by Seven Steps
I examined myself closely. My wide, almond shaped eyes. The dark brown pupils. My ever-tanned skin, and full lips.
Was I ugly? Was I too plain? Was that why Jake didn’t see me?
The girls who Jake normally dated didn’t look like me at all. They were all pale and thin with big boobs and designer clothes. I’d inherited some of my mother’s melanin, my body was more hour glass than slim, and my boobs were two cups short from being D’s.
Still, I wasn’t terrible looking. I definitely was not a ninja turtle like Cole said. Maybe all I needed was a little more makeup? A shorter skirt? Some waves to my hair? Maybe if I just tried a little bit harder, I could raise from the realms of invisibility in to the stratosphere of Jake’s sexy arms.
I squared my shoulders and marched in to the bathroom. On the way, I turned on Pandora on my radio. I needed some get ready music.
Katie Perry’s Roar came on and I smiled.
Okay, Jake. You didn’t see me yesterday. Today, you won’t be able to ignore me.
This is a bad idea.
I stood next to Jake’s locker, yanking down the uncomfortably tight and whorishly short skirt.
I’d scoured my wardrobe and had come up with an outfit that resembled something like the popular girls wore. A black skirt that showed lots of thigh (because it was too small), a plain, pink blouse that I tied in the back to more perfectly show off my belly button (and because it was too big), and four-inch, black heels. The heels were a size too small and pinched my toes, but, hey, beauty is pain, right?
I’d slathered on some red lipstick and an obscene amount of mascara, and snuck out of my apartment before my dad saw me and freaked out. He still thought of me as the innocent six-year-old girl who clung to her favorite teddy bear and wore pigtails tied with yellow ribbons. If he saw the sixteen-year-old girl in her pinchy heels and exposed midriff, he might have a heart attack.
No. Daddy didn’t know this other girl. Heck. I barely knew her. I wasn’t the type to go seducing boys. I’d never even kissed a boy. Well, there was Ralph Mooch, but he didn’t count. First of all, it was a dare. Plus, his retainer fell out five seconds in to it when he tried to shove his tongue down my throat. I nearly puked at the grossness of it. So, no. Officially, I have never been kissed. I was more the bookworm type. A quiet thinker who lived her life between the pages of Poe, Shakespeare, and Whitman.
Then came along Jake Winsted. He’d always been wrapped around Dana Rich’s finger. And what boy wouldn’t? Dana was the prettiest girl in the school. One of those model types with long blonde hair and big boobs who always looked like they’d just stepped out of a magazine. It was so annoying! Even when she was sweating in gym class, she looked perfect, like she was posing for an action shot in a magazine. How could life be so unfair!
Or was it? Dana was out of the picture now. She’d dumped poor Jake about a week ago, and had started dating Dustin Rodriguez. Dustin was a downgrade, if you asked me. But that didn’t matter now, because her loss was my gain. After two years, Jake would finally notice me. And, if I played my cards right, he would ask me out and we’d have an epic romance to end all epic romances. Better than The Notebook or even Twilight. They would write books about our love for generations to come, and it would all start with me leaning against his locker, trying on my best come hither glance.
God. Please don’t let me embarrass myself.
Jake rounded the corner, just as I knew he would. He was beautiful. A sexy angel with his short blond hair, blue eyes and fantastic physique.
He was a king without a queen. It was a vacancy that I desperately wanted to fill.
Jake threw back his head and laughed at something his friend, Eric Shipman, said. Even his laugh was beautiful. It was loud and deep. One of those laughs that desperately made you want to think of something funny so that you could make him laugh again.
I imagined how our meeting would go. He would see me standing by his locker and our eyes would meet in that intense way that lovers’ eyes do. Then I’d tell him how handsome he was and casually repeat the football joke I’d read in Cosmopolitan magazine yesterday—you know, so that he could see that I was funny and into sports—and he’d laugh and ask me on a date and kiss me. We would be so happy together, all because I found the courage to lean against his locker.
