So Typical

by Martha Greenwood

  "All right!" Scarlett screeched and shoved Tristan's hand away from her. "All right? Are you kidding me? You…you hit me in the head with a rock! What the hell are you even doing here?" she yelled, trying to stand up, but Tristan pushed her back down into a sitting position on the counter and reposition the ice on her head.

  "You should sit. I don't know if you're ready to stand just yet."

  "Are you going to answer any of my questions?" Scarlett yelled at Tristan.

  "As soon as you stop yelling and calm down, I'll answer your questions," Tristan reasoned.

  Scarlett clenched her teeth at Tristan and narrowed her green eyes, but listened to him. She took a few calming, deep breaths and then finally asked again, "What are you doing here?" And then her eyes traveled down to his drench shirt and widened, "And why are you bleeding? Are you okay?" Just then it looked like she realized something else. "Damn it, I hate it when I feel bad for someone I don't like."

  Tristan had to chuckle at her persistence at hating him for no apparent reason, but decided to do as he said he would and answered her question, "I'm not bleeding. This is actually your blood."

  "And why are you here?" she asked again.

  "Um…" Tristan stalled.

  "You said you would answer all of my questions," Scarlett reminded him.

  "I know. But can we leave that question until the end?" he asked, looking up at her hopefully.

  "Fine. Why were you throwing rocks at my window?" she asked.

  "No one answered the front door," Tristan replied.

  "Did the thought that everyone was sleeping enter your mind?"

  "Yes, and that's why I decided to wake you up by throwing rocks at your window." Tristan smirked. This smirk usually made girls fall head of heels for him, but Scarlett looked utterly unaffected by it, which really startled him.

  "Did you ever think that maybe it was kind of an unusual hour to talk to someone? I mean, it's about one o'clock in the morning. Not really a good time to have a nice, little chitchat with someone," Scarlett said in a very sardonic voice.

  "Well, I've been waiting for you for about six hours—"

  "Six hours? What, were you, like, in your car outside my house for that long?" Scarlett asked in an exasperated voice.

  "Uh…yeah," Tristan answered.

  "Why?"

  "I have no idea," Tristan lied.

  "Someone doesn't wait in a cramped up car for six hours to have no idea why they are doing it," Scarlett replied. "Why were you waiting outside for six hours?"

  "No reason." Tristan tried to sound nonchalant.

  "And I repeat: someone doesn't wait in a cramped up car for six hours for no reason. Will you please just answer my questions…truthfully?"

  "I...well...you see, we need to get started on that project."

  Scarlett snorted, "All right, and your plan was to scare the living daylights out of me by throwing rocks at my window instead of acting like any normal person and using a door. But then again using the door at twelve in the morning would seem a bit insane."

  Tristan liked her a lot better like this. She wasn't guarding herself.

  "Well, I tried your door."

  "Really? I never would have guessed."

  "Yeah, it was locked."

  Scarlett's eyebrows scrunched together, "Then how did you get in?" And that was when she noticed the small cut marks on Tristan's knuckles. "You broke into my house?" she yelled.

  "I told you I wouldn't answer any of your questions until you were calm. You're not calm," Tristan replied quietly.

  "You broke in my house!" she screamed at him. "What would make you think that that is even legal, let alone right? Is there anything working up there in your brain because it sure as hell doesn't seem like it?" she bellowed.

  "You're still not calm," Tristan whispered, looking at the ground.

  Scarlett realized that she wasn't going to get anything out of him while she was frantic, but she still couldn't believe that he had actually broken into her house. She took about seven long, calming breaths while she made sure her eyes stared at anything in the room except the boy who was standing in front of her. Finally she looked back up and into Tristan's brown eyes, "I'm calm now."

  Tristan gulped, "Okay."

  "So, you broke into my house."

  "Only to come and clean your wound. I knew you had been hurt because I didn't hear you get up from outside—"

  "I didn't ask for any excuses. All I want to know is if you broke into my house."

