Prince Charming

by S. Celi

  “I trusted you.” Her words came out like bullets. “I trusted you. And you betrayed me.” As I stepped toward her, she moved backward, and suddenly I knew there was now a huge gulf of distrust and misunderstanding between us.

  “I know you trusted me, Laine.”

  Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to break free. “This is horrible. Horrible.” Her phone buzzed in the side pocket of her backpack and when she checked it, all the blood drained from her face. “Oh my God. They’re texting the pic now, too.”

  “What?”

  She showed me the screen, which had a message from Jillian that contained the photo and a few choice words. “This is the worst day of my life.”

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s the worst day—”

  “Are you kidding me?” she shouted. She lowered her voice once she remembered the other students, who still stared at us. “You can’t tell me it’s not. I can’t even . . . this is so horrible.”

  Of course it was horrible. Laine covered her face with her hand, as if she wanted to shut out the world, and the reality of the situation became clear to me. I was about to lose the only girl I’d ever cared about, the one girl I might really love. Over a fucking picture. I was going to lose her over a picture, and I hated Blake and Bruce so much at that moment. Those dimwits had won. Again. And after this fight, the whole school would know about it, and most people would laugh about it, and never let us forget it. Way to be the headline all around school.

  “I’m sorry.” She was slipping away from me, and I had no idea how to catch her again. “Geez, I’m so sorry for all the . . .”

  “I’m sorry too, Geoff,” She took another step backward, and this time I didn’t try to follow her. She closed her eyes. “I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t do what?” I didn’t want to ask this question, but I did it anyway.

  “This. I can’t do this.”

  “Us?” I whispered. “Can’t do us?”

  She turned her gaze to the floor. “Yeah. I can’t do this. Not anymore. Not like this—with everything—this will never work, Geoff.”

  “Wait. It’s not me. It’s them—what about—you said—”

  “I know what I said.” She looked up from the floor, and I didn’t see the tears any more. “But that was the wrong decision. I can’t do this. Not like this.”

  I leaned my whole body up against the locker as the weight of what she was saying settled around me. She wanted to end this. She wanted to walk away from me. She didn’t want me, not any more. Jesus fucking Christ.

  “It’s okay,” I lied. “I understand. I get it.”

  “You’re a nice guy, Geoff. I just can’t do this.” She paused. “Goodbye.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but the bell rang and stopped me. She gave me a sad smile, then turned and walked down the hallway. The few underclassmen around us sprang into action, too, scurrying to grab their notebooks, backpacks and iPads, and get to class for whatever final exams they had to complete that day. I stood alone against one of the lockers, and watched the hallway clear. All I needed to do was go to a couple of bullshit classes that morning, then take the AP European History test in the afternoon, my last AP test of the year. That test didn’t even count for my final grade in that class, it would just determine if I received college credit for my pain and suffering.

  I didn’t care about getting college credit any more. It just seemed so stupid, like something I had spent so much time on because I had nothing better to do. And what did I have to show for it?

  “Screw it,” I said. I pulled myself against the locker. “I don’t need this. I don’t care anymore.”

  It was true. I didn’t. I had spent twelve years of school trying to be the best in the class, focusing on grades and pushing myself to outdo everyone, only to find that high school was about so much more than competition and completion. I had wasted so much time wishing I were somewhere else, looking for a better life, not noticing I had chances for a pretty good one right in front of me. And now I had lost a huge part of that because my stepbrothers pulled some underhanded bullshit.

  I shook my head a few times, took a deep breath, and found my center. Then I turned, walked out of the hallway, back down the steps, and out of Heritage. My high school career only had two days left, anyway. Fuck it.

  We’d buried my father in the hot, sweltering summer sun, on a Friday in July. After a long visitation and an even longer funeral, a black hearse led a caravan to Spring Grove Cemetery, a large and rambling historic site tucked in between the train tracks on the west side of downtown Cincinnati. Years later, all I remembered was how stifled and stiff the whole thing felt to me, like some kind of orchestrated event the adults in my life had planned because they didn’t know what to do, or how to handle their grief.