He was closer now. In a few more seconds, he’d see me. My heartbeat picked up, and I slid my now wavy brown hair behind my ear and readjusted myself on his locker, attempting to casually cross my legs.
And then … snap!
I heard the sound a second before my heel slid beneath me, sending my left hip hurling toward the floor.
Rip.
Cool air whooshed against the top of my thigh. The cheap fabric ripped in half clear up to the waistband as I landed with a dull thud on the hallway floor.
Oh. My. God.
Mortified and half naked, I tried to scramble upward, my hip bone throbbing where it had struck the ground.
Oomph.
The toe of someone’s sneaker caught on my semi-upright back. Someone swore. Arms, legs, glasses and wood flew over me, then landed with a crash. I covered my face as splinters of wood flew in all directions.
God, if you’re there, please kill me now.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
The voice belonged to Phineas Stone. We were in chemistry together. He had the third highest GPA in the school.
I yanked on my skirt, attempting to pull the pieces back together. My plan was ruined. Jake couldn’t see me now. Not with a broken shoe, a ripped skirt, and a sneaker print on my back. I had to get out of this hallway. I had to get to my gym locker. Even the threat of wearing gym clothes all day was better than being exposed like this!
A small crowd gathered around Phineas and me. Not to help me up, or offer me their jacket to cover up my naked thigh, or even to pick up Phineas’s ruined shop project. They simply pointed and laughed.
High school kids were douche bags.
“Are you all right?” Phineas asked, his shaky hand sliding his glasses back in place.
“I’m fine!” I cried back. I didn’t mean to yell at him, but my manners had flown the coop along with the stitches to my skirt. I scrambled to my feet, fully intending on ditching my shoes and sprinting barefoot to my gym locker when the last voice that I wanted to hear came up behind me.
“Hey, Jake!”
Cole stood behind me. Jake turned around from where he stood by his locker. Eric’s attention turned to me. My ruined skirt. My out of place hair. My eyes full of tears.
I had never been so embarrassed in my life!
“Have you met Bella?”
My heart stopped.
Jake’s eyes fell from his brother’s and found mine.
I couldn’t breathe.
He looked me up and down, his gaze staying on my barely covered thigh for a few seconds too long. One side of his mouth ticked up in a half smile, making my heart re-animate and start to pound.
“What’s up?” he asked.
He saw me. He spoke to me.
My knees felt weak, and, gathering all my will and pride, I stood upright.
“Hi.” My voice was so soft and weak that I wasn’t sure that he heard me. He gave no indication that he did.
“Bella wants to know if you need an English tutor.”
Note to self: Kill Cole. Slowly. Painfully.
My cheeks felt like they were on fire.
Jake’s brows furrowed and he laughed a little, though nothing seemed funny.
“No thanks. If I need help, I’ll just cheat off my brother.” His eyes fell again to my exposed legs.
“Nice skirt.”
Eric tapped him on the chest and Jake was gone, walking with Eric down the hall, leaving me alone with his brother.
My plans. My dreams. They all stuttered to a stop. Jake did not want me. He would never want me. I was a nobody.
A nobody with a ripped skirt and a broken shoe.
My hand sli
d down my face, currently wet, red, and burning.
Slowly, I kicked off my intact heel and turned to Cole, my eyes hard, my spirits low, my eyes filling with embarrassed, angry tears.
“Why would you do that?” I whispered. Cole caught sight of my tears and his smug face softened. “Why would you embarrass me in front of him?”
“I think the falling and ripped clothes did that for you.”
“Why are you so mean?”
The edges of his mouth dropped into a frown.
“I’m not mean.”
“Then why would you ruin my life like that?”
“Because it’s time to get Jake out of your system,” he snapped. The fury and anger in his words surprised me, and I stiffened. “You have been pining after him since forever, and I’m sick of it. You’ve spoken to him, you had your shot, and now you have your answer. Jake doesn’t want you.”
Each word was like a dagger to my heart. A deep cut dripping with blood, gore and misery.
