The Face You See

by Amelia Legend

  He called her a slut right in front of me. Slut? I was about to lose it until Dannie bolted. Good thing she did, because it kept me away from that dick she once dated. My fists tighten on their own accord at the thought of them together. I hate the thought of him touching her. He didn’t deserve someone as sweet as Dannie. Hell. I don’t deserve a girl like Dannie! I close my eyes and push that thought away.

  When I took her to the field, I was hoping for time alone. I thought it was romantic, but it didn’t go quite as planned. Perhaps my idea of romance is off? Most guys aren’t known for their romantic gestures. Maybe I was wrong about the field. I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my sister; she’ll laugh but will definitely give me some good pointers on dating.

  Dannie told me a little about her relationship with the douche bag, which only made me want to hit him more, but I was glad she felt like she could tell me. Then I had to go and screw it up and say that word! I don’t want to be her friend—at least not just her friend. I want to be more than that; I want to be her future, her fantasy, her love, her companion, but not just her friend.

  To make matters worse, she flinched when I reached to hold her hand. Flinched! I don’t even think she realized when I reached out to lace our fingers together she reacted as if I were going to hit her. What the hell did he do to her?

  Is she afraid of me? I’m worried I ruined everything before I had a chance to show her that not all men are like him. I have to do some damage control.

  I hop out of bed and fish through my jeans pocket for my cell, glad that I had the foresight to get her number. I text her before I chicken out.

  As beautiful as the stars are, they look down at you and think the same. ;p

  I hope she doesn’t think I am a freaking idiot, but girls like compliments from what I have seen.

  Little over the top much?

  Bad over-the-top? Or good over-the-top? This girl …

  I was trying to get you to laugh

  You succeeded, bravo

  I crawl back into bed with my phone on the nightstand in case she texts again. I’ve got a grin on my face, knowing that I made her laugh, even if what I really want is to make her fall for me, because I’m pretty sure that I’m falling for her—a little every day, little pieces of my heart at a time.

  Every day we sit in the library talking, laughing, and enjoying learning a little more about each other. She owns me. I know it. Every day is a confirmation of what I already know—that this girl is made for me. You know what they say, “When you know, you know,” and there is no doubt in my mind.

  I lie in bed, remembering how her small hand fit in mine, how her laugh made me feel when she was joking with her friends. My stomach tightens at the memory as I lie there. I roll over and put the pillow over my head. I can’t help but think of how tight her clothes were because it distracted me most of the game. It was a great game, and I love football, but the girl next to me made me feel disoriented all night. I had to keep my mind on the game to regain some control more than a few times. She is so beautiful, so smart, and so sweet, and she doesn’t even know how special she is.

  I’ll just have to be patient and take this slow.

  I grip the front of my letterman’s jacket where the pocket holds a red envelope—the first letter in a series to come. I laugh at my own lovesick plot.

  Letters.

  It’s not my entire plan, but it’s a start. I thought letters were the way to go about the same time I considered climbing though her window the other night just to get a closer look again, although I refrained. I hope watching her from a distance as she reads my letters will have a similar effect. The wonderment and uncertainty of anonymous letters seem to be the perfect beginning to a lasting relationship.

  Phase 1 includes letters. Maybe I’ll send a few texts. Phase 2 includes approaching and casual conversation. Although I’ll have to pretend I know nothing about her. I’ll figure it out. Phase 3 is still undecided at this point.

  This is difficult, mostly because I’ve never had a relationship before. Never met a girl who held my interest. Get in; get out. That’s the only amount of interest I have in most women. Women talk too much. I’d prefer not to talk at all with them, certainly not cuddle or share feelings. Most women are only good for only one thing, and once I get it, I no longer have any use for them. Dumb whores.

  But my blue-eyed girl is different. She has always been different.

  I take a deep breath of morning air while sitting on a bench overlooking the quad, which also happens to have a direct line of sight to Dannie’s locker. I’m watching Dannie as she’s talking to her group of friends at her locker. The tall blonde again, the short blonde with tattoos, and some lanky junior I’ve seen hanging around her friends lately. Come to think of it; I’ve seen him an awful lot hanging around Dannie. I shift on the bench I’m sitting on, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees as I watch the group interact. They all seem familiar with one another, comfortable, happy even. When I notice the boy watching Dannie a little too closely, I feel a rise of anger toward them both. I clench my fists. Don’t make that mistake again, Dannie. You’d better not go there …

  As she turns to leave, she gives him a friendly smile and then walks away with her tall blonde friend. He stands there for a few moments longer, watching as she turns the corner. Well, damn. Not again … I take a deep breath, and before I notice what I’m doing, I’m heading in his direction. I follow him to what I assume is his next class, all the while trying to talk myself down from the rage that’s building, begging for release.

  I assess him as I walk. He’s a pretty tall kid; I’ll give him that. He looks athletic from what I see, but there is no way in hell I’m gonna to let someone else get between Dannie and me again. I’m not waiting any more. I refuse to go unnoticed this time. He turns into his classroom, unaware of my approach. I pass by without drawing attention to myself.

