe
psi and grins. “Can’t wait.”
God, I wish you would.
Ten years ago
The bass of Freek-a-Leek by Petey Pablo blares through the living room speakers of Ben’s house. My dick is being ground on by Becky’s round ass, while almost every guy is staring at me in envy. With one hand, I grip her hip, letting her get the full effect of my growing cock while I bring my blunt to my lips with the other.
I kick a few littered red cups from the floor, making sure Becky doesn’t slip in her black heels because we don’t need the EMTs here to end the party.
The yellow dress she’s wearing is for me, the color of our baseball jerseys, states that she came here with one specific goal in mind. One I’m thinking about giving into and generously grant her what she’s been hunting for months after Ben kicked her to the curb.
I might have a reputation to fuck but, like I told Sawyer, I don’t hand it out like it’s a fast-selling commodity. In the past, I had done just that.
When I was a freshman, the neighboring school shut down for renovations, and it was a field day of new girls. I’d already screwed half of them between Freshman and Sophomore year, giving me a reputation of guaranteeing that you were going to get just that and nothing else.
Now, it was just monotonous. But fucking got me what I wanted which was information, people to take the fall for my less than kind actions and my rep up of one of the most powerful guys in school.
I let my glazed eyes glide through the crowd of teens. People are coupled up and dancing while pairs make out on couches and the coffee table. Guys in the corner are chugging beer, shouting at two competing against each other on who can drink it the fastest. The numerous strings of white lights hang overhead because Ben is extra with his appearance at parties, and when he goes out, he goes all out.
I’m not helping him take that shit down.
I continue to analyze the room, making sure no one is breaking shit that Ben has to explain to his pops until it stops at a standstill.
My eyes soak in jean shorts that are frayed at the edges and a white Adidas shirt that is rolled up in a knot, revealing a flat tan torso. I take in those tits that I want to see more of and red hair pulled up in a messy bun, showing off the curve of her neck.
