Chapter 12 #2
“It was a joke. Nobody recorded anything,” he repeated.
“I don't believe you.” I tried to wriggle free again, but he was stronger than I had anticipated.
“You have to believe me; it's true,” he insisted, but I wasn't so sure.
“Why would you tell me?” I demanded, my eyes flashing with anger.
“It was just a prank, I told you,” he replied quietly.
“Leave me alone. You're all twisted pricks; tomorrow I'm going to the principal and telling him everything,” I threatened, finally breaking free from his grip and running off searching for Emily.
“Em?” I called out as I got to the restroom door. “Are you in there?” I added, hearing her muffled sobs. “Emily, please…” I pleaded. She opened the door, standing there with tears streaming down her face.
“I can't take this anymore…” she said, shaking her head in despair.
“Listen, nothing happened. Clous didn't play any recording of you. Zane just told me the recording doesn't even exist; it was all a prank. I want to believe him, and I really think he's being honest,” I assured her, trying to sound comforting, but it
was clear she wasn't reassured, or that there was more to it. “It's alright; you don't have to worry about it anymore.” I stepped closer, arms open for a hug, but she recoiled instead.
“I just can't… I can't…” she sobbed, her voice breaking.
“Emily, what's going on? Didn't you hear what I just said?” I asked, bewildered.
“Just leave me alone…” she said, curling up on the floor, hugging her knees.
“Leave you? What's happening? I don't get it!” I exclaimed, frustration boiling over as her behavior left me utterly baffled.
“I… I… If I… you won't want to talk to me again,” she stammered, her voice trembling. I knelt beside her.
“Please, talk to me. What is it that's bothering you?” I pressed gently. She seemed to be holding onto something heavy that terrified her to reveal.
“I can't… if I do, it will ruin everything between us…” she whispered, her guilt palpable.
“What could possibly be so bad that you'd think I'd walk away?” I urged. “You can tell me anything; we've known each other forever. There's nothing that could make me turn my back on you,” I said, trying to convey my sincerity.
“Are you really sure?” She lifted her gaze, searching my eyes, desperate for reassurance.
Her look was so piercing that I nearly doubted my words.
“I'm certain! Just tell me!” I insisted.
“I… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I feel awful. Please forgive me!” she begged, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Forgive you for what?” I shouted, feeling drained by her insistence on regret without any context.
“I kissed Marco,” she finally uttered, burying her face in her knees.
My mind raced, caught off guard by a mix of confusion and an unexpected emotion.
“It happened when you two first broke up. I went to check on him to see how he was doing. We were friends; we used to hang out all together. It was just me wanting to support him. We talked, he mentioned you, and then… in a moment, we kissed. I swear nothing else happened; I left right after. I meant to tell you, but then you two got back together, and Marco asked me not to say anything because he wanted another shot with you.” She paused, breathless from the rush of words.
I felt a wave of shock wash over me, but strangely, I didn't feel anger—neither towards her nor Marco.
Jealousy was absent. “But there's more…” she said, her voice trembling.
“More?” I echoed, intrigued yet apprehensive. What else could there be if she claimed nothing else happened?
“It wasn't just a kiss. I felt something, something I think I had buried for so long while you were together.
I can't stop thinking about that moment and how it felt, and I feel so guilty because you're my best friend, and I'm hurting you,” she confessed, her hysteria rising again.
I knew I had to say something, but I was still trying to process everything she had revealed.
“I've never really noticed anything,” I admitted calmly. “I thought you had a thing for Jake, but even then I didn't realize it until you mentioned it. Clearly, I'm not great at reading people,” I replied.
“Honestly, I thought so too about Jake. I wasn't naive enough to hold on to someone who wasn't available,” she replied, then added, “I'm truly sorry. I thought I could bury these feelings and nobody would notice, but that kiss changed everything for me…” She glanced at me, as if bracing for me to walk away, but instead, I smiled at her, leaving her momentarily speechless.
“I think my situation is even messier: my parents just split up, and all I can think about is what it would be like to kiss Zane, who happens to be dating my friend. So, tell me, how is your situation any worse than mine?” I asked, surprised at my own words. Emily’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“What?” she laughed, and soon we were both caught up in fits of giggles. “What a disaster,” Emily remarked.
“No, it's just part of being a teenager,” I shot back.
“I guess… So you're not mad at me?” she asked tentatively.
“I'm frustrated that neither of you told me, but I'm not upset about what happened. I just believe that strong feelings can't be bottled up or punished,” I replied, and we fell into a comfortable silence.
“So, what now?” Emily asked, looking at me expectantly.
“Now, we head to class,” I said.
