3
‘You Belong with Me’
— Taylor Swift
Lara
The next day, I get to math class and sit down in my seat. Scotty is late, like always. I groan the second he isn’t in his usual spot. This guy really needs to start being on his best behavior if he wants to get into a good college.
The classroom is decorated with tons of math-related posters, all neatly drawn out or printed by my teacher.
I take out my math book and the other necessities for class, such as my pencil and some notebook paper.
My head turns toward the classroom door as Scotty walks in.
I watch him rush into the room with his backpack half open and his hair wet, sticking to his face.
He drops into the seat next to me, tossing his backpack underneath the table, some gum wrappers spilling out onto the floor.
“Hey,” he whispers, out of breath. He takes out his notebook while the teacher takes attendance.
“Hey,” I whisper back, trying to be friendly even though his presence annoys me. “You’re late.”
“I can tell, Butterfly,” he says while glancing at the clock. “Only five minutes. A new record for me.” He’s more talkative than usual today, which somehow just makes everything worse.
“That’s not a good thing.”
“You miss me that much?”
“No. Not even close.” I scoff. He is really getting on my nerves, and it’s not even lunch time yet.
“Sure, you don’t,” he taps his pencil on my desk like he is trying to get under my skin, and damn it, it’s really working.
“Why are you late?” I ask him, curiosity getting the best of me. It’s not like I care if he is late or not, and I most certainly do not care what he’s up to. I mean, he’s just Scotty Delgado.
“I was playing basketball when I got caught in the rain,” he sighs, motioning to his soaking wet sweatshirt. The rain part was kind of obvious; I didn’t think he poured a bucket of water on his head.
“Cute sweater,” he says, eyeing my new white sweater that took my whole allowance to buy. “Did your grandma knit that?”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “I bought it.” My grandma lives in the middle of nowhere. She has to drive an hour for a pack of cigarettes. She doesn’t smoke, my grandpa does, though. Never when company is over, he keeps it on the down low, but I see the empty packs in the trash.
“With real money?” he raises a brow. “Wow. Bold choice.”
“Shut up, Scotty,” I mutter, opening my pink journal.
I start writing more outlines for the ending of my book.
I’ve always wanted to be an author, but it feels like a dream that will never happen.
I’ve been working on my book forever. I plan to go to NYU and study literature, then publish my book eventually.
Scotty leans over to see what I am writing, and I slam the journal shut so hard his pencil jumps.
“Relax,” he whispers. “I was not going to steal it.”
“You look at everything.”
“That is because you hide everything.” He says, leaning back in his chair. “Which makes me want to see it even more.”
“I am not hiding anything.” Even if I was, it's not his business. It’s like his only purpose in life is to be nosy.
He laughs softly. “You hide stuff like it is top secret. Oh, I know. It is your little fairytale book.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I look away at the wall.
“It’s not fairy tales,” I whisper.
“Unicorns? Dragons? Sparkly princes?”
“No.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“I will not make fun of you. I promise.” His voice sounds honest, but his smile is teasing. “You can trust me.”
“I really can’t.”
“You already do,” he whispers. “You just do not want to admit it.” I can’t admit I trust Scotty, but I do. He’s been in my life since I was really little; we probably have baby photos together.
I can feel him staring at me, waiting. I sigh and shove the journal into his hands. “Fine. Just do not bend the pages.” I’ve never let anyone read my story. This is a first. He opens it with a smile, flipping through the little bullet points and ideas. He squints at my handwriting.
“Wow. This is… something.” I glare at him.
“Give it back if you’re going to be rude.”
“I am not,” he holds the notebook away from me. “I am just saying your handwriting looks like a chicken ran across the page.”
“That is rude.”
“But the ideas are cool,” he says, and he actually sounds like he means it. “Like… really cool. I did not think you had this in you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You always look so… proper. Quiet. Like you only care about math homework.”
I frown. “I do not.”
“I know that now,” he hands the journal back gently. “Good job,” he pats me on the shoulder. I squint my eyes at him. His approval sends a strange, warm feeling through my chest. I hate that he has that effect on me. He leans back again, tapping his pencil with a smug smile.
“Do not get too happy, though,” he says. “I still think the sweater is ugly.”
