by Sam Mariano
The delivery man appears startled by my comment.
“Sorry,” I say, directing my gaze away from the flowers and meeting his eyes. “I don’t want these. Any chance you can use them if you just take them back with you? I won’t tell the sender, so you won’t get in trouble.”
“Um… no, we can’t really do that,” he says a touch awkwardly.
I figured, but at least I tried. There’s no sense in slowing this man down just because his job today was delivering flowers I didn’t want. “Okay, then. Thank you. Did he tip you already?”
“Generously,” he assures me.
I nod, unsurprised, and take the delivery.
Once I close the door, I haul them straight into the kitchen, take the flowers out of the vase they came in, and stuff them into the trash can.
I dump the water in the sink and leave the vase. I don’t have time to wash it right now. I’ll clean it later and hopefully take out the trash before Mom gets home. She’ll definitely have questions about a second flower delivery—and I haven’t even answered her questions about the first.
I look at the fluffy little white bear on the counter. His big, somehow cute beady black eyes stare back at me.
“I can’t throw you away, can I?” I murmur. “It’s not your fault the man who bought you is such an enormous jerkface.”
The bear sits there, all fluffy and adorable.
I sigh and scoop it up. I haul it to my bedroom and put him on a chair in the corner along with the snake Anderson won me at the fair and an assortment of stuffed animals I still have from my childhood.
___
Dread falls over me like a weighted blanket as soon as Hawthorne High comes into view.
There are still kids gathered outside talking, so I put my head down and start walking faster.
I can’t slow down.
The moment I do, he’ll catch up to me.
Not in person. I haven’t seen Hunter yet. But the memories I have been so expertly avoiding all weekend… they’re just waiting for a chance to wallop me.
I’m prepared for it, but not yet. I’m not supposed to see him until that one class we have together. I just have to get through that one class.
A shoulder slams into me as I walk the crowded hall. The girl doesn’t stop, so I glance back.
She glares at me. “Watch where you’re going.”
She’s the one who ran into me, but I know she’s one of Valerie’s followers, so I figure she’s being bitchy on purpose.
The sad part is, she’s not even in Valerie’s main crowd, just someone who wants to be close to her, will do anything to be close to her. And why? Just because she’s popular.
Gross.
I shake it off, unwilling to lend any brain space to someone like that.
The problem is, she’s not the only person like that. As I make my way to my locker, I can feel eyes on me, hear people whispering as I pass. Some don’t even bother whispering.
One girl speaks at regular volume as she stands by her locker and tells her friend, “That’s the slutbag Hunter banged at that party.”
“Her? Why? Who even is she?” asks the other girl, whom I sat next to on the bus on the way to our first grade field trip. She had strawberry blonde hair and a loose tooth. We discussed how much money she would find under her pillow and what she would do with the money once she got it. It’s the only time we ever spoke, but I still know her name is Rachel Witten.
“Who cares?” her friend asks, turning back to her locker to retrieve her books.
I do my best to ignore my sinking stomach and keep walking.
I knew today would be a bad day, so it’s fine. I knew this was coming. It doesn’t matter.
The school day can’t last forever, then I’ll be free again until tomorrow.
When I finally make it to home room, I sink into my seat.
My shoulders are tense and I feel strangely exposed sitting at the front of the class, but at least the only person I’m facing is the teacher.
Class hasn’t started yet, so I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Anderson.
“Hey, so, don’t take this the wrong way, but I just realized since everyone knows some version of what happened at the party Friday night but a lot of people might NOT know we broke up and then got back together… I don’t think we should go public with our relationship yet. Let’s keep a low profile until we see how things unfold.”
It doesn’t take him long to answer, “How low profile are we talking here?”
I’m not sure, but I type back, “I don’t know, but… don’t sit with me at lunch today. Maybe don’t mention it at practice. I’m not saying lie about it, just try to avoid telling anyone we got back together. In a week or two when everything has calmed down, then we can ‘get back together’ and it won’t be such a hot topic, but I think today is too soon. I don’t want you to catch heat, and you will if people find out today.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” he tells me.
“It’s up to you,” I text back. “I think it’s asking for trouble, though.”
“Yeah, but getting back together in secret? What about homecoming?”
“Are we doing that?” I ask.
“I mean… yeah? I thought we would. Everyone else will be there.”
Exactly why I don’t want to go.
I sigh, flicking a glance at my teacher to see if I have time to keep texting. She’s sipping coffee and checking to make sure everyone is here. Class is probably about to start.
I type back fast. “Okay, so maybe that’s how we could get back together. We won’t mention it before then, we’ll just show up at the dance together and people can figure it out.”
“This isn’t about Hunter, right?”
His text instantly raises my alarms.
“You promised you weren’t going to hold onto that,” I remind him.
He starts typing back. I see the little gray bubbles moving on the screen, but I don’t get to see what he says. The teacher stands and moves in front of the board. Everyone starts to quiet down, so I have to put my phone away.
I have a bad feeling about it, though. I had reservations about Anderson’s ability to really get past me hooking up with Hunter to begin with, but two days into our new relationship and he’s already bringing it up?
I can’t help thinking that doesn’t bode well.
Chapter Twenty Five
Riley
When the time finally rolls around for English class, I feel like I’m going to be sick. I’ve never blown off school before, but I almost consider fleeing and going home early today.
I could clean the vase and put it away. I could definitely make sure I took the trash out before Mom got home so there’d be no evidence of the flower delivery this morning.
Of course, if I do that, Sara won’t have anyone to sit with at lunch.