I shook my head and angrily wiped the tears away.
“I never want to speak to you again, Cole,” I growled. “Ever.”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
I glared at Cole, the boy I hated most in the world, and turned and picked up my shoes. They were gone. Phineas, too. The only evidence that we’d been here at all were a few pieces of broken wood.
“Looking for this?”
My breath left my body. One, long exhausted breath.
I turned back to Cole and, sure enough, he was holding my shoes. His expression was strange. Smug and victorious … and sad. God. I hated him.
“Why do you care?” I asked. “You’re mean to me. We’re not friends. Why do you care if I like Jake or not?”
“Because…” His voice trailed off into oblivion. He crossed his arms and looked away from me.
I decided that I didn’t care. Cole could jump off a bridge and I wouldn’t care. I was completely and utterly done with Cole Winsted. Forever!
I snatched my shoes out of his hand, turned and fled to the gym lockers, leaving a trail of tears behind me.
9
I didn’t go back to class.
After changing into my gym clothes, I went to the nurse and told her that I had really bad cramps. After a quick phone call to my dad, I left.
Ariel and Jasmine texted me during lunch, but I didn’t feel like telling them about what happened. It was too painful. Too disappointing. Too hard. It was as if someone had sucked all the joy right out of me. What little joy there was, anyway.
The period excuse worked at home as well as it did in school. Dad let me sit on the couch and binge watch Netflix for the entire weekend. And so, for two days, I ate pizza, ice cream, and cookies until I wanted to puke. I wallowed in potato chips, self-pity, and regret. I ignored my friends’ phone calls, and catnapped every two hours.
I must’ve looked terrible by Sunday night because Mojo took a break from cuddling up with my dad to actually come over and nuzzle me. It took me hitting rock bottom for my own dog to pay me any attention. I didn’t know that I could feel worse, but I did.
I gave him exactly two pats on the head, you know, so I wouldn’t look so eager for his attention, and fell back on to the couch. Daddy brought me another bag of my favorite potato chips—baked cheddar cheese and sour cream—and I shoved a handful in my mouth, adding to the pile of crumbs that had accumulated beneath my chin.
“You gonna be all right there, sweetie?” Daddy asked.
He walked in to my view, and placed a cup of hot lemon tea and some Midol in front of me. He was one of those fathers who thought periods were contagious, so he kept his distance during those times of the month. All weekend, he’d been placing food in front of me and slowly backing away.
I kind of liked it.
“I’ll be-”
I looked up at my father. He was clean shaven and his hair was slicked back. He wore a dark shirt and slacks. No tie. And he smelled like cologne.
Something was up.
“Are you going out?” I asked, not bothering to hide my curiosity.
He nodded slowly, studying the Midol bottle like it held the key to eternal youth.
“Yeah. Just to dinner with a few friends. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Friends? Daddy had friends? Since we moved to New York, I hadn’t seen him hang out with anyone. Not a text or a visit or anything. When did he get friends?
“Um … okay.”
“You need anything before I go?” he asked.
I studied my father, searching for meaning in his eyes that refused to meet mine. In the way his jacket was casually slung across his arm. In the way he shifted his weight on his feet. Something was definitely wrong here.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” I replied slowly. “Are you okay?”
The question seemed to take him by surprise. I could tell by the way he raised his eyebrows. The way he examined me to see what meaning the question held.
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t fine. His tone was a little too loud. Too stiff.
What was going on?
He bent and kissed me on the head.
“See you in a bit, sweetheart.”
Two seconds later, the door slammed shut. As if he had sprinted out of it.
What was going on? Why did Daddy look so nervous? And, even more importantly, why was he wearing cologne?
10
It was Monday and our English class was bubbling with excitement. Today was the day that we were to be assigned our partners. It was my last hope to have any sort of chance with Jake.
After Friday’s disaster, I made an oath. If Jake and I weren’t partnered up for this project, then I would accept that it wasn’t meant to be. That Jake and I would never become Jake and me. Maybe Cole was right. Maybe it was time to let Jake go and focus on someone else. Someone who actually knew my name. Someone who knew I existed. Someone who saw me.