  "Yes," Tristan finally answered.

  Scarlett nodded, "And you're obviously not going to tell me why you waited outside for six hours." It wasn't a question; it was a simple statement. "How much damage did you do to the house?" Scarlett asked.

  "Enough," Tristan replied.

  Scarlett laughed out loud, "Well, great. Do you realize how much of my allowance you just cost me?"

  "Um…no?"

  "None of it because I don't get an allowance," Scarlett replied.

  Tristan smiled and couldn't help the laughter that escaped his lips. He really did like this Scarlett. She was funny and open. The walls that usually guarded her were gone, so he decided maybe this was the right time to strike.

  "Scarlett," he said as he continued to look at the wooden floor of the kitchen underneath him rather than directly at her, "What did I do to you to make you hate me so much?"

  Tristan thought, after what seemed like a lifetime to him, that he had blown it, and Scarlett had put the walls back up, but just when he had lost all hope, she said, looking straight at him with sharp eyes, "You tell me what you were doing at my house tonight, and I might remind you of what you did."

  "I saw you with that guy," he confessed.

  Scarlett nodded like she completely understood, but the look in her eyes made it clear to Tristan that she didn't understand the jealousy a boy could feel. But that was just it. He shouldn't be jealous of her. She was Scarlett White, the most notorious know-it-all who ever walked the halls of Watson High School. And he was Tristan Cox, the most popular, hottest player who ever entered through the doors of Watson High School. So, that damned stirring he kept feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't jealousy. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that it had anything to do with being jealous of Scarlett White's new boyfriend—but he wouldn't let himself believe that the guy was her boyfriend just yet. He shook his head, coming back to reality. It just wasn't possible to be jealous of that.

  "So, you saw me with Francis and just decided it would be a great idea to play 'Romeo and Juliet'. Yes, I can totally relate," she said sarcastically.

  Tristan laughed, "Well, I didn't expect you to make such a huge deal about it and hit your head on the edge of her bed."

  "That was definitely not my fault," Scarlett replied.

  "I guess not," Tristan said. "And I'm sorry."

  Scarlett turned her head to look at Tristan full on. She blinked at him three times before she shook her head only to find out that it hurt a lot more than she had anticipated. She brought her hand up to cup her head as she pulled her legs up onto the counter to her chest and rested her elbows on her knees. Tristan's eyes momentarily rested on the creamy skin of her long legs.

  "What?" Tristan asked.

  "Nothing," Scarlett mumbled.

  "Why did you give me that look?" Tristan pressed.

  "You actually apologized," Scarlett whispered into her hands.

  "You know, you make me out to seem like I'm some kind of heartless monster," Tristan said, looking at Scarlett fully now that she had her face in her hands. She was hot. She had a very nice body, especially when so much of her skin was showing. Tristan was once again dumbfounded at why Scarlett and her two other friends—Ginny and Kate; Meghan hadn't quite physically matured just yet—covered up their bodies so much. They were all hot. And they all—again, minus Meghan—possessed the attitude to be the Queens of Watson High, and yet they stayed at the bottom of the chain. And the weirdest part of it all was they didn't actual
ly seem to care.

  "Well, if you were in my shoes, you would think that you were a heartless monster," Scarlett said with her face still in her hands.

  "Why? What did I ever do to you?"

  "I don't really think it matters that much anymore. What's done is done."

  "It matters to me. I want to apologize for whatever I did. I feel bad."

  "How do you feel bad if you don't even know what you did?"

  "I feel bad for making you feel bad." He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words had escaped his mouth before he could stop himself.

  "Who would have thunk it?" Scarlett said from underneath her arms. "Narcissus actually cares about someone else."

  "There you go again: thinking that I only care about myself."

  "Oh no, that's not all I think you care about," Scarlett said finally lifting her head up to look at Tristan, and he saw a light of mischief glitter in her eyes. "I also believe that you think about popularity, sex, and football."

