“It concerns me when anyone is hurting.” That’s the truth. What kind of person fills with joy when another is in pain?
“Well, it shouldn’t. You don’t know me.”
“No, I don’t.” I take my time sitting on the edge of the bed, making sure I’m out of arm or foot’s reach. “That doesn’t make it right to ignore you when you cry.”
“Why are you so nice?”
She’ll question me no matter what I do here. If I keep trying to figure out what happened so I can help her, she’ll think I have a hidden agenda. If I ignore her, I’m sure she’ll find a way to use it against me. Winning with a person like this is impossible.
“I guess when no one takes their time to care about you, you work extra hard to care about them.”
She pulls her head back. “What?” Is what I said that confusing? I’m trying to be honest with her, finding a way to develop a relationship with her, and she makes it impossible. She shakes her head. “You’re weird.”
“I get that a lot.” Weird, different, a loser. It’s all the same after a while. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong but if you need someone, I’m here.” I push myself off the bed and go back to mine. I take my notebook off my nightstand, open to a blank page, and start writing.
“Why do you like to write poems? Aren’t those for kids?”
“No. Most of our best writers are poets. Shakespeare, Maya Angelou, Robert Browning, Emily Dickinson.”
“I’ve heard of like one of those people.”
I stop writing and lift my head. I wish more people gave poetry a chance. “Look them up. Their writing is beautiful.”
“I doubt I could understand a word of Shakespeare. That’s for all the intelligent people.”
Her statement stops me. She’s gorgeous, confident, and popular. How can someone like that even doubt if they are smart? She’s the whole package, less the bad attitude. “You don’t think you’re intelligent?”
She opens her mouth, sucks in a breath, and then releases it. “I don’t know. I’m not a genius, but I’m not stupid either, I guess.”
“You graduated high school, you’re in college now, and people flock to you. What are you studying, anyway?” If I’m going to make any effort to get to know her, I should know some things about her.
“Childhood education.”
Olivia wants to teach children? Someone like her scares me in the system. She’s part of the problem. What would she do with the kids like me? How would she react when a kid tells her the other kids are teasing them? Join in on the fun?
“That doesn’t make sense to you, I know. I can tell you’re shocked. Believe it or not, I’m great with children.”
“I didn’t doubt that.”
“Yes, you did. If you’re going to even attempt to be helpful, don’t lie. Anyway, I don’t care if you think I’ll be a terrible teacher. I love kids.”
I want to remind her of the shitty things she did to me, and the stuff she’s more than likely done to other, but I won’t. “What happened? Why are you crying?” I have yet to sort this out.
“Alex broke up with me.”
Alex, the boy she bossed around the first day I arrived on campus. She treated him like dirt, like she owned him, and he didn’t have a mind of his own. I applaud him for leaving the situation. “I’m sorry, Olivia.”
“No, you’re not.” She practically bites my head off. “But thanks. He said we’re in college now, two different ones at that, and he wants to explore his options. We’ve been together for two years. Two years! What’s there to explore? He just wants the freedom to sleep with anyone he wants. Not like that ever stopped him before.”
“Wait? He cheated on you?” My initial impression of him quickly does a one-eighty, and I’m glad they’ve broken up.
“Almost all the time.”
“What? And you think that’s okay?”
She shrugs, and reaches for a tissue, then dabs her face with it. “I wanted to keep him happy, and if that meant letting him be with other women, well, that’s what I did.”
The way he followed her like a puppy dog, I can’t fathom what she’s telling me. I’m even more shocked that someone with her confidence level allowed this to happen, almost encouraged it from what she’s telling me. “No, Olivia. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”
I even believe that. Olivia may be the worst person in the world to me, but she’s just as deserving of a real relationship as anyone.
“Hey, it’s what men do.”
“Not all men.”
She eyeballs me, and I’m not sure I want to pry any further. “Did your mom and dad come today?” I want to get off this subject. I don’t think I helped her, but I’m not sure anything I say will make a difference.
She laughs. “My mom and dad? No. Not all of us live these hunky dory lives like you, Miss Priss.” She whips her covers off her, standing up with a newfound confidence. I grip my notebook tighter, uncertain of what her intentions are. “I barely know anything about my mom and dad. My jack-off of an uncle visited Jesse and me. Good old Uncle Carl. Our foster parents couldn’t even be bothered to come today.” She opens the door and looks back at me. “Do yourself a favor. Only care about yourself. It’s the only way you’ll get anywhere in life.”
I jump as the door slams and she leaves me alone in the room. I’m not even sure what just happened.
“I can’t believe Olivia Fisher let you see her cry. Wow. I can’t even fathom that.” Janna whips her cigarette around in the air as she talks. Once we reach the entrance to the store, she flicks it to the ground and steps on it.
“I wasn’t sure what to do.” The automatic door opens and we enter. We float to the women’s section and don’t waste any time sifting through the clothes. I only need to replace a few of the items Olivia ruined, and I finally have enough money for a Target run. “When someone is upset, I immediately gravitate toward them. I want to help. I need to. It’s a sickness, really.”