Of course, I wouldn’t go down without a fight.
All morning, I’d been praying. I wasn’t a praying person, at least not since Mom died, but this was important. Jake was my everything. Yes, we hadn’t actually spoken, and he didn’t really know that I was alive, but that didn’t dull his amazingness or how perfect we would be together. And so, I prayed to God to give me Jake, a boy that I couldn’t let go of, even though I never had him in the first place.
To my surprise and delight, God gave me a sign.
Dad’s blueberry pancakes. Dad never made pancakes on a weekday morning. He usually grabbed a cup of coffee and an apple, and ran out the door to his job at Accelerate Auto Body and Car Repair.
That was it. That was my sign of magical things to come.
The miracles continued when I found a two-dollar bill on the way to school. Two. As in Jake and me.
I carefully folded the bill and put it in my wallet. It would be something that I would show mine and Jake’s children. We’d frame it and put it over the mantel of our mansion. When guests would come over, I would point to it and say, “When I was sixteen, I asked God for a sign that Jake and I would be together. He gave me this two-dollar bill, and ten years later, here we are.”
They would ooh and ahh, and I’d graciously accept their applause and admiration.
I sighed.
By the end of today, there would be a Jake and I. I could feel it.
Each time Ms. Mitchell called out a set of names, I held my breath, patiently waiting for her to say mine. My sweaty hands trembled and I nervously wiped them on my jeans, leaving twin palm prints on the dark material. My heart slammed against my ribs, its rhythm somewhere between a heavy metal drum solo and Flight of the Bumblebee.
Please, I prayed. Please, oh please, oh please let her pair us together.
“Our next team will be…” Ms. Mitchell paused for dramatic effect. Her sneaky smile was made more humorous by the smudge of red lipstick that streaked her teeth. There was a lot of red on Ms. Mitchell today. The bold color stained her lips, colored her glasses, drenche
d the flower in her hair and even managed to slip between her thick black strands of hair. Weird.
“…Sorcha Blitz and Ivan Romanov.”
To my right, in the center of the front row, Sorcha and Ivan grinned and exchanged glances. I’d seen them at lunch with the semi-popular kids eating little black containers of sushi with chopsticks. They were posers. Cheap imitations. Their clothes were department store discount, their hair home colored, and their sushi was bought at a supermarket. They wanted people to believe that they were part of the elite, but I knew the truth. They were Fakers.
“Ray Dellmen and Susan Carrodine.”
Another set of almost cool kids, desperate to be accepted into the popular circle.
Not that I was part of any social circle recognized at this school. Ariel, Jasmine and I were closer to the bottom rung of the popularity ladder. On Friday nights, instead of going to parties, we usually streamed bad horror movies on Netflix, ate overly buttered, non-GMO popcorn, and discussed our favorite books. We didn’t try to fit in or be ‘cool’. In fact, nothing we did could be construed as cool behavior. We preferred it that way.
But, no matter what we said or how hard we tried to deny it, all invisibles secretly yearned to be seen. To be heard. To label ourselves with that dirty, elusive, coveted title of popular. Sometimes, I thought about it. Dreamed about it. Wished for it. But, I didn’t tell anyone else that. If my friends knew, they’d call me a Faker and I wasn’t. A bit of a dreamer maybe, but I wasn’t fake. Besides, being popular would ruin my carefully crafted image of a socially conscious outcast full of teenage angst, and god knew that was all I had going for me right now.
Ms. Mitchell called out the next set of names.
“Cassie Washington and Noah Bronner.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that our teacher was playing some weird version of match maker. This made me even more confident that I would be teamed with Jake.
“Lisa Matthews and Chance Gionatti.”
Great. The school sweethearts were grouped together. I called Lisa and Chance The Amazing Lip Locking Duo. They made out everywhere. In the hallway, against lockers, pretty much any solid surface that they could find. It was pretty inappropriate.