  Careful, kid. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt …

  Certainly wouldn’t be the first time though, I think, smirking as I think back to summer when I may have caused some trouble for Dannie’s ex. It was nothing he didn’t deserve.

  Last Summer

  Bush parties are an excuse for adolescents to drink, dance, and sleep around. I hate rowdy crowds like this one, but it’s a good place to blow off some steam. I look around, hoping for a fight to break out; they rarely do, but you never know. A guy can hope.

  I take a deep swig of my beer on the boulder claimed by players on the team. I analyze the growing crowd while the guys talk about the girls around the fire, which one they want to bag tonight, which ones to avoid, which are easy.

  They will try; most won’t succeed. Pathetic.

  I look around with vague interest, knowing the only girl I really want to be here with won’t be here. She’s never here. She is probably with her asshole boyfriend. I sneer, suddenly furious. I crave a fight tonight. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to destroy something. Someone’s bloody face will be a good distraction from Dannie.

  I never understood how she fell for Jett’s line of bull. I thought she was smarter than that. I thought she knew better. I guess I was wrong. It doesn’t keep me from noticing her every time she crosses my path or constantly watching for her in social settings like this one.

  I came to realize years ago that her dad happens to live directly diagonally from the house I grew up in. Every time Dannie is with her dad, I find myself looking in that direction. I can’t seem to help looking at that house constantly, looking out my window, hoping to see a glimpse of her, finding reasons to walk by.

  It’s become a constant in my life, perhaps the only constant—even if my attempts have thus far been futile. She sees nothing beyond her boyfriend; she has yet to notice my attentions, my infatuation, my growing affection. I’m a man possessed by a girl with blue eyes.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts by the one person I’d least like to see. Jett. I wish Dannie had never dated that jerk off. Jett strides quickly to the b
oulder I happen to be sitting on. He fist-bumps the other guys on the team, smiling and laughing about some nonsense. I can’t help but imagine ringing his neck. It puts a smile on my face.

  “Freedom!” He throws back his head, shouting.

  What the hell does he mean by that? I assume he means graduation so I shrug it off, but my ears have perked up a little.

  He and Mike are talking in lowered voices as Mike beats Jett on the back, laughing. Mike turns to the guys. “Jett is a free man again. Get him a beer!”

  Someone throws a beer at Jett, and he immediately pops the cap and chugs it.

  “That’s right, boys. I got rid of the ball and chain. It’s time I look for some new tail ’round here,” he cheerfully says while scoping the girls dancing.

  He broke up with Dannie? This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I try to hide the elation that tries to force its way onto my face. I won’t smile. I won’t.

  On one hand, I’m pissed that he broke up with a girl like Dannie. What an idiot. On the other hand, I’m stoked! Finally, she’s free. I’m free of hiding this secret, hiding my obsession.

  I watch Jett make his way over to the redhead I constantly see him here with. Kendal is a disgusting whore. Jett can’t seem to help himself when he’s drunk. As long as she keeps him from crawling his sorry butt back to Dannie, she can have ’em.

  Disgusting.

  I let my thoughts float back to Dannie and how we finally have a chance to be together. How do you make a girl fall in love with you? But I don’t just want her love or affection. Love is for pussies. I want her soul. I want her to be mine, under my complete control. I want to own her. I want her to be as obsessed with me as I am with her.

  I calculate as I make my way quietly toward the assortment of vehicles past the tree line. No one will think anything of it beyond a quick piss. I spot the truck I’m looking for as I take out my old knife, looking around for unwanted spectators. Coast is clear. I leave my mark on the tires before heading back to the fire, satisfied with my work. It maybe a little mild for my taste, but at least it’s something.

  That asshole deserves it.

  Weeks go by, Reed and I study for our midterms almost every day in the library. Jem and Melody even join us a few times after school, but life takes on a predictable routine. Reed doesn’t bring up what we talked about at the meadow, as if he could sense that I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. He respects my need to keep it to myself. Some things are better left unsaid.

  Each day, Reed and I chat, trading jokes and funny stories. I listen but never divulge anything about my home or family. We start playing the twenty questions game, which has quickly surpassed twenty by now. And each night he sends me a cheesy over-the-top text that always make me laugh. A few weeks ago, I started receiving letters in my locker, and I assume they’re from him too—letters with poems or a note with a sweet quote. Each is different, each thought-provoking.

  We have become easy friends, and it has taken on a normalcy that I start to rely on. I’m grateful that we can be friends. I want to be grateful that he doesn’t expect me to talk about certain things. He seems to sense when a subject is not up for discussion. Even if my heart longs for more, I know it can never become more than friendship. I’ve accepted that it’s just not meant to be. I have become uncomfortably aware that he is way too good for me, whatever his past regrets are. He deserves more than someone who comes from a family like mine. I’m tainted, although I hide that fact well. It’s only because I’ve had a lifetime of practice hiding my secrets. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m no good for someone like Reed Fischer.