  Tristan was silent. He was completely dumbfounded. From the outside look on things, she was completely right. But he didn't care just about that stuff. He also cared about his family—sans his father—and he cared about college and keeping his car in check. And there were a lot of other things that he cared about. But he wasn't about to try and explain that to Scarlett because he was sure she wouldn't even listen to him. She would probably shoot back excuses as to why he cared about those other things. She would probably say that he only cared about his family for appearance—popularity; he only cared about college for the football education they gave; and he only cared about his car for grabbing the interest of the female population—sex. Only about half of that was true, but Tristan was almost positive Scarlett wouldn't believe him even if he tried to argue. So, he didn't fight. He let it go.

  "Can we not fight?" Tristan asked; he was too damn tired to argue with anyone right now.

  "I don't exactly see how since I'm pretty sure anything you say, I'll contradict," Scarlett replied, finally uncurling her body.

  "I must have done something seriously wrong for you to hate me so much," Tristan said.

  "Finally, he gets it." Scarlett rolled her eyes only to find out that that hurt, so she put her hand up to her head to find a large bump protruding there.

  "You know, most girls would love to have me taking care of them," Tristan commented with a smirk.

  "Well, I'm not like most girls," Scarlett huffed. "Sorry to disappoint you."

  "Who said that disappointed me?" Tristan cocked his eyebrow. He was hoping that maybe if he flattered her then he would get the answers he was seeking.

  "Told you that you were a manwhore."

  "You never said that." As much as he hated to admit it, that little statement almost hurt.

  "Not in so many words," Scarlett mumbled.

  "This is so damn infuriating," Tristan groaned.

  "What is?" Scarlett's eyes were completely innocent, but the smirk on her mouth told Tristan that she knew exactly what was making him furious.

  "Can't you and I just have one civil conversation?"

  "Says the boy who just had a nice go with Alice Barrington a few nights ago," Scarlett muttered.

  "How did you know that?" Tristan gasped. Had Alice already begun spreading about their affair?

  "I saw you two. You weren't all that quiet about it. I was taking a walk because my mother…uh…I was upset, and Alice lives right down the street from me, so as I walked passed her house, I heard a few…noises," Scarlett explained. "See, at least I answer your questions."

  "But you're holding back," Tristan observed.

  "Am not," Scarlett denied.

  "Then what did your mother do to make you upset?" Tristan asked.

  "Nothing. I just had a slip of words. You know, that happens when a rock hits your head," Scarlett tried to cover.

  "Liar."

  "Fine. You see, my mother is an alcoholic and a drug addict. So, she needs money to buy all of her 'pain relievers.' And the only way she can save up on money is if I can get a full scholarship to whichever college I go to. So, she gives me this lecture frequently about how I need to keep my focus and study and do extra work, so that I can qualify for a scholarship. And when she's not yelling at me or scolding me about being a better student, she's either out at the bar or passed out on the couch. There. I opened up," Scarlett said as she huffed in frustration.

  Tristan was shocked. How could she be a better student? She was the best student at Watson High School. She had the highest average in every class, not to mention the highest grade point average in the school. Wasn't she a six point oh student since she was in all advanced placement courses?

  "Your mom's an idiot if she doesn't see that you're the smartest kid in school."

  "Why, thank you. For insulting my mother," Scarlett said totally seriously, but with a hint of a smile that was genuine.

  Tristan didn't exactly know what to say to this because she was completely right. So he decided that since her walls seemed to be slightly down again, it was time for her to fulfill her part of the bargain. He had told her that he had been outside in his car for six hours because of that boy. Now it was her time to tell him about why she despised him.

  "So, about why you hate me..."

  Scarlett bit her bottom lip and debated. Tristan could see the wheels twirling in her brain about where to start or what she should say or how to begin. He could see her eyes traveling back in time to where she had been scarred.

  "You can tell me," Tristan tried to encourage her.

  "How the hell do you know if I can tell you?"