“I think my parents might be looking for me. After my performance, it's probably best if I go home with them,” she said as she started to stand up. I followed her lead, and as we faced each other, we shared a genuine hug.
Emily left with her parents as she had some explaining to do, while I stayed until classes ended and took a different bus to avoid running into Marco.
I made my way to my usual spot at the back of the bus, which was nearly empty.
I inserted my earphones and hit play on my favorite track, letting it loop endlessly.
I wanted a moment of escape, a break from the chaos of my thoughts and the weight of my problems. I just wanted to retreat into a realm where reality couldn't reach me.
But as I began to lose myself in that blissful distraction, something abruptly yanked me back to reality.
I looked up to see Zane boarding the bus and making his way toward me.
My heart dropped, and my mind began to whirl.
Without so much as a word, he settled into the seat next to mine, his eyes locking onto mine.
I took in every detail of his face—the scattered freckles, the small brown mole near his right eye, his soft coral lips, and his auburn hair, which had grown longer and revealed its true color.
His amber eyes, with their unique orange undertones, were striking.
Only a small fraction of the population shared that hue—like 5% or less—and he was one of them.
His face looked freshly shaven, likely done just this morning.
What time did he get up to do that? Did he take a shower before heading out?
I shook off those distracting thoughts, striving to maintain my composure and appear indifferent.
But as soon as my emotions threatened to surface, I turned them into anger.
“Excuse me?” I snapped, my voice laced with irritation. “There are plenty of other seats.” I didn't break my gaze from him.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked with a charming smile.
“No, but I'm sitting here,” I insisted.
“On both seats?” he teased, earning a snort from me.
“What do you want, Zane?”
“Nothing, just catching a ride on the bus.”
“A bus that isn't yours?”
“Do you know where I live or where I need to go?”
“I've never seen you here before.”
“Maybe you just never noticed,” he replied with a sly smile.
“Maybe you should go to hell,” I snapped, not realizing how tense I had become, gripping the seat with both hands. I tried to relax and loosen my hold.
“What are you listening to?” He tugged one of my earphones out before I could respond, but I didn't move to stop him.
“Interesting taste in music,” Zane remarked, a playful smile dancing on his lips, revealing a charming dimple.
I felt foolish, caught off guard. What was I supposed to say?
Did I want him to leave? Did I? I remained silent, watching him intently, though a question lingered in my mind.
“About what you mentioned earlier,” I stammered, struggling to find my voice and clear my throat. “Is it really true that there's no recording?” I finally managed to ask. He simply nodded in response. “But that day, you told me there was,” I retorted, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
“I had to,” Zane replied tersely.
“What do you mean, 'you had to'?” I pressed, needing clarity.
“I can't explain it to you; just trust me when I say there's no
recording,” he said, his teeth clenched.
“How can I trust anything you say?” I turned my gaze away in disbelief.
“Because I wouldn't lie to you,” he said gently, compelling me to meet his eyes again.
He reclined against the headrest, his lips slightly parted, and I found myself fixated on them out of the corner of my eye.
“And you won't go to the principal tomorrow,” he instructed firmly.
My eyes widened at his words, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“I've already told you I will. If there's no recording, why shouldn't I?” I shot back, my anger flaring.
“Please, just don't.”
“Did Jake put you up to this? Did he send you to plead with me?” I searched his face for the truth.
“No,” was his simple reply, leaving me to wrestle with whether to believe him.
“I'm sorry, but I have to,” I said, yanking the earphones away from him. He exhaled sharply and began speaking, and I found myself captivated by the way his words flowed.
“I transferred to our school three years ago and had to repeat a grade.
I'm already 19, and if my dad found out I'm involved in anything illegal, even skipping school, he'll send me straight to my mom and her new husband in England.
And I think you wouldn't want that to happen,” he said, his voice softening at the end.
I was taken aback; I realized I knew so little about him.
Jessica never mentioned him, and I never asked.
Oddly enough, I didn't want him to leave; I wanted him to stay, though I couldn't admit it.
“I don't care if that happens to you; I have to do what's right,” I replied coolly. He shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face.
“Want to know what I think? I think you do care. I can see it in your eyes. Eyes never lie,” he said, his words sending a jolt through me.
“You're mistaken!” I snapped back.
“Oh yeah? Are you really sure about that, you dummy?” His gaze dropped to where our hands were almost touching, and I could feel his warmth radiating towards me, like a warning not to get too close.
It reminded me of my mother's warnings about touching a hot iron—it would hurt and leave a scar. I knew that if I touched him, it would spark something deep inside me, something that would leave a lasting impression. So, against my better judgment, I reached out and touched his hand.