  At first, Mom and I visited Dad all the time. We drove to the cemetery on holidays and sometimes on weekends, and most of the time Mom brought flowers to place at the grave. I liked that she did it, and as a kid, I thought we’d always visit Dad.

  By the time I started my senior year at Heritage, though, Mom didn’t visit Dad with me anymore. She said it bothered her too much to make the drive over, and look at the sad little headstone that broke his life down to a name, date of birth, and date of death. She insisted time and time again that she didn’t want to forget him, but she never talked about him anymore, either.

  Life was funny like that. People told me they would remember my dad forever.

  And then they forgot.

  I drove to Spring Grove after I walked out of Heritage. I didn’t really think about going there, I just did it, driving like a zombie until I parked the car in the cemetery parking lot and got out. Dad’s grave was just a short walk from the main road, and while I could have driven right too it, I decided to walk. I needed the fresh air, and the clarity, something that the peaceful place of Spring Grove always brought me. Most of all, though, I needed my dad.

  Maybe I’d been a total idiot to think Laine really liked me, or that it would ever work out between us. She didn’t really know me, and all my Facebook stalking hadn’t really left me knowing her, either. Who was I to think I deserved her?

  I sat down on the grass once I got to Dad’s grave. He rested underneath a small granite rectangle in the middle of a long, neat row of headstones. Flowers and mementos adorned almost every one of them.

  I sat that way for a long time, just thinking. High school was basically over. I’d skipped my last AP test, and only one day of school stood between me, and graduation. I’d been dreaming of this day since seventh grade, the year I turned awkward instead of cool, first laid eyes on Laine Phillips, and heard the escalating taunts of my classmates. In less than two days, I’d be free of all of the past. After graduation, I didn’t have to walk through the halls of Heritage ever again.

  So why didn’t I feel so great about that?

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, to no one but myself. “I need to pull my shit together.”

  I kept repeating that over and over until around eleven a.m., when the phone in my pocket buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a message from Josh.

  11:01AM

  Josh: Are you okay? Just saw pic on Facebook. Laine left school.

  Me: She skipped the AP test?

  Josh: Yep. Walked out. Heard she was crying.

  Disgusted, I shoved the phone back in my pocket and stood up. I had a mission; I knew what I had to do. And nothing was going to stop me.

  Nothing.

  Laine’s house looked creepy and imposing as I pulled up to it about a half hour later. On the drive over from Spring Grove, I stopped twice: once at a gas station, and once at a McDonald’s, because I thought was going to throw up. She and I needed to talk, but I couldn’t figure out what to say. More than ever, though, I needed to find the right words.

  My nerves got even worse when I saw her car in the driveway. By the time I walked up to the door, sweat covered my hands, back and neck. Thank God I had a black shirt on, and
she wouldn’t be able to see it. I just hoped she couldn’t smell it, as I wiped my hands on my jeans and rapped on the door.

  Knock. Knock.

  I waited. Three minutes passed. No answer.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I waited some more.

  She had to have heard me, because I had a strong knock. Jesus, waiting for her to answer was total agony. She hated me, and I knew it. Laine blamed me for so much, and she’d said as much in the hallway at school. She probably never wanted to talk to me again, but I didn’t care. I was staying.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The red door flew open a few seconds later. She stood behind it, scowling, with red-rimmed eyes that told me she’d been crying an ugly, deep cry. “What do you want?”

  “Look, I’m sorry.” I leaned forward a little, but I didn’t walk inside. She hadn’t invited me in, and I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there, wavering, and wondering if I shouldn’t have come over at all.

  “Really, Laine. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they would find that picture.”

  She leaned one hand against the door, and turned her head.

  “I’m serious.”

  “It’s all over Facebook,” she said, still not looking at me. “It’s everywhere.”

