by Xavier Neal
“They called you in the office didn’t they?” A slight grin of triumph covers my face.
“Ugh yes. God, I didn’t know how much more I could keep that lying up,” she sighs pulling out a bottle of water from her purse. “They hadn’t called me in the office in almost a week. You don’t think I know why I got a request there today?” She says in what sounds like an upset tone. “Now look, I know I wasn’t very nice to you yesterday, so I came to say I’m sorry.” My continued blank stare is followed with, “I really do want to be your partner.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don’t. What you should say is you really don’t want them to kick you out of school.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“You're unbelievable.” I shake my head and get up.
“Thank you!” Her marvelous smile graces my presence before she gets up to follow me over to the trash can. If only she wasn't so damn sexy, it would be easier not to be tempted by that smile. The all charming, she knows she's hot shit smile. She may be hot shit, but I'm not that dumb. Not dumb enough to fall for a gorgeous face and tiny waist. Well, at least not twice.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” I mumble underneath my breath tossing my trash away and heading towards the theater room.
“Wait!” She rushes to catch up with me, her boots tapping loudly. “Connor wait!”
Past the point of annoyed I whip around, “What? What do you want from me Gianna?”
“To give me another chance.”
“And why should I? Because you so kindly welcomed me with open arms? Or because you so sweetly dismissed the only peace I experience during the day? Why should I waste another moment of my precious, and I do mean precious, time listening to bullshit from you when you looked down your nose at me to begin with?”
“Because I’m desperate!” She pleads, her eyes on the brink of tears, though I’m fairly certain they’re not real.
“Honesty. Nice. I appreciate that, but that doesn’t sound like my problem.” My eyes invite themselves to leisurely roll over her small curves, tight stomach, and down the most dangerous set of legs in existence. Those should be registered as deadly weapons.
Gianna pulls me into the hallway by the hand and pushes me against the wall. The slight action feels like foreplay. I have to use will power to force my dick to stay down. “Look, if I don’t make this work with you that’s it for me.”
Heartlessly, I draw a set of fake tears down my cheeks, which boils her.
“I don't think you understand.”
“I don't think I care.”
“Boarding school is just like Juvy! Both are only full of girls and reek of bad endings.”
I sigh teasingly, “Tick-tock...”
“Look, I don’t want to leave another school especially because I slipped up and wouldn’t let what seems like…” she delays the next part as if choking on it, “…an actual decent person have a chance. Now, I know you want to win that competition for whatever reason, so if you let yesterday's episode go and give us a fresh start today and tell Ms. Flores you’ve changed your mind, I promise to take this seriously.”
“Promise huh?” The back of my head rests against the wall. “Can I get that in blood?”
Clearly biting her tongue she moves past my snide remark. “I swear. I'll be serious every step of the way and really put something into this.”
“Do you even have something to put into this? I mean how do I know you’ve even got potential? How do I know I’m not working with another every day girl who thinks because she reads her poems on YouTube to a handful of followers, she's gonna be the next big thing?”
“You’ve gotta trust me.”
“That sounds like a very bad idea.”
“I’m throwing up my white flag here. Whatever you need me to do for this competition I will. I will do whatever it takes, whenever it takes. Whatever you say goes for this project, just please, please, don’t let them send me away again,” her plea does something that I’ve got to learn to control. It strikes guilt in my heart. It reminds me of an all too familiar tale I once got, which is in the end how I got stuck as a single parent.
“Fine,” my groan is deep and pained. “One more chance, but I swear to God Gianna if you so much as make one comment or smart ass remark I don’t like that’s it. You can kiss the easy public school life goodbye and prepare yourself to hug the ‘I’m desperately dying for a make-over before I become an angry lesbian’ boarding school hello. We clear?”
“Like a high quality diamond engagement ring.” She winks.
Why the hell am I such a sap for girl with a sob story? You’d think I’d learn after MaKayla that sometimes it’s best to just let the troubled ones go, but no. Who am I kidding? I know why I'm like this. His view of life, determination to never stop seeing the good in the bad, pumps through my veins just as his DNA does. On days like today, I wish I was nothing like him. It would significantly decrease the chances of my life falling apart.
Chapter 3
A couple days later, I'm stretching my legs out in front of me, just as Nicole Simon, a girl I've had every theater class with since I started at this school, leans over to whisper, “How are things with Tyra Banks’ evil twin?”
I glance back to see Gianna looking down at us with a slightly disapproving look. With a snicker I merely shake my head and turn back around.
“She's death glaring me again isn't she?” I nod. “That girl has to work for the devil. Maybe his assistant?”
Sarcastically I tilt my head, “Do you really see that Pretty Pretty Princess working for anyone else?”
She giggles and playfully touches my arm. “Get this though. I heard from Carly who sits behind her in English, that she was doodling your initials.”
