These kids aren’t in high school, but as I listen to them talk about their crushes or who got pantsed the other day, I can’t help but bite down, so I don’t smile at the drama that is their world.
This is where it starts. On the gym floor, by the monkey bars, in the lunchroom. This is where boys and girls first notice each other, have their first crushes, begin to wade into the evil waters of love and heartbreak. I wish I could tell them to protect themselves, that most romances won’t work out the way they want them to. That chocolate milk won’t solve all, or any, of their problems.
But I’m projecting, I know it. And in a way, the nostalgia is strangling me. I remember the first time I ever saw Bevan, standing by her locker on the first day of freshman year. It was four down from mine, and she was cursing at the lock she couldn’t get to click and open. I walked over, reached around her, and asked for the three-digit combo. Even with her back to me, I could hear the sneer in her voice when she accused me of trying to steal her shit, and then the inhale of her breath when she turned around and we were nose to nose. I was practically pinning her to her locker, a bold move for a boy who had never even kissed a girl before. She’d rattled off the combination and by the time I popped her locker open, I was giving her that lazy, horny smile. The rest was history. We went to the movies that Friday with a group of people, and by the first preview, I was no longer a kissing virgin.
I knew, though. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew. Something changed inside me on a molecular level. I would never be the same after glimpsing this girl.
And I wasn’t. I’m still not, even if we’re no longer together.
I keep sinking myself into even more treacherous situations when it comes to Bevan. First, the house, and now this position that requires me to work in a school. So many of our early memories, the puppy love days of falling head over heels in love, took place inside the walls of a school.
My head has to be all the way on straight over the next eight months. I need to keep reminding myself that those early days led to the destructive final ones. Those are the times I never want to experience again.
9
BEVAN
A week passes and we’re into September, classes picking up steam and my schedule is insanity.
Not only are my commitments to the club boards I sit on completely getting in the way of how much I need to study, but my brain won’t focus on anything else but Callum moving back into Six Prospect Street. And I simply don’t have time for that.
I have to take and pass my LSATs in October to be able to apply for the fall semester of law school. After that, I’ll need to do as much paralegal work as I can for my internship to get good recommendations from the partners there. I also need to keep my GPA up so I can try to weasel law school scholarships out of the top universities, because there is no way Mom is helping me out.
When she advised me to never count on a man to pay my way, she kind of meant everyone. I haven’t had or bought anything I haven’t worked to get myself. I understood her logic, but sometimes I wished I had a parent who would actually help me out rather than make buying my first bra a lesson in financial freedom.
But keeping busy with my two internships and various clubs, plus studying, means I’ve barely been home, much less seen my ex-boyfriend. He’s probably also avoiding me after our confrontation the other night. We’ve not only not seen each other, but we haven’t spoken. The harsh, blunt truth he stamped into my heart still radiates pain. He has no intention of ever loving me again, that’s basically what I took from that conversation. Apparently, in our time apart, not only has Callum fallen out of love with me, but he’s also grown a backbone.
In our relationship, I was the one who would lash out and say things I didn’t mean, then had to take them back. He was always the party who would hole up, never say anything bad because he knew I’d fly off the handle. It’s clear now that he doesn’t care about hurting my feelings anymore. And that puts me into a tailspin. I’ve never known Callum to be rough or brutal, but now the boy two doors down from mine can’t be bothered to handle my issues with kid gloves.
I even tried to tell him that I was trying to get better, to get help. I had my first therapy session two days ago, and while it wasn’t revolutionary, I also didn’t walk out of there cursing the woman trying to get me to open up. We didn’t delve too deeply into my issues, and I didn’t feel as awkward as I thought. But I think, even if I’m going to use working on myself as fuel to get Callum back, I might be too late.
“Oh my God, Arabic grammar can blow me.” Taya slams her laptop closed in frustration.
“Hm, for some reason I don’t think that’s going to be likely.” Amelie smiles from where she’s hard at work at the kitchen counter.
The three of us have been in here for about an hour, Taya and I studying while Am fills the house with delicious smells.
“Want to trade? I’m working on criminal law as it pertains to modus operandi.” I smile obnoxiously.
“You really want to do that thing, where you suggest you’re smarter? Because I guarantee I could learn modus whatever faster than you could handwrite the Arabic alphabet,” Taya challenges.
The two of us always have a stealthy, jovial competition going, while Am trots along being the kind, sweet mediator that calms us down.
“Yeah, no. I’m good.” I hold up my hands, admitting defeat before we take this any further.
“I just can’t grasp this language, it’s so difficult. Every other one has come so naturally, I’ve just never had to work at it this hard.”
I stay silent, somewhat judging Taya in my head. I love my best friends, and they sure have had some hard shit in their lives, but they can afford to slack off. While Amelie lost her parents and went through a health scare with her aunt who raised her, she still has an adult in her life who unconditionally loves her and supports her. Taya has her problems with her mother and father, and living in her Olympian sister’s shadow, but she has a traditional family structure and grew up safe and comfortable financially speaking.
There are a lot of people out there who would argue I’m good at anything I touch. Sports, school, love, friendships. Look at my life and you’ll see the fake veneer of a perfect, shiny girl. But just past the surface, my life is anything but. I work tirelessly, for years on end, to perfect my life enough that I will never be someone’s mistake ever again. Being the daughter of a man who wishes I wasn’t even on this earth lights a fire under your ass, making it so that even when you reach a goal, you can’t enjoy the satisfaction of winning. I’m right onto the next obstacle, as if proving myself in every arena will make me worthy of being able to take breaths when he didn’t want me to.
“You’ll get it. You always do.” Amelie smiles good-naturedly. And for the umpteenth time in my life, I wish I could see the world the way she does.
But positiveness, happiness? They’re not even in my repertoire. I’m too hardened to see the world as a peaceful, beautiful place.
“Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here learning how to get away with murder.” I give them a Cheshire grin.
“If anyone can accomplish that, I think it’s you. The world’s first serial killer doubling as a powerful attorney.” Taya snickers.