My Monster
Page 3
I look at my book. It's one I picked up at random in the library. It’s actually pretty good. "A forest in South Africa . . ." I mumble.
Then I pick up said book, open it, and pretend to read, making it very clear that this conversation is over.
Most girls would jump at the chance to talk to a hot guy in their class. All I see is an unnecessary headache. I don't know him, never saw him before, which means he didn't go to our school last year.
And that means he's new, and nothing good could come out of being the first person to talk to the new hot guy.
Others aren't so fast to shut out and ignore Mr. Hotness. His existence becomes known to the students surrounding me. They make excited introductions. Hotness fits right in.
And I learn that his accent is Australian and his name is Landon Pearce. After class starts, he keeps checking me out when he thinks I’m not looking.
I file all that in the back of my mind just in case someday it'll be important.
* * *
"Sophie, we need to talk." I've never spoken to the girl who's speaking to me now. Her name is Laurie Astamkar, I know this because she's one of the "popular" ones. She's small and flat as a board, but she has zero body fat and a beautiful face with very big eyes and pouty lips.
Unlike Ashley, she doesn't give off the obvious bitchy vibe, but for me, it's enough to look into her oversized eyes to find the bitch she hides inside.
I slowly chew the bite I just bit off my sandwich and swallow, letting her sudden interference in my lunch break hover in the air between us.
"Do I know you?" I go for my usual move, establishing my dominance in this conversation by demonstrating to the other side that they had failed to come into my notice. I don't care how rude I sound. If she wanted to speak to someone nice, she should have chosen Esmeralda.
Laurie's jaw briefly grinds in annoyance, but to her credit, she masks that quickly. "I'm Laurie. We have AP English together."
“Okay," I say, but offer nothing else. I continue eating my sandwich.
Laurie stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to ask her what’s so important that she was forced to break a three-year-long truce of ignoring each other for. When it becomes obvious I have no intention of making this any easier on her, she sits next to me on the low concrete wall and twists her face into an elaborate expression of concern.
"Everyone's saying horrible things about you, Sophie," she says with the slightest tremor in her voice. "I don't think you're that type of person. It isn't fair."
I put my sandwich in my lap and turn to regard her. I see the doubt lurking in the shadows, threatening to shatter her courage. Not two minutes into the conversation, and already nothing is going as she expected.
I can't say I'm not enjoying this. I'm something of a sadist. I let the set of my face soften. "It's all true, though," I say, and then toss my hair, grinning. "Why should I be ashamed of it?"
Laurie's big eyes grow even bigger. She came digging, and she has just hit gold with very little effort. "You mean, you and Shawn—"
"Oh yes." I lean in close to whisper in her ear. "I hit him with a rolled-up magazine . . . And he loved it."
Laurie's obviously intimidated by my invasion of her personal space. She leaps off the wall, her face a deep crimson. "Oh my God, really?" Her voice is high. She's trying to make her embarrassment look like excitement.
Did they have to send the only girl in their pack who has "virgin" written all over her? Apparently, Laurie isn't as popular as I thought. If I actually cared, I would wonder what Ashley blackmailed her with.
I look at her, giving her a firm stare, the kind of look I know sets most people on edge.
Then I start laughing. Laurie hovers there, at a loss. By the way her face grows a little bitter, she knows I'm laughing at her.
"What's so funny?" she asks with a slight smile.
"There's a spider on your shoulder," I answer.
Laurie screams, jumping and smacking her arms and shoulders. "Getitoff! Getitoff!" she shouts desperately. "Is it in my hair?"
I let her go on like this for a moment longer, watching her dance and shriek.
"Just kidding," I say.
It takes a second for my words to sink in. Her face is red again, but this time from humiliation and anger. She edges away from me. "Nice talking to you, Sophie," she says with open resentment, but then perks up, forcing a smile on her face.
I barely have time to wave before she's gone back to her friends. And to report to Ashley.
I watch her leave. There’s a spider scurrying up the leg of her jeans. I was kidding about kidding about the spider.
Sophie Green 1, Ashley Glick 0.
I continue munching my sandwich. It's the delicious chicken sandwich my mom always makes with the perfect amount of mustard and the crunchiest lettuce. I can't say I'm as enthusiastic about eating it as I was before. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, this whole day has been exerting.
I like to be alone.
I like it that when I'm in a crowd of people, I'm actually still completely alone.
I like the silence in my mind and to feel nothing about anyone. It's sweet, simple, and addictive.
If I didn’t like it as much as I do, I wouldn’t be the way I am. There was no inciting incident to my own personality. No trauma, no turning point, just me growing up to be me.
I always eat lunch here alone on the low concrete wall behind the amphitheater. It's a place forever in the shadows, and nobody comes near because it's crawling with spiders. Even Esmeralda doesn't want to come here.
I don't mind the spiders; they're actually kind of cute.
I re-wrap what's left of my sandwich in the cling film and watch a single spider hurry by my sneaker.
"You treat your classmates like your enemies, Sophie Green," says a deep, gravelly, accented voice behind me.
