Chapter 27
Choosing Myself
Kiki
Iwas so sure Paul would reach out over the weekend. If not to talk, then at least to study together. The anticipation lingered, keeping me from studying. I didn’t know if I was pissed, sad or relieved when Sunday came and went without a word. Today was the day, though—we had Algebra together. Everyone was on their phones, yawning and waiting for class to begin, while I restlessly shuffled in my seat.
When he finally came into the classroom, my heart spiked. He wore a red sweatshirt and his knuckles were wrapped in a new set of bandages. Whoever had done it did a crap job: they were practically falling off. He smiled as he approached and I bolted to my feet. But his “Hey, you” sounded so normal that for a moment I thought I was the one with the problem. He dropped into his chair and I sat back down, feeling like an idiot. “Hi?”
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asked as he rummaged through his bag.
“Um, okay. What about yours?”
“Pretty average. Why only okay?” He came up with a folder of notes.
I shook my head. “Um, because of what happened?”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Okay, you want to talk about it?”
“Of course I want to talk—”
“Great work, Mr. Shields. If you keep pushing, you might get your grade up to a B.” Mr. Lane handed Paul last week’s test.
“Kiki, I got a B-!” Paul exclaimed, grinning. “In freaking Algebra, how crazy is that?”
“That’s amazing, Paul,” I said, still weirded out.
“Amazing for him but unusual for you, Ms. Moore,” Mr. Lane said, placing my test on my desk.
A big, fat B+ laughed up at me.
“This can’t be right!” I gasped, riffling through the sheets to find my mistakes.
“I’m afraid it is. There were some slips of the pen,” he said, giving me a worried look before continuing to hand out tests.
“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, staring at the red ink on the pages.
“Hey, a B+ is great!” Paul reached over and put his palm on my shoulder.
I flinched, brushing his hand off. “No, this is not great at all.”
I reached down for my planner. I would just have to squeeze in more study time for this class. It wasn’t too late for an A+. I could put in some extra work, I could—where the heck is it? I groped through my bag but my planner was missing.
“Kiki, seriously. One B+ won’t cancel your killer GPA,” Paul said.
“Leave me alone, Paul.” I rushed up front to beg Mr. Lane for a way to fix my perfect grade.
“Kiki, wait!” Paul’s voice followed me across the parking lot. But I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Conversations with Paul only distracted me from school.
“I can’t,” I said, getting to my Mini Cooper and fumbling through my bag for my keys. “I need to find my planner.” I opened the door and shifted the seat to check if it had slipped underneath.
“You said you wanted to talk, and now you don’t have time for a few words?”
I whirled. “Yes, Paul. This is who I am. And it’s not like you felt like talking to me in the last few days, so what’s the problem?” I turned back to my search. “Where the heck is it...”
The door opened on the other side, and Paul wordlessly joined the hunt.
Eventually, he held up my purple lifesaver. “You looking for this?”
I took it from him and settled into the driver’s seat. “Yes, thanks.”
Paul slid into the passenger seat as I flipped through the pages to find a few more free hours. “Kiki, you shouldn’t stress so much,” he said. “It’s not healthy to get this upset about a B+.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I eyed the upcoming days in my schedule. “But a B+ isn’t what will get me into Yale.”
Paul reached for my hand. “I think Yale will be fine with one B+,” he said gently.
“You don’t get it!” I said, a tear escaping my eye. “For you, a slipup doesn’t matter. But for me, it could change my entire future! I’ve been working toward this for years, not a few weeks.”
“I know. I didn’t want to compare—”
“It’s not your fault, Paul. It’s mine. I agreed to be a part of it. But this...” I reached into my backpack and pulled out the test. “This is something I can’t ignore. I can’t fail so close to the finish line. So please, if I mean even the slightest something to you, then leave me alone so I don’t mess up my entire future.”
His expression fell to pure astonishment. “Kiki, please, I can help you,” he said, taking the test out of my hands.
I shook my head. “No. You’re a great guy, but I need to focus on myself this time. I need to choose me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, startled.
I wiped away my tears with my sleeve. “It means I can’t waste my time wondering if you’ll ever get over her.”
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I had worked way too hard to mess it all up now. I couldn’t risk getting myself hurt again. And he would. Not on purpose, but he would. Otherwise he would’ve texted this weekend. He wouldn’t have pretended like everything was normal.
The test dropped back in my lap. I flinched at the sound of the car door snapping shut.
The sobs came.
I was allowed to cry for a bit, but then I had to return to functional mode. After a few deep breaths, I flipped open the mirror, brushed my hair, wiped away the smeared mascara, tapped on lipstick. Something caught my attention in the rearview mirror: Jon, looking furious. But his intense gaze wasn’t directed at me; it was fixed on someone beside him.
I squinted through my re-settling contacts. A dark-haired man with a black eye and arms covered in tattoos—the guy from the parking lot!
He yelled at Jon, who looked like he was ready to break something. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Don’t get involved,” I told myself. “You need to focus on school only. Don’t get involved. Focus on school.”
I repeated my mantra about three times, and when I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder again, they were gone.
It still took me fifteen more minutes to be brave enough to leave the car.