by A. Destiny
“In all this time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you talk about a guy as much as you do him.” Lauretta looked at me, her face completely serious. “I think you need to examine how you really feel about him. The opposite of love isn’t hate—it’s indifference. If you really didn’t care about him, he wouldn’t be on your radar at all. The fact that he’s able to hurt your feelings so easily is a clear indicator of that to me.”
Her words, though quiet, still hit their mark. My chest nearly stung as I soaked in her meaning.
Then, to my horror, my eyes started to burn. Could she be right? Was there a chance that I might actually not hate Jason? That his barbs and gibes at me didn’t just make me angry . . . but also hurt my feelings?
“I don’t want him to hurt me,” I whispered, blinking rapidly to stave off any ridiculous tears from slipping out.
Stupid me, I’d actually let myself like him before then. Olivia and I both had had crushes on him, giggling at sleepovers and trying to decide who he might like. Olivia’s crush stayed strong, whereas mine died at homecoming.
Or so I’d thought.
“I don’t want you to get hurt either.” She squeezed my elbow, empathy deep and warm in her dark-brown eyes. “But like my dad always says to me, if you don’t give anything a chance, you’ll never really live.”
I swallowed, giving her a shaky smile. I couldn’t give Jason a chance—nor would I have any reason to. After all, he could barely stand my presence, much less have any feelings toward me.
Why was I even entertaining any of this? Remember what he said, I told myself. He thought you were boring. He pretty much called you lazy today. The guy doesn’t care about your feelings at all.
Lauretta must have sensed the shift in me. She shook her head, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “Oh, hon. You’d better watch yourself. A guy who has the ability to make you feel such strong highs and lows is dangerous.”
My stomach turned with a sense of foreboding. I didn’t want to hear what she was saying. I wanted to turn away and run down the hall, out of the building. But she was right about the dangers.
I couldn’t let Jason have that much control over me and my emotions.
I gave her a short nod. “I gotta head to class.”
She hugged me quickly and said, “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
The hallway was pretty much thinned out by the time I made it to World History, heart thudding dully in my chest. Jason was going to be in there. Which personality would I see this time—the arrogant one or the quieter guy who seemed to have more depth than I’d have guessed?
And which was the real him? I just didn’t know.
Olivia waved at me as I slipped into the door, just as the bell rang. “Close call,” she whispered.
I gave her a crooked grin and slipped my books under my chair, studiously avoiding looking in Jason’s direction. Get it together, I ordered myself. You can do this. You’re an actress now, and it’s the perfect time to hone those skills.
Mrs. Gregory started talking, and I focused on the words in front of me, slipping into the role of attentive student. My pen scrawled across the papers as I homed in on her words and studied the terms and images on the chalkboard. I totally had this covered. No sweat.
“Okay, guys.” Mrs. Gregory put down the chalk and stood in front of her desk. “Now that I finished all of that ‘boring lecture’ stuff”—she grinned as she did air quotes with her fingers—“it’s time to do something more fun. Let’s get started on Renaissance faire planning.”
Finally, something engaging. I cast a quick glance at Olivia, who looked back at me and winked.
“I want you to break into small groups of two or three,” Mrs. Gregory continued. “You’re each likely going to be working on different things, but your purpose today is to help each other brainstorm. What supplies are going to be needed for that person’s project? Where should that person start, and what steps have to be finished in what order? In essence, you’re going to be temporary partners.”
Olivia scooted her desk toward mine. “Okay, awesome. I need some help anyway,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been trying to think of something to write about for my play, but I’m drawing a blank.”
“Maybe I can help?” a husky voice said from behind her.
We looked up to see Jason staring down at us, a light smile on his face. But it was accompanied with a strange tension. He twisted a finger around the hem of his shirt as he peered at Olivia, then me.
Was he . . . nervous?
“Have a seat,” I blurted out before I realized what I was saying. For a second, I thought about taking the hasty words back, but if I was going to prove that I was indifferent to Jason, then revoking the invitation would simply show I wasn’t as unaffected as I wanted to be.
I could rise above this pettiness and be the bigger person. After all, we were going to be working closely together over the next few weeks for the play. This would be great practice for me.
Olivia’s face turned bright red, and she scooted her chair to the side. “You can sit here.” She indicated with a nod toward the free space between us. “But be aware that I need a lot of help. I’m so lost.” This last part was said with a nervous giggle.
I did my best to hide a cringe.
But Jason gave her a grateful smile and slid his chair over, slipping into it easily. He whipped out a piece of paper. “Ready when you are.”
I cleared my throat and turned my focus back to Olivia, trying my hardest to pretend like I didn’t notice Jason’s knee just inches from mine. The heat seemed to pour off him in waves. “Okay, so since you’re doing puppets, you should think about writing a play that’s funny or silly.”
“Like Punch and Judy,” Jason said.
“Who?” Olivia turned her wide eyes to him.
He grinned, flashing bright-white teeth. “It’s a running set of skits from a long time ago featuring a husband—Punch—and his wife—Judy. They spend the whole time making snarky comments and hitting each other.”
“And how do you know so much about puppets?” I asked him.