“Scotty, oh my god.” I rub my forehead.
He grins. “There she is. My angry Butterfly.”
5 years later
‘I Miss You, I’m Sorry’
— Gracie Abrams
Lara
The club is busy. Not my usual crowd, especially in what I’m wearing.
I’m wearing a tight pink dress; the material feels cheap. I wouldn’t actually spend expensive money on a dress I would only wear once or twice, because clubs are not my thing.
The club music is loud, and I can feel the bass. Aurora is flirting with some guy, so he will buy us drinks while I just sit at the barstool.
Aurora walks back over to me with two drinks in her hand, a big smile on her face.
“He was a little pushy, but free drinks!”
She hands me a glass of alcohol, taking a sip of her own.
Whatever she hands me smells strong. “Stop being a Debbie Downer, loosen up!”
she nudges my shoulder, trying to get me to smile.
It’s hard to loosen up when all I can think about is my stupid ex-boyfriend.
I should hate him, right? Because part of me is wishing I can see him again.
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a sip of my own drink, the sour flavor burning slightly on my tongue. I push it down though. I need the alcohol.
“It’s about Scott, isn’t it?” She pulls me to the side of the club, where it’s a little less crowded. I lean against the wall, running my hands through my hair. “Talk to me,” she says, keeping her hand on my shoulder.
“It’s just that he came to New York but didn’t think to text me… He’s my ex-boyfriend, my first boyfriend.”
“You’re right, you deserve an explanation… Which is why I got us two tickets to his game!” She pulls out a sheet of paper with two tickets to a game on it.
“Oh my god, you did not.” I take the paper out of her hand, examining the words, and oh yes, she did. I’m going to see Scott play basketball professionally. Am I excited or nervous? I don’t know which of them I should feel.
“I did alright! It’s Friday.”
“I can’t go.” The reality of it all is hitting me; he’s going to think I miss him.
“You are, these cost $300 each.”
“Should’ve just let me buy it.” Aurora does not make that much money, so I’m surprised she snagged tickets.
“I didn’t pay for it. Michael from Tinder did, he will be joining us.” Of course, she didn’t pay for it. What was I thinking? New York apartments are so expensive, I offered for her to move in with me, but she said she brings too many guys home for me to be comfortable with. Classic Aurora.
“I don’t know if I should thank you or slap you.”
“A thank you would be nice.”
“Thank you, Rory.” I hug her, squeezing tightly. I’m going to go see Scott. This Friday. In two days.
“Anyways, enough with the sappy stuff,” Aurora begins. “At work the other day, a kid barfed on me. It was absolutely disgusting."
“Yikes.” I laugh.
“I just want to get a teaching position already,” she groans.
“No one thinks I have enough experience.”
“How will you get enough experience if you can’t get a job?”
“No fucking clue.”
“What grade would you teach?”
“I want to teach high schoolers or middle schoolers. I love kids, but I am so done with disrespectful children,” Aurora sighs. “I might have a better chance at moving somewhere new.”
“Where?”
“No clue, but if Malcom comes back, I am taking that as an opportunity to move somewhere new.” Malcolm. Her ex.
“I believe you’ll find somewhere you love.”
“I hope so,” she takes a sip of her drink. “Let’s party, bitch!”
**
That night, I take out my notebook. I flip to a random page, bracing myself for the worst as I open it up.
Dear Scotty,
I hope you're happy. I hope you're so happy because I’m not.
I just finished junior year. I cut off Emma and Jenna; now, all they do is bully the shit out of me.
I still talk to Ashton, and Danny still.
Axel just came out to me. Did you know that?
Or are you too busy playing college basketball?
Your parents said you don’t talk to them anymore.
They haven’t heard from you since you left that night.
I bet you're living it up in college, no girlfriend to tie you down.
I would’ve made a great girlfriend, but you won’t date me.
I don’t get it. I miss you all the time, I miss our memories in the cabin during winter break, and I especially miss our kiss we shared at midnight on New Year's.
I was so broken. These letters hurt to look back on, I throw the notebook across the room and break down in tears.
My body shakes with sobs. Usually, I’d cry loudly so my parents would come comfort me. Now that I live alone, I sob quietly into my pillow, trying to muffle the sounds so my neighbors don’t hear.