“Do you know how many people have my initials?”
“Okay. But how many people are willing to have anything to do with her?”
With that point made, I glance over my shoulder again to see Gianna quickly look away, to hide the fact she was obviously still staring. Concerned that Nicole is right I turn back around just as Ms. Flores takes the front of the classroom.
“Now let’s look at today’s rotation,” Ms. Flores says with excitement. She starts listing the spaces outside of the classroom that we have share on a cycle, announcing at the end it's me and Gianna's turn in the auditorium. All that space and nothing to do with it yet.
Getting up, I grab my backpack and walk from my bottom row seat to the door where I lean my back against it. I watch my partner who takes her dear sweet time to do everything like the world revolves around her. My foot taps the ground impatiently as she swishes her hips, which are covered with another mini skirt, leather this time, down the stairs while the entire class watches, myself included. Every time she walks I swear she's strutting down a runaway. It's like she was made to grab the attention of everyone effortlessly. Frustrated that I can't shake the attraction and the fact she's making me wait in front an audience, I move out of the door way when she finally gets close enough letting the door close in her face. Hearing the class chuckle serves as sufficient payback.
“Well that wasn’t very nice,” she snaps rushing to follow me down the hallway towards the stage.
“Yeah and neither is making me wait thirty minutes for you to walk from the top of the stairs to the bottom like you’re some sort of super model or something.”
“I was,” she mumbles adjusting her shoulder bag.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Her throat clears as she finally catches up to me. “Sorry. I’m just used to walking and it not mattering.”
“Well it does now,” I snap opening the door to the stage, ushering her through. “We need every bit of rehearsal time in class we can get.”
“Yeah I meant to talk to you about that.” Gianna sits her bag by the door and adjusts her sweater that's letting her belly button ring play peak-a-boo with me. The little yellow gem catches my eye again an
d suddenly I wish my fingertips were touching it.
Pulling my script out of my backpack, I try to keep my eyes diverted to shake off the thought. Shoving my bag to the side, I flop down on one of the stage couches. These things have seen more action than Prom Night. Or so I assume. I didn't get to go to my junior prom. Not going to my senior one either. “About what?”
“This whole rehearse only in class thing. From what I hear everyone else practices outside of school. And according to Ms. Flores it’s something she recommends.”
I do my best to focus on my highlighted lines and not on what she’s saying, “Well we don’t. We work in class.”
“What about outside? Like after school?”
“I get out of school at 2:00.”
“Perfect! So do I,” her excitement feels genuine as she bounces down on the purple couch cushion next to me. One minute it feels like she's determined to say everything she can to hurt me and the next it's like she wants someone to talk to. Whiplash isn't something I wanna add to my life. I swear...chicks.
“Not perfect. I have to be at work by 2:30.”
“You have a job?”
“Some of us can't have mommy and daddy give us everything.”
The snip causes her to glare. “What about after work?”
“I have other responsibilities to take care of.”
“Like what?”
“Like,” the words are ready to rush out of my mouth just to get her off my back when the obvious shuts me up.
Very few know about MaKayla, which is a Goddamn miracle. Keeping her birth off social media was a challenge, but when you have someone who doesn't want the world to know any more than you do, it gets a little easier. However there are a few teachers who bend the rules for me. Bret and Brent who try to help in subtle ways, like grabbing too many slices of pizza on days it's clear I can't afford to eat. The preschool I work at donates used things to me when they get brand new ones to keep their school looking the best of the best or ahead of the rest. It's this combination of generosity that no one can see that even gives me a shot at raising Mak as successfully as I have. No one else needs to know. I don't need those questions. I don't want that attention.
“Like things that aren’t any of your concern. Can we get started now?”
“No,” she protests again, leaning up against the couch arm of the hideous flowered couch. “What kind of things?”
“Things.”
“Like?”
“Like I said.”
“How do you expect me to put ‘everything’ into this and you aren’t?” Gianna tilts her chin down with another disapproving glare.
Getting underneath my skin, which is becoming a usual for her, I dig my fingers into the couch. “I am putting my everything into it, but I have some stipulations on my time. Therefore, we have to work in class and in class only.”
“Why does the world have to be all about you?”
“Why does the world have to be all about you?”
“You're being difficult.”
“You are difficult...”
“Fine! I give up!” She throws her hands up in submission. “Whatever.”
“Can we start now?”
Gianna shrugs and crosses her legs. “Sure.”
“Let’s take it from page 7,” I sigh.
For a moment it’s silent as I try to review my lines over and over again in my head, determined to find my character's voice, when Gianna interrupts with, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“What?” my concentration breaks to look up at her.
“Do you have girlfriend?” She innocently nibbles on the edge of her fingernail. My eyes drift to the action, my imagination rushing to get away from me.
“Why?”
