You would think Micah would have problems fitting in at my school, coming from such a different background.
But no! He fit in better than I did.
Whereas most kids there were ambitious and academic, I much preferred being in my room sewing myself a wardrobe no one else had. That was if we were allowed to wear our own clothes and not the mandatory black-and-red plaid uniform.
Although I did cover the left lapel of my blazer in cute, custom-made brooches, and the teachers finally gave up telling me to remove them.
But I digress.
My palms were sweaty.
I’d just lied to my English teacher that I needed the restroom. The truth was, I knew this was the period Micah used the darkroom for his photography class. Although he was super smart and academic, he was also artsy. Like me. Micah wanted to be an architect, which I thought was impressive.
He thought my clothing designs were amazing.
“You’re so talented, Val,” Micah had said when I showed him my clothes and the Singer sewing machine I’d begged my parents to buy when I was twelve.
Sometimes Dad would tell me I was clever and talented when I walked downstairs in one of my new creations. But Mom would just give me that look, because she knew I’d spent all my time sewing instead of studying.
It was appalling to my parents that their child was a B student instead of the A student she could be if she only applied herself.
I shook off those thoughts as I tried to act casual, walking through the school halls. Sometimes I let myself get too worked up about Mom and Dad. Today wasn’t about my parents. It was about Micah. The one person who made me feel good about myself. Who told me it was okay that I couldn’t envision myself at college. That it didn’t make me a bum because I wanted to get out in the world and get a job and start living my own life, rather than spend another four to seven years in the land of academia.
There were moments when I caught Micah looking at me in a way that made me sure he got butterflies in his stomach like I did whenever he was near me. I still remember the first day we met when I found him in the kitchen. He’d looked so sad and hurt. Those gorgeous gray eyes full of pride and anger and gratitude all at once. Then he’d seen me, and he looked at me like no one ever had before.
He stared at me like he thought I was beautiful.
I grinned, my heart racing just thinking about it.
So okay, it was weird that we lived together, but maybe we didn’t have to tell Mom and Dad right away. In fact, that was why I’d put off approaching Micah about our feelings. I thought it would go down better with my parents if I was sixteen. And I was sixteen in January. Next month.
Yet, I found I couldn’t wait past Christmas.
I wanted to go to bed on Christmas Eve knowing that Micah was mine. Best Christmas present ever!
Holy crap, it felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest as I approached the darkroom. The light was on outside—he was in there processing. Which also meant I had to slip in really fast and close the door so I didn’t mess up Micah’s photos. His photos were pretty good. Mostly of buildings and architecture. I didn’t personally get his fascination with them, but I loved his passion. So few boys our age had genuine passion beyond the instant gratification of gaming, sports, and sex.
“Here we go,” I whispered before taking a deep breath.
I gently pushed open the door.
I’d barely gotten it wide enough to slip through when my heart plummeted into my stomach.
A guy who looked awfully like Micah from behind had a girl pressed up against the counter at the back of the room, kissing her hungrily as his hand worked beneath her skirt.
“Micah, oh my God, don’t stop.” A familiar breathy female voice filled the darkroom.
I knew the perfect profile of the girl who threw her head back in pleasure.
Christy McAlister. Senior. Brunette. Five foot ten.
Student body president.
Cheerleader.
My exact opposite.
I quickly pulled the door closed before either of them saw me.
Tears burned in my throat and eyes.
This whole time Micah was screwing around with Christy?
Christy only dated older guys. Not younger ones!
Of course, she’d break her rules for Micah.
And he’d been in there … touching her!
Oh my God, I was such an idiot.
I’d look back on this moment as an adult and cringe, but when you’re fifteen, in love with a boy, and you find out you’re the exact opposite of the kind of girl he likes to be with … let’s just say it feels like the world is ending.
Tears streaming down my face, I hurried back to my class. I explained to my teacher I wasn’t feeling well, and she took me to the office. They said I had to wait while they called my mom.
I tried not to let the tears flood out.
Mom calling my cell only made me it harder not to cry. “Mom.” My voice broke on the word.
I wanted to tell her the truth. That I loved Micah, and he liked someone else.
But I could never tell her that stuff. She always made everything I felt seem small and childish.
“Valentine, are you okay?” She sounded concerned, making me feel terrible for thinking badly of her. “The school just called.”
I sucked back more tears as I lied. “I threw up. I really don’t feel well.”
“Okay. I’ll come get you.”
“No. I’m okay. I just need to go to bed. Can you just ask the school office to call me a cab?”
“I hope it’s only something you’ve eaten and not a bug. You’ve got end-of-semester exams to concentrate on.”
Gee. Thanks for the sympathy, Mom.
“Right.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that. You know how I get. I just want you to do well. I’ll tell them to call that cab. Feel better.”
Not long later, I texted her when I got to the house, but I didn’t feel better.
First, I stopped in the doorway of Micah’s room, just down the hall from mine. It had once been a guest room.
Now it smelled like Micah, and he had posters and drawings on the wall. Mostly posters of his favorite bands, books, and artists, as well as sketches of building designs he’d imagined. He was so talented. So smart. Smarter than me.
Smart like Christy.
Of course, he was into intelligent, stupidly gorgeous cheerleaders with legs up to their ears.
I promptly returned to my room, curled up on my bed, and sobbed until my entire body ached.
It couldn’t have been that much longer when my eyes cracked open at the feel of a hand on my arm.
I knew who it was without turning my head.
The last person I wanted to see.
“Hey.” His deep voice made my chest hurt. His palm brushed down my arm in comfort. “Kim said you had to come home early.”
My swollen eyes moved to the vintage alarm clock on my bedside table. School had only just let out. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?” I sounded rough, croaky.
“Cupid, you don’t sound so good.”
I squeezed my eyes closed at his nickname for me. He thought it was interesting that my parents, who didn’t seem all that romantic, would give me such a romantic name. But they met on Valentine’s Day. Hence, my name. And Micah’s pet name for me.
A pet name I moronically thought meant something.