  Home is a complete disaster on our best days. Mom covers up for Mark’s outbursts. Mark marches around the house as if he were king of the castle and we are all subject to his authority. My brother hot boxed his room this week, causing quite the scene between him and my parents. Mom was livid when she found out I never even tried out for cheer, her disappointment in me evident with every glare. But my disappointment in her is equal. She will get over it eventually, and honestly it’s hard for me to care. I try my hardest every day to compartmentalize home from school, and anything related to home is my dark secret to hide.

  “Have you told him about your mom and Mark?” Melody quietly and patiently asks at the lockers one morning before school.

  The question is out of concern, I know, but I can’t help but feel accused, as if I am keeping something from him that he somehow deserves to know. It’s none of anyone’s business, but Melody comes from a difficult home too, and her gentleness reminds me that she shares my heart aching loneliness and shame.

  Frustrated, I respond quietly, “No, I don’t want him to start feeling sorry for me … or to look at me differently. You know he will if he finds out …” I trail off, not wanting to acknowledge my secret. I continue, “He never asks about my family anyway, so I’ve never had to lie,” I say, lies of omission notwithstanding.

  “I think you should tell him something. I know you don’t want to talk about it. I get it … really, I do, but you like him. He should know more about you before you get involved.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “That’s just it, Melody. We won’t get involved. He doesn’t think of me that way. I am glad he doesn’t think of me as anything more than a friend. I don’t want a boyfriend … not after Jett …”

  She just looks at me a little confused because she knows this has more to do with my family than Jett.

  “Do you find him attractive?”

  So attractive. “Yeah.”

  “Do you think he is a good guy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I don’t see the hang-up?”

  I can’t answer.

  She probably doesn’t suspect that I don’t feel worthy of someone like Reed, someone from a good family. Jett was from a good family, but he wasn’t a good person. It evened the playing field a little. Reed, however, is way above my level in every way, not to mention he has voiced no interest in me as anything other than a friend.

  I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “I dunno.”

  “Okay …” she says, allowing me to not answer. “Regardless, if you want to come over for Thanksgiving, you are more than welcome. It will just be my family bickering, but it might be better …”

  Better than my house, she means, but she looks sorry she said it even if it’s the truth. I look at her and give her a sad smile. She knows I won’t say yes, but I love her for asking. Sweet, gentle Melody.

  “Girls’ night at my house, bee-sees!” Jem slaps both of our backsides while walking past to her locker.

  Melody and I smile at one another and follow her. We are both glad to have a night away from our crazy families.

  Speaking of, I think to myself as I look down at my vibrating phone. “DAD” flashes across the screen as I hold the phone in my hand.

  I answer. “Hello?” I hold my breath.

  “Hey, honey, just wanted to call and wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. Are you doing anything fun?” my dad asks, sounding uncomfortable. Is he uncomfortable because of me? Or is it because of his terrible relationship with his ex-wife and her sparkly new hubby? Probably the latter.

  “Oh, you know, the usual … dry turkey, green beans, and too much pie,” I say, trying to sound cheerful—not to mention the yelling and throwing of plates with the occasional rants from my mother while she is hopped up on prescription pills. But I leave that part out.

  “Well, that sounds like fun. Kind of.” My dad laughs at the lie, but I laugh back as we share a casual and awkward conversation. I hang up the phone a little sad at the ease of my lie. When did lying become second nature? When did I get so natural at it, and what kind of daughter does that make me? I ponder these things as I gather my books and head to Jem’s.

  The first night of Thanksgiving break is girls’ night. Grab cookie-dough ice cream—check. Grab a season of Grey’s—check. Rocking our leggings—check.

 
Bomb-dot-com.

  Jem bitterly reminisces about her ex-boyfriend, whom she dated most of high school and who happened to dump her last year after cheating shamelessly while she was vacationing with her family. She has dated around a little since, but I know she has major trust issues from her ex.

  Melody’s being unusually quiet tonight about her boyfriend, probably because she knows we can’t stand him, but it’s starting to worry me a little. He’s a total d-bag. It’s one of those beautiful, sweet girls with an ugly a-hole boyfriend situations. Yet another bonding cornerstone of our friendship.

  Turning the attention toward me, “Sooo, how is Reed?” Jem asks while popping in the first season of Grey’s Anatomy. Nothing like hot doctors to make fangirls go crazy. We be crazy …

  “He is good, perfect as ever,” I say exasperatedly, but she suddenly looks serious while shaking her head in disbelief.

  “No man is perfect, honey. I promise,” Jem sharply responds.

  Whoa, okay.

  I turn to Melody, trying to change the direction of the conversation when I realize she has barely spoken all evening. “Melody, is everything okay? You’re really quiet tonight.”

  “Jay shoved me last night,” she whispers.

  I’m shocked. Jem makes a noise that sounds like a threat. She looks like she’s about to jump into her car, find Jay, and murder him. Or cut off his balls and then kill him.

  I lean forward to hold Melody as she starts to cry.

  “I don’t know what happened. We were bickering. Nothing out of the ordinary, and he just walks up, shoves me on the bed, and starts screaming at me.”

  I don’t know what to say in response to that, so I just keep my arms around her.

  “Did you break up with that dick head?” Jem asks, starting to raise her voice.