Janna snatches a purple shirt off the rack and holds it against me. “Well, I commend you. If someone did the things to me that Olivia did to you, I’d never be able to have sympathy for them.”
I take the purple shirt out of her hands and shove it back on the rack, taking a new one. The same design, only a green. I’m not huge on purples, and much prefer earthy tones. The green doesn’t feel as flashy.
“I figure I have two choices. I can be that person I was in high school and stay in a safe shell like a turtle my entire time here, or try to embrace it and kill her with kindness. So I guess I’m going that route. Though, to be honest, I’d rather be in the shell.” This is part of my college experience—stepping out into the world even though I don’t want to. This is my chance to reinvent myself, start over, be someone else if I have to. But being someone else is more difficult than I thought.
“I live far from the shell, girl. I’m like a ferret. I run everywhere, pushing everyone over. I don’t give a fuck.”
She says this and I think she might believe it. I’m not sure I believe she doesn’t care at all. I’m getting to know Janna, and I think there’s more to her than she maybe even realizes. Her party girl attitude and her aversion to staying sober while at a party, it could all be a front. Maybe she’d rather stuff her face in a book and avoid people but she does the opposite to try to prove something.
“Anyway, Paul’s renting a party bus and we’re headed down to Chicago next weekend. Want to go?”
“Chicago? A party bus? I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like something I’m into.”
“What are you into? Writing poems in the quad? Seriously, girl, you said you don’t want to hide away while in college. Get out there. Do something.”
Is she right? Is this an opportunity to do something, really do something? Taking a road trip sounds exciting, and I’ve only ever done that with my parents. Sure, Chicago is only a few hours away, but renting a bus and doing God knows what? “Wait a minute. What’s the plan while in Chicago? It’s not
like we can go bar hopping. We’re not twenty-one.”
“Girl, the bar will come to us. Trust me. We’ll check out a few clubs, maybe hang out on the beach. It’s getting colder outside. Before you know it, snow will be on the ground and no one will want to go outside. We’re hitting record highs, almost the seventies. Let’s take advantage.”
“Who’s all going?”
“I didn’t ask him if that’s what you’re getting at.”
I don’t want to see Jesse. Seeing him will make me want him, and I don’t want to want him. I’m moving on. I can’t erase him from my mind, though, especially sharing living quarters with his sister.
“Will I know anyone?”
“Me and Paul. Come on! It’s a great chance to make new friends. Please?” She falls to the floor and begs me, her hands gripped together in prayer.
Going along will place me well out of my comfort zone. If I don’t go, I’ll sit in my dorm or at the quad and think about Jesse. It’s bad enough I can’t make it through a class without almost bursting into tears over him. A night out on the town with Janna may take my mind off of him for a while.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
The rain bounces off the umbrella, soaks my shoulders, and my feet are wet from splashing in the puddles. It’s coming down so hard the umbrella doesn’t even matter. It’s as though there are holes in it. I make it into the building, shake my umbrella out, and race into class. No one’s here. Not even the professor.
I open my bag and check my schedule. Today is Tuesday. Every Tuesday I have my calculus class. I dread it, so when I woke up dreading today, I knew it was Tuesday. Except now I realize it’s not Tuesday. It’s Thursday. How did I lose two days? Am I that out of it I can’t keep track? When I woke this morning, I woke from a dream I’d been late to class, and as a result, my professor dropped me from the course. If I couldn’t be responsible, I didn’t deserve to be in his class. This class. That was it. I raced here because I dreamed about it. I’m supposed to be in Principles of Business Management.
Shit! Will I even make it there on time? I exit the classroom and when I do, Olivia is in the hall, walking straight toward me. I can’t go another way. The direction she is coming from is the only way out of the building. I pull up my big girl pants and head her way.
“Oh, Olivia. I didn’t know you had any classes in this building.”
“Only on Thursdays.” She points to the classroom across from the one I was just in. “I’m coming back from the bathroom. Imagine running into you here.”
Her tone is different from when I last saw her. After the conversation we had, we saw each other one time, and nothing happened. She said hello, I said hello, and we went our separate ways. It wasn’t even awkward. This. This is awkward.
“Yeah. I got my days mixed up. I shouldn’t even be here. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to my actual class.” I try to move past her, but she stops me, putting her hand in front of me.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Unless she wants to lean on me more about her breakup with Alex, there wasn’t much else to talk about. No commonalities exist to link us together, other than Jesse, and that’s done. I haven’t spoken to him in five days—five excruciating painful days—but it’s for the best. I haven’t even seen him on campus, which I made sure of by changing my route to classes.
“Yeah. About the other day. In our room.”
“When you were cry—“
“Yeah, that. No need to say it.”
“Okay.”
“Keep my name out of your mouth. Got it?”
Where is this coming from? The only person I told about what happened was Janna and she’s not the type of person to go blabbing things around. What is the big deal, anyway? So she cried. I do it all the time. It’s healthy, I think at least.