  Tristan was silent. He sensed the walls growing taller and taller, blocking her from him.

  "Exactly," Scarlett continued when Tristan kept quiet. "You don't."

  Tristan decided this time that he would keep his trap shut. He would allow her the time she needed.

  "I'm not exactly sure where to begin."

  "Start from the beginning."

  "Thank you, Captain Obvious." Scarlett shot him a 'duh' look.

  "You're welcome, Lieutenant Sarcastic." Tristan was tempted to add 'Zinger!' at the end like he would around his friends at school, but he didn't want to press his luck with Scarlett so close to opening up and telling him what happened.

  "Touché." A smile.

  Oh my God, Tristan just saw a smile. And not one of those sarcastic smiles that Scarlett had been shooting all night. But what really concerned Tristan was the way that the smile made him feel. When his brown eyes saw the slight curl of her full lips, his heart hammered in his ribcage. His eyebrow cocked at the physical reaction. Why was he acting this way? This was Scarlett White. This was the girl he had grown up with. This was the infamous teachers' pet that everybody looked down upon at school.

  "What?" Scarlett asked when she noticed the raised eyebrow that Tristan had made to the realization of the reaction of Scarlett's subconscious smile.

  "Nothing, continue with your story," Tristan urged.

  "What story?" Scarlett looked truly confused.

  "Don't play stupid with me," he replied.

  "I don't have any idea what you're talking about?"

  "Scarlett," Tristan gave her a dubious look, "The story about why you hate me." It was just then it struck Tristan that this could be a sign of amnesia from the rock he had thrown at her head. Oh, shit. This was the worst case scenario.

  But just then, Scarlett burst out laughing so hard that a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, "Your face was hilarious. What, did you think I had amnesia or something?" She spoke through fits of laughter.

  "It might have passed through my mind once or twice," Tristan replied sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck.

  And then it dawned on him why she had tricked him. "You're stalling," he stated.

  "You really want me to tell you the entire story?" she asked slowly.

  "No, I've just asked you to tell me this story about one hundred times for no apparent reason," he said c
ynically.

  "Fine, fine, fine. It all started back in eighth grade…"

  Chapter Eight – 'The Populars'

  "Fine, fine, fine. It all started back in eighth grade—"

  Scarlett's voice rang in the kitchen for a minute before she continued. She had promised him she would remind him about their past. So, why wasn't she talking?

  Oh, okay, so that's why...Scarlett was in tears. Wait…Scarlett was in tears? They had come too fast to hold back and had been totally unpredictable. Tristan hadn't even realized that she had begun to cry before her cheeks were drenched with salty tears.

  "Scarlett! Scarlett, what's wrong?" Tristan asked.

  Scarlett was looking down, tears falling rapidly down her cheeks.

  Tristan cupped her face tilting her chin upwards to look him in the eyes. "Scarlett, what is wrong?"

  "I...I should have run—" What the hell was she talking about?

  "What is all of this racket in here?"

  Scarlett gasped and looked at the source of the new noise. Her mother was standing in the doorway. Her messy, red hair was suitable for a rat to live in. Her eyes were blood shot with mascara running down her cheeks a bit and dark bags under the eye sockets.

  "Mom, what...are you doing?" up? Aren't you expecting a headache...like now? Scarlett desperately wanted to say the last part, but she bit her tongue.

  "Who is this?" Rosa ignored her daughter's question and glared at Tristan.

  "Um...I'm Tristan Cox. I go to school with—"

  "What are you doing in my house?" Rosa rudely interrupted him, glaring at him with her bloodshot eyes.

  "I...uh..."

  "Mom, he just saved my life," Scarlett said, hopping down off the counter. "I...uh...tripped over my bed." Wow, that sounded silly.

  "I can hardly believe that," Rosa said.

  "It's true, mom—"

  "GET OUT!" Rosa now yelled at Tristan, completely off the handle and absolutely unexpected. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!" Rosa was pointing at the front door and glaring at Tristan angrily.