Candi
“Well, I am.” I have to stand my ground this time. “I meant what I said last week. We're done, Zane. Get the fuck out of my way.” I try to keep my voice down as our history teacher walks past towards his classroom.
“No. Not until you tell me why you're acting like this.” He knows exactly what he did, and he'll never own up to it. His eyes burn into mine, and I can see my frustrated reflection in his silver orbs.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Where the hell were you after the basketball game last Friday night?” My shoulders start to tense.
“Is that why you won't answer any of my calls or texts?”
“You were supposed to meet me outside of the locker room, and you never showed up.” His angry expression changes as if he has no idea what I'm talking about, and it only makes me more pissed off. My eyes zero in on his large Adam's apple in his throat when he swallows. “Damn it, Zane!”
“What do you want me to say, Candi?” He pauses before chortling in disbelief. “I left the locker room, and I looked for you. I asked one of the other cheerleaders, and she said you had already gone home.”
“Really?” He quickly nods. “Who did you talk to?” His fake innocent look is pitiful as he shrugs his shoulders. “You don't know? Fucking typical. Think harder because if you can't come up with a name, I promise you I’ll never talk to you again.”
“Damn, Candi, I don't know… Brittany… maybe?”
“Britt told you I went home?” He's lying, and I'm not one bit surprised. “Britt didn't say shit to you. I know this because I was sitting with her waiting for your sorry ass!”
“Well… that's what I just said… she told me you wanted her to let me know you went home… I mean, I can't believe you left. Total bitch move by the way…” This asshole.
“Of course, I went home! I was waiting for you for thirty minutes. When I went in to check on you, your tongue was down some other girl's throat!”
“Whoa. You went into the boys’ locker room? You could get into serious trouble if anyone catches you in there.” He can't be fucking serious.
“So you're not going to say anything about the girl you were kissing?!”
“What… What are you talking about? You think that was me?”
“You've got to be fucking kidding me…” I slide past, dipping under his outstretched arm, caging me against my locker. Damn, do you really have to wear so much Axe Body Spray? Your fumes are giving me a headache.
“Baby, that wasn't me! You've got to believe me! I meant what I said when I said I'd never do it again!” His voice carries behind me, echoing in the halls.
“Get away from me, Zane. It's over!” I yell, and I don't look back. He doesn't deserve it. Zane and I have been off and on for two years. Two years of up and down mood swings, cheating, and backhanded compliments. I can't wait to have him out of my life!
Tears well in my eyes as I walk to class.
Maybe if I keep my head down, I won't have to explain to my friends and Mr. Ferguson why I've been crying.
I tilt my head down and look blankly at the white tips of my pink Converse sneakers.
The smudged navy heart I doodled in language arts blurs more in my vision the closer I get to my desk in the back row of the class.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Andrew asks as I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. He considers me with full concern while he sits up in his seat.
“Yeah,” I mask with a smile. “Just a lot going on.” It's not a lie, but something about him says he can read through my bullshit.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Andrew scans me up and down, and I swear it gives me butterflies.
“No, that's okay. I'll be fine…” My fake grin leaves my face when I slide into my desk and fish out my history notes.
“Talk to me about it later on MySpace?” His broad smile warms up his otherwise pale face as he spins his pen through his fingers.
“I have cheer practice…”
“All night?” He asks, flipping through his green spiral notebook to an empty page.
“Don't you have anything better to do than talk to me? Practicing your bass, maybe?”
“I can play my bass while you're at practice… Come on…” His playful whining tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You know you want to talk to your new pal, Andy…”
“Fine. Not so late this time, though. We have school tomorrow.”
“Promise. Just until the sun rises…”
“Andy… One hour.”
“Candi, you're killing me.” He grips his chest where his heart would be. “Fine, you owe me an hour.” The wink he sends me heats my face, and my cheeks feel like they're on fire. No matter how hard I try to hide the new rouge on my alabaster face, I'm sure he caught my wide beam.
Andrew Miller and I have been talking on MySpace every night since Friday. I swear he waits for me to get on and immediately sends me a “Hey,” or a “Wassup, Candi?!” Or maybe it's the other way around.