  “I know.” I sucked in a breath. “Look, high school’s over. It is. One more day of school. And then you can just move on.”

  She finally turned to me, and when she did, I saw a few more tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. “You don’t get it, Geoff. It’s not just that. It’s not just the picture, it’s the whole thing.”

  “The whole what?”

  “I don’t want people thinking I didn’t care about Evan. I did. I really did. Even though he had problems, his faults. I loved him once, and now it looks like I never did. I don’t want to do that to a dead guy’s memory. That’s just wrong. Really wrong.”

  “I’m sure no one thinks—”

  She frowned at me. “No, you’re wrong. They do. People said stuff to me about it in first period. They think I never cared about Evan at all.” She paused. “They think I was cheating on him the whole time.”

  I almost laughed, but I choked it back. “I’m sure they don’t think you were cheating on him with me.”

  “Of course they think that! You would, too, if you weren’t with me.” She scowled. “Aren’t you always judging everyone, anyway?”

  Her words stung, and I recoiled. She had a point. I’d spent all this time in high school judging people, and it had gotten me nowhere. All it caused was pain, and it made me miss out on the things each person had to offer. I should have told her that, but I didn’t. I just gulped, and didn’t say anything at all.

  “Whatever. You don’t get it.” Her tone of voice made me want to shudder. Harsh. Cold. Indifferent. She’d never spoke to me like this before, as if she wished we’d never met. It crushed me. Wounded me. Hurt me, more than anything I had felt in a long time.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” I finally managed. “Really sorry.”

  “Just go, Geoff,” she said, after another moment passed. “Please go.”

  I held my feelings inside until I stopped the car at the stop sign at the end of the street. That whole conversation hadn’t gone the way I’d imagined it would, at all. What a disaster. I beat my fists against the steering wheel, and screamed a few times. Then I yelled a couple of choice words—most of which involved some version of the word “fuck.” It didn’t make me feel much better. Then, after a few seconds, I found the strength to drive home.

  My bed had never seemed so comforting. I fell onto it, wrapped myself in the striped comforter, and fell asleep.

  I woke up hours later, my brain still a foggy mess. At first, I thought maybe it hadn’t happened. Maybe I hadn’t skipped the AP test, lost the one girl I cared about, and become an Internet laughing stock all in one day. Maybe I’d been stuck in a nightmare, like one of those “After School Special” TV clichés.

  But that didn’t last for very long. Oh, no. My misery was real—too real, and I couldn’t sleep it away, no matter how much I tried.

  I glanced at my watch and saw it was almost four p.m. Holy shit. I bolted out of bed. Blake and Bruce would be home. Right then. I bet they were in the kitchen, eating huge snacks, pleased with themselves and totally unconcerned about what they did to me. They’d probably been home for a while, those assholes. I couldn’t let them get away with this at all.

  Confrontation time.

  Stumbling down the stairs, I tried to gather my thoughts and figure out what I would say. Maybe I wouldn’t say anything at all. Maybe I needed to just punch them. I could pretend like it never happened, and that might freak them out. Or I could start screaming just before I hit the kitchen, giving them fair warning that I was about to unleash a fury on them.

  In the end, I kinda mixed a couple of ideas together. Something about hearing their laughter in the kitchen just sort of set me off. It hit me deep in my core, as if their laughter was some kind of veiled insult directed at me, and only me. Oh hell, no. They were not going to get away with this.

  “Nice work guys,” I said from the doorframe that linked the kitchen with the wide great room in the center of the house. Blake looked over at me, a popcorn-stuffed hand poised to hit his mouth. Bruce, on the other hand, took a calm sip of his Coke, and didn’t even bother to glance in my direction.

  “Really, good work,” I continued. “Your best yet.” I took a step inside the kitchen. “You know, I knew you guys had a problem with me, but I didn’t know you hated me this much.”

  Bruce snickered.