Not him again. I turn my head and to stare at Landon Hotness Pearce right in the face.
This doesn't quite have the effect I intend. I feel a weakness at the root of my spine as chestnut eyes too beautiful to be real bore into mine.
I continue staring. It's like watching a train wreck and being unable to look away.
I try to say something, but fail on the first attempt. My tongue flops like a dead thing in my mouth.
This won't do. “What're you after?" I push the words out. Maybe I come off a lot more forceful than I want to, but I'm behaving like some primal mammal in heat, and even if that’s exactly what I am, he doesn’t need to know this.
He grins at me and looks like he knows everything I'm thinking. He probably does. If I'm like this, how would the average girl behave when faced with so much condensed beauty?
"I'm after a bit of your company, Sophie Green."
Okay. Hot, but mega weird. "What's with all the 'Sophie Green'?"
"Isn't that your name?"
"Yeah," I say, "but you sound like Data from Star Trek when you say it like that."
"So how do you want me to call you?" he asks.
I'm so weirded out by this entire conversation that I almost suggest that he should just stick with either “Sophie” or “Green.”
Luckily, I remember that I am, indeed, Sophie Green. “I don’t want you to call me at all."
He mulls over my answer with a small grin on his lips. Then he inclines his head in my direction. "That's not an option, I'm afraid."
I should just walk away from this situation. There's nothing forcing me to continue sitting here, and there are still fifteen minutes left for break.
"Carrots?"
"What?" I snap.
He shakes his head in disagreement with himself, causing his mane of sun-bleached locks to bounce about his ears. “Calling you that would be demeaning, wouldn't it?"
"You're asking me whether calling me Carrots is demeaning? You seriously can't figure that out on your own?"
"Everyone tells me I'm muddle-headed."
I nod once.
"Not to be confused with st
upid," he adds.
What the hell is this person? I’m baffled. My mind can't contain it. He's so ridiculous, I have the urge to laugh.
And, help me God, a little laugh escapes me.
He flashes me with a broad smile that is somehow hard to bear. I try to sober up. "Tell me, Sophie, why do you hate them?"
"Hate who?" The spell is broken. I suddenly have a stronger grasp over my own brain.
"Everyone."
"What's it to you?" I ask flatly.
"'Sophie Green, beautiful and smart but with the personality of a potential serial killer'—that's what people told me about you when I asked."
The description of me sounds pretty accurate. I like the part about the serial killer; it's a good thing people are afraid of me. "Whatever," is all I can say.
"Well, I find it interesting," he says, still wearing that smile of his. He leans toward me and comes close enough to touch. “If you were just sick in the head, you wouldn’t have made all these steps to put yourself apart. You’re deliberately pushing people away.” He looks down at me in a way that would suggest that he knows what he's doing, like he's done this all before.
I can't say it doesn't work, either. My body responds violently even before my mind can begin to think. My hands want to press down on the hardness of those biceps, or to twine my fingers through his lovely hair.
Yes, I agree with myself. These are all perfectly natural desires to have. I may hate people, but I don’t hate the thought of sex with them.
Still, it's not going to happen with this guy. Landon, whoever he is, looks like too much work and not worth the trouble.
I want to say something witty and clever in response to his comment. Instead, I do the stupidest thing in the world.
I throw my half-eaten chicken sandwich in his face.
Very mature, I know.
He looks from the sandwich back to me, wide-eyed. He wasn't expecting that—well, that makes two of us.
I don't give him time to respond. I stand up and bolt.
* * *
I want to relate my sandwich-throwing experience to Esmeralda, but she’s having lunch with her other friends. While Bobby Sawyer and Hattie Blake are both perhaps as anti-social as me, Hattie always smells funny and Bobby is a drama queen and hates me almost as much as I hate Instagram.
I think sandwich throwing can be an Olympic sport. With some time and practice, I can figure out the required technique, like how much force I should invest in throwing, the best angle for the sandwich to hit, and the optimal timing for the throw—the element of surprise is vital.
The only problem I can see here is, what if I'm hungry?
I'm not sorry about the sandwich incident. What I would have changed is running away. I certainly wouldn't have stayed there, but I should've walked away instead.
Because that would've given him time to check out my ass.
Hi. That’s my body speaking. I don't care that I want him. I'm a realist. I know that the attraction will inevitably wear off when I get to know him as a person.
The moment he's a person with an actual personality and not just sexy flesh is the moment I get turned off.
That's me. That's how I'm wired.
It’s why I’m still a virgin.
I sit in the empty biotechnology classroom and fantasize about what would happen if Hotness wouldn't actually have a personality. And I don't mean a boring personality. I mean that he’d simply never talk.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I stiffen and look up.
"What?" I ask, staring into the intruder's marvelous blue eyes.
With a single step, he comes around to face me. He grasps the corners of the desk that stands between us and crouches down so that our faces are completely level and far too close.
"You looked like you were having an erotic fantasy, Fee," Shawn says.
"And you just ruined it.”
"Was it about me?"
"Not in a million years."
"What? Even after we had such a good time together with magazines, whacking, and steamy love?"