To say my stomach doesn't do little flips when the little red notification pops up on the envelope icon would be a lie.
The truth is, I haven't been more excited to talk to someone since he randomly added me late Friday night.
I can talk to him for hours, and it feels like we're the only two people online.
In person, however, we've barely spoken two words to each other.
It's not a secret, Andrew and I don't walk in the same crowds. His friends slowly stalk the halls behind everyone else when the bell rings. Andy's edgy clothes and facial piercings may make my heart beat quickly in my chest, but they would send my mother into cardiac arrest.
He looks so serious when he sketches. The sharpened tip of his pencil digs harshly into the lined pages.
I wonder what he could be drawing today.
Maybe more band names and nautical stars in the side margins.
I take turns from eyeing the chalkboard to sneak glimpses of his desk.
It's my sad guise at not seeming so transparent, but I know I'm not fooling him.
Every so often, he gives me quick glances and his dimple in his cheek that combines with his big smile. “Taking notes?” Andy whispers while Mr. Ferguson drones on with the lesson.
“Something like that.” I match his expression with a leer of my own.
“You’d better stop talking to me. You're going to get me in trouble.”
“I thought you liked talking to me.” I pause, signaling with my eyes to the spiral notebook in front of him. “What are you drawing?”
“What can I say, you got me there,” he admits, shifting in his seat and moving his notebook so that it's out of my view. “It's not great, just something I've been working on for our new demo.” He nervously taps the end of his pen on his notebook.
“Can I see?” I inch closer to him without falling out of my slick blue seat. My goosebumps hide under my white hoodie when I move further in. A large knot forms in my throat as I realize how close my Chuck Taylors are to his Doc Martins.
“Sure. But you have to promise not to laugh.” He quickly slides over his notebook while looking at the front of the class. “Take it before Ferguson sees.” I nod before grabbing it and bringing it over to my desk.
It's different from what he usually draws. There aren't any anarchy symbols or roughly sketched versions of the “Superman S.” No, this looks more thought out.
Two masculine hands grip onto a black heart and pull it apart in the process. Ripped seams narrowly keep it held together. “I like it,” I scribble my words in the corner of the page before handing it back to him. “Psst.” He turns in his seat, grabbing the notebook out of my hands.
More butterflies fly around in my gut when his full lips move up into another smirk. “Really?” His eyes light up when he mouths the question. Andy's beaming smile never leaves his face, and it's so damn contagious; however, I only return his question with an enthusiastic nod.
The class continues, but I don't listen to the lecture. I can't, not when my mind is somewhat else. Instead of writing my detailed notes, I'm staring at the tall and bright pink ends of his coal strands. Would he let me touch them one day? The ends look sharp enough to pierce through skin.
“Alright, that's it for today.” The loud bell rings over the intercom, but Mr. Ferguson’s voice carries over its blaring chime.
“Don't forget to study. There's a test on Friday!” He calls out after the students who are already lining up in rows and filing out of the class.
Everyone is so eager to carry on with their day. All except for me.
Other than the halls and the cafeteria during lunch, it's the last time I'll see Andrew, and there's an emptiness in my gut I can't help but feel. Will I miss him?
Before our past weekend of nonstop conversations, seeing him once a day was routine. The interactions we once had were meaningless, but now, history is suddenly my favorite class. “So…” I start to stammer, clinching onto the straps of my bookbag as it hangs loosely on my shoulders.
“So… What?” He counters, stuffing his books into his.
“I guess I'll see you on MySpace…” The way he looks at me makes me so nervous, so much that the freckles across my nose and cheeks are now highlighted in red.
“I'll be waiting by my keyboard.” He teases while lacing his arms through his straps.
I don't know how to respond, and it feels like the soles of my shoes are stuck to the tile.
“...Are you okay? Class is over…” His head is bent to meet my gaze as he stands in front of me, but I have to tilt my neck up to see the playful regard in his eyes.
I've never realized how tall he was before.
Or how there are specks of teal in his sapphire orbs.
“Oh… Uh… Yeah. We don't want to be late.” The many keychains attached to the zippers click together when I turn quickly to make my way out of the room.
“Ladies first…” His loud boots step behind me, and my anxiety forces me to pick up speed.