  Blake stuffed the popcorn into his mouth and chewed, as if whatever I was saying didn’t bother him in the least. “Who says we hate you?” he said, giving me a full view of the food in his mouth. “We don’t hate you, dear brother.”

  “Whatever,” Bruce added, as if he were talking to a small child who needed extra help understanding something. “What would make you think we hated you now?”

  “I saw the flyers.” I struggled to keep myself steady as my hands formed two fists at my sides. They knew full well what I was referring to. I knew they did; there was no way they couldn’t. “I know what you did. Nice work on going through my iPhone, and then sharing it with everyone.”

  “Oh, that,” Blake said calmly. “Right. Well. Someone had to point it out. Your fault that you didn’t lock up your phone. Shoulda’ done that one.”

  “Oh, really?” I heard and felt my anger rising with each ticking second. “You want to blame me for this? You guys knew what you were doing. You wanted to make me look like an idiot, and ruin my life.”

  “We did not ruin your sad little life,” Blake said. “So stop being such a dramatic prick.”

  “I’m not being a dramatic prick.” I crossed the room until I stood right next to the chair where Blake sat. “I’m not. You’re the assholes! All I have ever done is try to help you. I’ve been nice to you. I’ve left you alone. And all you do is treat me like you hate me.”

  “Everyone hates you, Geoff.” Blake’s calm tone didn’t match my urgent one, and that made me even madder.

  “I’m so sick—I’m so sick of—I’m so sick of you!” I yelled.

  And that’s when I punched him.

  My right fist landed with a crack on the bridge of his nose. The cartilage snapped and creaked as my fist made contact, and for a split second I had the upper hand as I pulled back, then hit his face again, this time in the left eye. By the time I pulled back a third time, though, Bruce had jumped out of his seat, and he grabbed my arm as I prepared to send my fist colliding with Blake’s face. As Bruce restrained me, a now bloody Blake sailed his fist into my stomach, then my jaw, my nose, and finally his right cross slammed into my left eye.

  “Let me go,” I shouted as his fist made contact. I struggled against Bruce’s tight grip as Blake’s fist met my stomach again. “Ooof. Let me fucking go, assholes.”

  “I hate you,” Blake said. I cr
umpled up against his brother, and doubled over in pain. “You’re like a symbol of everything that’s wrong with our lives. Mr. Perfect: the asshole.”

  “I’m not perfect,” I mumbled, and as I did blood started to drip down my nose. “Far from it.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been wrong about a lot of stuff.”

  “Maybe we should stop,” Bruce said to his brother. “He’s pretty bloody, and so are you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blake wipe some blood off his nose. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. I think he gave me a black eye, anyway.”

  Once Bruce released me, I made sure I looked them booth in the eye, swallowing any fear I had, and turning all my emotions into anger. “Don’t ever threaten me again,” I said in the strongest voice I had. “Don’t ever talk to me like I’m less than again. Ever. Leave me the fuck alone, and I’ll do the same with you. Got it?”

  As soon as they nodded in agreement, I turned and walked out of the room.

  FRIDAY, MAY 17TH

  WHEN I DIDN’T come downstairs for breakfast, Mom brought breakfast to me. She walked up the stairs with a bagel and glass of orange juice to find me still in bed. The last day of high school had finally come, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up and even try to act like I cared.

  “You’re not going, honey?” She said when I didn’t get up from the bed.

  “Nope, I’m not.” I’d been awake for about thirty minutes. My clothes lay draped and untouched over the chair at my desk, and my book bag rested in a heap beneath them. They disgusted me, and so did my eye, which throbbed.

  Blake had a great right cross. I needed to remember that for next time.

  “But what about—”

  “What does it matter, Mom? I don’t have any exams today. And it’s not like we’re doing anything but practicing for graduation.”

  She put the food on the desk, tightened her robe, and took a seat at the edge of my bed. “That eye of yours is really coming in. You’ll have a nice shiner for the ceremony tomorrow.”