“Because that’s the only excuse I can think of as being ‘other responsibilities’.”
“The only excuse?”
“Yeah…”
“Wow.”
“Wow what?”
“You really are just a simple creature aren’t you?”
With another shrug she asks, “So, do you?”
“No.” I bury my face back in my script.
“She's probably another theater nerd isn't she?”
“I just said no. No girlfriend. Can we get back to lines now?”
“I guess,” another huff escapes her. As soon as I open my mouth to say my first line she blurts, “Why not?”
Irritated I gripe, “Why not what?”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I just…don’t,” my answer is nowhere near truthful. I know exactly why I don’t have a girlfriend. I know exactly why I keep my space away from females. And MaKayla's beautiful face acts as the perfect reminder when I threaten to get a little too close to one.
“You just don’t?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You mean to tell me a guy like you can’t get a girlfriend? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I didn’t say I can’t get a girlfriend. I said I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Tomato…potato.” She waves her hand at me in dismissal.
“No, there’s a big difference between can’t and don’t. I can have a girlfriend. Hell, I’ve had numerous amounts of girls chasing me since I first came to this school and I CHOOSE not to have a girlfriend.”
“Player type? Enjoy the run around?”
“Not at all actually,” my heavy sigh is followed by hands running over my buzz cut. “I prefer the idea of just one girl. One girl that I don't have to share. One girl that...that I can call my own.”
“Chump.”
Offended I bite, “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t say anything,” she mumbles before she begins to admire her nails.
“You did, and I wanna know what you mean by that.”
“By what? That you’re a chump? Because I thought the definition of that word was pretty clear.”
I get off the couch and prepare to head towards the door. “You know what, between the twenty question and twenty insults, I just don’t think that this is going to work out. I’m just going to tell Ms. Flores that—”
“Whoa whoa whoa there cowboy,” she wraps her surprisingly soft and warm hands around my forearm before I have the chance to walk completely by. Something causes her to stutter, “I-I-I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Yes you did.”
“I really didn't. Swear. It’s just…I’m not real good at this whole…friendship thing.”
“Apparently.” Shaking loose her hand from me I question, “And who said anything about needing a friendship? This is a partnership for business. Think about it like that.”
“And as a partnership for a business, it is important to not only know your clients, which in this case would be our audience, but to know my colleague or personal investor. As a good business move it's wise to often take your fellow partner out for lunch and get to know them on a personal level. In the end you'll understand them better on the business front and be better aware of where they'll be going with their ideas.”
Seeing exactly where she’s coming from, I sigh, “And how do you know all this?”
“Daddy’s got a lot of businesses.” She nods slowly. “A lot.” In a soft whisper she adds, “So many it makes it easy for him to forget he has me...” A surge of guilt shoots through me forcing me to open my mouth to say something when she proceeds, “Anyway, I’ve just never been good at the whole friendly speech thing. I really haven’t had many…”
“Speeches or friends?”
Sensing the playfulness in my tone she smirks. “Friends.”
“But you have met people before right?” my body slides on to the arm of the couch beside her.
“Not your kind of people.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Nervous at the subject, she reaches in her purse to fidget for something. “Nothing. Never mind.”
My hand covers her cellphone screen. “You know w
hat Gianna? I’m sick of all these questions you demand I answer yet when I ask you something that is the end of the conversation. From now on if you want answers you’re going to have to cough them up too, otherwise just leave it the fuck alone. Deal?”
“Deal.” She gently nudges my hand off her screen. After a short pause she says, “I just find it odd for a guy like you not to have a girlfriend for whatever reason.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? A guy like me?”
Gianna pops off the couch, slides by me, and shrugs. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Watching her head back to her backpack, allowing a beautiful shot of her ass that’s trying to peak at me from underneath the skirt, I find myself boiling with irritation not only with her damn questions but that this is some sick twist of my physical patience as much mental. How am I not supposed to wonder what’s under that skirt? Her boots conspire with her legs to point your attention there! Adjusting my jeans, I turn to the side to hide the evidence better. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she bends over. You've got to be shitting me. My eyes shoot away to look at the bright stage lightening. “Nothing at all.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“Did I stutter?”
With a heavy sigh she shakes her head. “Whatever. I didn’t wanna tell you anyway.”
Getting up now that my dick has given up on the idea of what used to happen when a girl would bend over like that, I head over to where she is. “Sure you did. That’s why you brought it up. Because you want me to drag answers out of you. Because you want all my attention on you. You’re really not that clever Gianna.”
“Call me Gi,” the correction is accompanied with a cocoa lip gloss being glazed on her lips. Great now, she doesn't just look as good as chocolate she fucking smells like it too. Unbelievable.
“What?”
“Call me Gi. Everyone calls me Gi.”
“And by everyone you mean…your followers in hell?”