Olivia shot me a quick glare, but Jason merely laughed. “Too much free time on my hands, I guess,” he retorted. “Plus, it doesn’t help that I’m actually a big nerd. Don’t tell anyone.”
I found myself chuckling in response. “I doubt your nerdiness could beat mine. I’m off the charts.”
“So,” Olivia interjected, turning all of her attention to Jason. “Do you have any suggestions, then? This Punch and Judy thing could work, but I wonder if they need to be so mad . . . what if it’s less violent and more silly? Like how couples in love tease each other all the time. What do you think?”
It was all I could do to not roll my eyes at her heavy-handedness. Could she be any more obvious in her flirting?
But Jason seemed to eat up the attention. He rubbed his chin, staring at the ceiling as he thought. “I have an idea. What if you do some kind of a spoof off of our play, All’s Fair in Love? It could be a nice tie-in and get the audience excited to see our performance too . . . and they can figure out all the funny ways you spoofed us when they see your show and then ours.”
“That’s brilliant!” Olivia said, writing it down.
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Doing a tie-in was quite clever, and our teachers would love that. “You can see my script if you want, so that we can start working on your play.” I paused, shooting a look at Jason. “Or better yet, take his. He probably has all of his lines memorized by now, plus mine.”
He gave me a casual shrug, but his eyes sparkled. “Guess you’d better catch up or else they’ll cast me as a one-man show.” He dropped his voice, maintaining eye contact with me. “I can’t say I’d look as good as you in a dress, though.”
My heart stopped, then restarted again with a furious pace. Jason just complimented me . . . I think. “Maybe it’s just a matter of finding the right color and fabric for you,” I managed to say. “Have you tried subtle patterns?�
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He laughed. “I doubt there’s any fabric that can hide these hips,” he said, glancing down with a fake woeful expression.
Olivia gave him a fake slug on the arm. The gesture was casual, but her eyes had a strange glint to them as she kept her attention on Jason. “Hilarious!” she said a little too loudly. “Um, so let’s get back to the play.”
I turned my attention back to my paper and stayed quiet while she and Jason hashed out a few ideas. It was obvious Olivia’s flame for Jason hadn’t died down . . . and that for some reason, she was determined to make me feel like a third wheel.
Not that I cared, of course. I didn’t want to be any wheel, so they could have their special moment together. Didn’t matter to me in the least. I spent the rest of class nodding and interjecting when Olivia purposefully looked at me, but otherwise I quietly watched them. They made a great couple . . . if you got past his ego and rudeness and her tendency to overflirt. To be honest, I was kind of surprised he wasn’t into her the way she was him. I could see him giving her genuine smiles, fully engaged, but there wasn’t a real spark there.
Part of me felt bad for Olivia.
But deep down, a secret part of me I was barely ready to admit existed was also kind of glad.
Chapter Six
I zoomed my lens and snapped a few more pictures of the girls’ softball team. The weather outside was perfect, sun warm but not overbearing, a fresh breeze flowing nicely. A quick glance at the screen confirmed I’d gotten several decent action shots. Excellent—this should work just fine.
I peeked at my cell to check the time. Play practice was tonight, but I only had a little homework to do before then. I could walk over to the golf course and take a couple of photos of the students, then call it a day. Things were progressing nicely with the pictures; I was e-mailing them to Robert as I finished, and I’d already done the soccer shots yesterday.
As I walked down the sidewalk and crossed the street to the nearby golf course, I whistled a jaunty little tune, enjoying the sunshine on my face and the top of my head. I took a few shots of birds along the way, just for fun. Maybe I could print these out and put them on my wall to remind me of this weather next winter, when we’d have little sunshine and piles of snow.
When I arrived, the golf course had some adults playing, probably people cutting work. I grinned—Don would be out here if he could. He kept trying to get me to play, but my one venture with golf had left me frustrated and missing the ball far more than I hit it. And when I did make contact, it’d ended up in the sand or water. I had no idea what I was doing wrong.
Don had patted my back several times and encouraged me to try again in the future, but it just wasn’t the sport for me. To be honest, I didn’t see what was so fun about it; to each his own, I guess.
I traversed the paved cart path, passing each well-manicured hole. I could see students just ahead of me scattered in small groups, whacking the balls with distinct thwacks. The small white spheres soared through the air, arcing gracefully then coasting to the fairway. I popped the lens back off and snapped various shots, progressing from hole to hole.
When I got to the seventh hole, I focused on the guy who was carefully practicing his swing. His gestures were graceful, each movement precise. He stepped up to the teed ball, swung the club, and the ball soared forward with a strong hit that made me blink in surprise.
I zoomed in, quickly realizing I recognized that dark, careless hair. And the accompanying self-satisfied grin that went along with an amazing hit.
Jason, of course. Was there anything the guy wasn’t talented at?
One of the other guys on the golf team came up and high-fived Jason. “Well done, man!”
Jason shrugged. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” He walked over and dropped the club back into his bag. “Good luck.”
The guy lined his ball up, took a few practice swings, then whiffed when he tried to hit the ball. I could see the frustration in the stiffness of his back. I waited for Jason to start laughing at him, but he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed one of his clubs and went up to the guy’s side.