News does travel fast in our school. I'm impressed. That took a total of ten minutes. I roll my shoulders into a small shrug and then lower my chin to better glare into Shawn's eyes. "What can I say? I use, abuse, and lose interest fast."
Shawn matches my mean stare with his own, his face inching closer, trying to intimidate me. "Lose interest? We've only gotten started, Fee. You're going to have a very interesting time with me."
"And your game plan?" I ask, moving forward instead of backing away. "Have Ashley spread rumors about us? Because that is totally making me fall head over heels for you.”
"Is that how you know me?" His voice is a malicious purr. He’s still coming closer, a nearness that you wouldn't be with just anyone. It makes my chest boil. "I've got a whole plan, especially for you."
"You shouldn't have told me that," I say, retreating back into my chair. "You'll ruin the surprise."
Shawn angles in, but stops short of kissing me. His face just hovers a few inches away from mine.
He winks.
There's a ruckus of walking feet and talking voices as the classroom door bursts open and a large group of students comes streaming in.
They all freeze when they see us. For a split second, Shawn's bright eyes shine with triumph visible only to me, and then he dramatically jumps away, blushing.
How could anyone fake blushing? Shawn is good. He's really good.
I blink at the other students. One of them is the new boy, Landon. Our eyes meet. I smile, not quite deciding anything yet, but an idea comes to mind.
Shawn is good, but I can be better.
* * *
"Does he, like, have a death wish?"
"I think he’s into her because she does anal.”
"She's scary as fuck. I wouldn't want to look her in the face while screwing, either."
"Yeah, she's a dirty bitch."
“She's hot, though."
“You think she's a natural redhead?”
“I don’t know. Ask Shawn."
The four boys walking in front of me sniggers at their genius jokes.
Walking behind a group of people can be the most annoying thing in the world, particularly when you're itching to call it a day and go home.
They take up the entire width of the corridor and move so slowly, I practically have to walk sideways so I won’t step on their heels.
I would have asked them to move if they weren't talking about my nonexistent sex life.
And even then, I would have just butted through if it were likely that I’d be having sex in the near future. But by starting this little game of his, Shawn just made that impossible.
If we have sex now, the game we play will end. Just like that. I might get what I want, but then I’ll have to give up on the power I have over him.
I see a promising gap between the two boys in the middle of the group. I take my chance, marching forward. The gap becomes too narrow just as I'm about to pass, but it's too late to back out now.
I send my arms forward and bodily shove past them, knocking the middle boys against their friends. After a few paces, I turn to look at them, pointing at my eyes with my middle and index finger and then pointing at them.
You better watch out, 'cause I'll be watching you.
Then I turn on my heel and stalk away.
"Shit, what the hell was that?" I hear one of the boys exclaim when they think I'm out of earshot.
"Scary as fuck . . ."
"I'd still bang her."
* * *
I'm relieved to finally be out of the school building. I dig my fingers under the straps of my backpack at my shoulders as I cross the parking lot along with a considerable amount of the student body and walk toward the school buses. I notice Esmeralda waving at me from the window of our bus. We don't have any classes together this year, so we didn't get to talk all day. I want to be alone right now, but at the same time, I want to talk to her—that's true
friendship in my book. As I put my foot on the first step, about to get on the bus, I notice something from the corner of my eye.
I turn my head to look. It's what's-his-name Landon. He's just loitering on the street corner away from the school and looking at his phone. From the school building or anyone coming out of it, he wouldn't be visible. I only spot him because I'm looking backward and I’m elevated on the steps of the bus.
Now that's weird. If he was waiting for his mom or someone to pick him up, why would he go all the way there?
I'm about to shrug off the mystery, when something downright suspicious happens.
A black Mercedes with tinted windows and no license plate glides down the adjacent street and halts right in front of him. He pushes his phone into his pocket and nonchalantly gets into the passenger seat.
Just before he closes the door, he looks straight at me. He's far away, but there's no question, it's not a maybe. He sees me watching him.
The sense of danger pricks my arms like a series of needles. I rush up the stairs of the bus and crash into my seat next to Esmeralda.
What the hell was that?
"Soph?" Esmeralda cocks her head sideways to look into my face. "You okay?"
I lift my finger in the air, signaling that I need a second. Strange Australian boy moving to our school for senior year, telling everyone some weird story about coming to live with his aunt or uncle because something or another happened to his parents. I was trying hard not to listen to his sob-story because getting to know him too well will ruin all the fantasies I have about him.
But now an indistinct, fancy, expensive car picks him up off the street corner.
Yes, Sophie, that's what happened, I tell myself. Why're you overreacting?
Why? Because this new information sets my imagination ablaze. Danger, lies, and mysterious black cars fill my mind. This could very well mean nothing.
And it could also mean anything.
My heart moves in my chest. Whether it's shutting down or exploding, I don't know. All I know is that it's definitely there.
Right then, right there, I realize what's happening to me. A little me at the back of my mind points and giggles. I experience a tinge of annoyance at how, despite it all, my hormones have gotten the better of me.