“I’m not gossiping about you if that’s what you think.” I can envision this situation escalating. We’re in the hallway, and classes are going on next to us. She won’t start something here. She’s not that dumb.
“Good. Keep it that way. I don’t want to hear about you telling people I cried over my ex. I don’t normally do that. I’m not sure what got into me.”
Her reaction doesn’t need justification. Of course she’s in pain over her breakup. No one should ever feel the need to explain their feelings. They belong to that person, no one else. “It’s okay, Olivia.”
“What did I say?” She clenches her jaw so hard I could crack an egg on it. “Don’t say my name or even think about my name.”
What is happening here? Why is she so against me even saying her name? She’s the one talking to me. “I have to get to class.” I grip my umbrella as I try to make it past her again. As I walk past her, I loosen my grip and she tears it out of my hand.
“I’ll take this.”
“What are you doing? Give me back my umbrella.”
“Nah. I’ll keep it. I forgot mine.”
“Seriously? It’s pouring out there.”
“Which is exactly why I need one.”
“And it’s not yours.”
“If I say it’s mine, it’s mine.” She wraps her hand around the umbrella and points it at me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Violet. I don’t like people like you.”
“People like me?” I’m not the one standing here having stolen an umbrella. I’m not the one who covered someone else’s clothes in shaving cream. And I certainly didn’t put a naked picture of a classmate on a website.
“Yeah, you. You think you’re so much better than someone like me. You’ve lived this perfect life with the perfect parents and haven’t experienced anything like I have. You think you have it so difficult because a few people don’t like you. Don’t fool yourself. So your clothes were ruined. Big whoop. Before you stand on your pedestal, remember that not everyone can be as perfect as you.”
“Olivia, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’ve never given off a vibe I think I’m better than anyone. At least I don’t think I have.
“I’ve worked hard to become who I am today. I’m confident. People fear me. You better not say one word about the other day. Or else.”
She’s not scaring me. She’s only making me pity her. What happened in her life to make her this way? I can’t have a therapy session with her right now. I need to get to my class. “Fine. I won’t say anything. I promise.”
“Your promises mean shit to me. Actions speak louder than words. If I even get wind of you saying anything to anyone, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
It’s not like she’s made my experience here easy up until now. Even so, she doesn’t know the things I’ve dealt with. I can handle whatever she throws at me. She hands me back the umbrella with a smirk on her face.
“Stay dry.”
Chapter Eleven
Reflection
A young girl looks at her reflection in the mirror,
seeing her not so perfect self,
seeing a heart broken too many times,
crying for help.
She sees the gray in her eyes,
no one else seems to observe.
She sees a person
she loves,
hates,
needs to be.
Smiling is hard—happy she is often not.
Wanting to love,
needing to be loved.
She cries,
tears constantly falling.
She hears herself yelling
unrepeatable words
expecting forgiveness.
No one but her knows
she can be gentle,
caring, a loving girl.
No one else sees it
REALLY.
Nobody cares, either.
And nobody wants to look into
the other side of the mirror
and see this happy girl
who is stuck between the glass.
Maybe one day she’ll find an escape
and maybe she’ll be abl
e
to always smile,
and always laugh,
and never shed a tear.
She’ll be able to look in the mirror and say,
“I know who I am—
I’m glad I’m me.”
^^^
We load onto the bus one person at a time. I’ve only ever been on a school bus so when I step into a dark scene with psychedelic colors splashed against the walls in the form of lights I’m surprised. The leather seats wrap around the back of the bus in a curve with a few straight seats in the front. There are already about six people on board, and I recognize none of them.
Except one.
“What is Jesse doing here?” I whisper to Janna as we sit down. I sit in the front, far away from him and the winding section. If I sit there, I’ll have a perfect view of him no matter where I sit. “I thought you said he wasn’t invited.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“I did,” Paul interjects as he slides into the seat behind us. “I like him. I thought you did, too.”
Janna slaps herself on the head. “I forgot to tell you. Violet broke up with him.”
“Oh. Well, that would have been nice to know.”
“It’s fine.” I shrug it off as though it’s no big deal but inside my nerves are doing somersaults. “There are plenty of people here. I don’t even have to talk to him.”
“Really, though, had I known I wouldn’t have invited him.” Paul’s eyes are honest and asking for forgiveness.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” And I do. These things happen. And it’s not as though I’d dated Jesse for months or anything. We lasted maybe a month. That’s not anything to be so hung up on I can’t handle an evening with him within my vicinity.
Everyone settles in on the bus, and I avoid eye contact with Jesse the entire time everyone is getting situated. When I steal glances at him, I catch him in different stages of smiling, laughing, and even being serious. I want to go to him, to sit beside him and lay my head on his shoulder. I want to relive that night on the ferris wheel and pretend I never broke things off with him. The reality is that I did, and I can’t take any of it back. I slouch down in my seat as we begin the drive down to Chicago.
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