“I think I see what happened here,” Jason said. “When you start your swing, your knees are bent perfectly, the way they should be. But when you move the swing forward, you end up standing straight up, so the head of your club is going overtop of the ball. Like this.” He demonstrated a couple of times how the guy was doing it wrong.
I moved my camera out of the way, watching carefully. I’d had that same problem when golfing with Don but couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t connecting with the ball. Maybe my knees were unbending that way when I swung too. Funny how I hadn’t even noticed.
The guy nodded. “Okay, I think I get what you mean.” He stared down at the ball, bending his knees properly, then swung and kept his legs bent, using his torso to twist and keeping his eyes on the ball. The ball flew down the fairway with ease, lifted on a cushion of air.
“Awesome!” Jason said, beaming. He clapped the guy on the back. “Way to give me a run for my money. You did great that time. Nice job. Keep that up, and you’ll be well under par before you know it.”
I stared at the scene in confusion, the camera dropping to dangle from the strap around my neck. Who was this version of Jason, so encouraging and . . . nice? I’d never seen him like that before. Yet another layer that made him even more baffling to me.
For the next twenty minutes, I lagged behind the group, taking the occasional shot but keeping the bulk of my attention on Jason. I couldn’t help it—as much as I told myself I wanted to ignore him, he was almost magnetic, moving from guy to guy, offering tips and encouraging them. And when he played, his movements were smooth and calm, even if the ball didn’t always go where he wanted it to.
So unlike the controlling actor from our play practice, drilling and pushing me to get everything right.
Or the snooty jerk from the dance last year.
I lifted the camera and zoomed to take another shot when Jason suddenly turned toward me, eyes widening as he realized who I was. I dropped the camera in surprise, my neck burning from the rapid rubbing of the strap.
Club in hand, Jason strode toward me, his face now unreadable. My heart slammed in my chest, even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong or creepy. But I felt a bit like a stalker. No, you’re not—you’re supposed to be here.
Still, it took every ounce of self-control I had to stand there and not run off in a guilty dash.
“Hey,” he said, eyeing my camera. “What’s going on?”
I swallowed, straightening my spine. “Robert asked me to take pictures for the newspaper of some of the sports teams. So I’m here.” I lifted the camera. “Uh, taking pictures, of course. With my camera.” My cheeks burned as he kept his eyes locked on mine.
When did I become so awkward?
He gave me that toothy grin. “I kind of assumed it was something school-related. Unless you wanted to decorate your locker with pictures of me.”
I rolled my eyes, chuckling. “You wish.”
“Jason!” one of the guys hollered, waving at him. “We’re heading over to the green now.”
“I’ll catch up in a minute,” he replied, then turned back to me. “Do you play golf?”
Part of me wanted to lie and say of course, that I was amazing, but if he challenged me to show him my skills, I’d be totally busted.
“My stepdad tried to teach me last fall,” I finally admitted, “but I wasn’t very good. I kept missing the ball and getting frustrated.”
He nodded. “It took me a long time to get used to the different clubs. I’m still working on improving my skills.”
Slowly I relaxed. It was so much easier talking to him when he wasn’t being overbearing. “Looks like you’re doing fine, from what I saw.”
He shrugged, giving me a wide grin, not a bit of ego on his face. “I have a long way to go.”
This unusual surge of humility was throwing me off-balance. Was he really like this, and the b
ravado was an act? Or was he just trying to look nicer than he actually was for whatever weird reason?
“Well, I’d better get going,” he said, and, if I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn I heard a tinge of regret in his voice. “But feel free to follow me around if you want pictures to decorate your house, too.”
I barked out a surprised laugh, even as my cheeks blazed with the thought of having his image everywhere. I could tell that this was him teasing and not being an egomaniac; there was that twinkle in his eyes I’d seen in World History class earlier today. “I know your massive self-confidence probably can’t believe it, but these pictures aren’t for me,” I said, giving an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Besides, I’m sure you have enough girls swooning over you. You hardly need another to add to the list.”
“Touché,” he replied, his grin growing wider. “But one can never have too many friends, right?”
Were we friends? For so long I’d been angry with him, holding on to a memory that festered in my gut and grew to have a life of its own. But over these last few days, I’d seen more facets to Jason than I’d realized existed. That anger was losing its sharp edge every day.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to be friends with him . . . not yet. But acquaintances? I could handle that.
I lifted the camera up and snapped a quick close-up of his face. “That one is for your fan club,” I said drolly. “And you’d better go before your team thinks you fell in the water hazard.”
He gave me a quick salute. “See you at play practice tonight, Abbey.” With that, he walked away, sure and confident.
I tore my gaze away from his retreating figure, popped the lid back on my camera lens, and headed back to the entrance of the golf course, fighting the urge to peek at that impulsive shot I’d taken of his face.
I was late.
I swallowed hard and ran down the dimly lit school hallway, tennis shoes slapping against the floor tiles. My mom wouldn’t let me go to play rehearsal until I’d finished all of my chores, and my dawdling at the golf course while taking yearbook pictures had put me behind schedule.