And it’ll be pretty obvious I was just running away from Hunter since I attended the classes I had before the class I have with him.
Also, it’s only a temporary solution. Sure, I’d get out of having to see him today, but I’ll still have to see him tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that…
No, there’s no sense in running. I’ll have to face him eventually, whether it’s today or tomorrow makes no difference.
I wish I felt ready, but I’ll never feel ready.
When I turn the corner, I’m immensely relieved to find Hunter isn’t in class yet. There are a few students and the teacher, but Hunter isn’t among them.
Thank God.
I hate to do it, but I know sitting beside Hunter will be a distraction I’d prefer not to endure today, so instead of taking my seat, I approach the teacher’s desk.
Her face already drawn with habitual annoyance, she lifts her gaze to me. “Do you need something?”
“Hi. I’m Riley Bishop, I’m in this class.”
“I remember,” she says impatiently.
“I was wondering if it would be possible to change
desks. I took one in the middle of the room last week, but I’m having trouble seeing the board. Since the desk in the front corner doesn’t seem to be occupied—”
“Let me stop you right there, Miss Bishop. Did I or did I not inform the whole class that the seats you picked on the first day of school would be your seats for the duration of the school year?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“So, if you can’t see the board, I would suggest getting glasses. I won’t have my classroom rearranged every time you want to sit next to someone new. This is a place of learning, not speed dating.”
I stiffen, hugging my books tighter against my chest.
I’ve never had a teacher dislike me before. Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick was a little weird around me last year, but he had a really good reason. This woman has hated me since Anderson kissed me on the first day of school, and obviously her opinion isn’t going to change.
So, I have to sit by Hunter.
Since he’s not here yet, I settle in quickly and open my book. I’ve already done my homework for this class and we haven’t been assigned a book to read yet, so I open the enormous tome I’m reading for pleasure.
I started it last night when I was out of homework and not ready for sleep. I read until my eyes burned, then I read a little longer. When my brain finally stopped processing the blocks of text, I had to surrender and go to sleep.
Opening it now and setting my bookmark aside, I start to read, but my concentration is interrupted pretty immediately.
Melina Eggers approaches my desk and drops my purse on top.
Well, what’s left of it.
The purse I left in Valerie’s bedroom has been completely destroyed, slashed open and gutted. My belongings aren’t inside, but I never expected to see those again. I already planned to go to the DMV after school to get a replacement license, and thankfully there wasn’t much cash in my cheap wallet. Perks of being dead broke.
“Valerie wanted me to give this back to you,” she says.
I nod slowly, reaching into the little interior pocket where my house key was.
Gone.
Great.
I’m not sure if I should get a new house key, or tell my mom the key was stolen and we need to change our locks. I don’t think Valerie would commit an actual felony in the name of this unending grudge, but you never know what people will do.
We should probably change the locks, just to be safe.
I glance up at Melina. “Thanks, friend. Is that all?”
“No,” she says brightly, her Tinkerbell bun bobbing as she cocks her head and smiles. “She also wanted me to tell you that you’re a nasty ho and no one likes you.”
I smile. “How sweet. Tell her I said to grow some balls and say it to my face next time instead of sending a messenger.”
She doesn’t find this amusing. Her eyes narrow. “You know, you really should feel worse about all this. Honestly, sleeping with another girl’s boyfriend? That’s low, Riles.”
Boyfriend.
I’d rather die than let Melina Eggers think her hit landed, but I feel like I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. My unaffected smile slips. My heart sinks; thankfully she can’t see that, so there’s no visible evidence.
Mercifully, before she has a chance to realize she has upset me, a voice behind her booms, “Move.”
Melina looks up, startled.
Hunter is standing there carrying no books, but three shopping bags.
“Hi, Hunter,” Melina says as she steps back, shooting him a cautious smile like she hopes he’s not mad at her.
Of course. He’s not the asshole, only I am.
He slides her a look spiked with warning, but doesn’t speak to her again.
Instead, he shoves the destroyed purse off my desk and puts one of his shopping bags down on top of it. He puts the other two bags on the floor, then starts talking to me as if nothing is amiss between us.
“I brought you a few different options. Wasn’t sure which one you’d like best,” he says, reaching into the bag and drawing out a white cloth sack with something bulky inside. He opens it and pulls out a stylish Coach purse.
“Now, Coach is kinda basic,” he says, almost apologetically. “My half sisters like them, but my stepmom wouldn’t be caught dead with a Coach bag. I know labels aren’t that important to you, though. I thought you’d like the look of this one, so…” He indicates the purse, then puts it back in the shopping bag and puts that one on the ground so he can grab the next one.
“What are you doing?” I ask, annoyed that he’s making me speak to him.
“Valerie posted a video over the weekend of her and her shitty friends destroying your purse after you left it at the party. I figured you’d need a new one.” He pauses to look over at Melina, who is still standing there. “You can go.”
Melina gapes at him, clearly stunned. This is not the contrite behavior of a cheating boyfriend who has been caught. Not only is he not shunning me, he’s…
I’m actually not sure what the fuck he’s doing, but neither is Melina, and she’s much more confused about it than I am.
Still, the king told her to go away, so despite her clear reluctance, she shuffles back to her desk.
“Bag number two,” Hunter says, putting another, smaller purse on my desk. “Kate Spade. Same deal. Not that expensive, but I thought it looked like something you’d like.”
I’m gonna have to disagree with him on that. I consider Kate Spade pretty pricey, but I don’t comment.
“Now, this is the one I like best.” He puts a black shopping bag on my desk with CHANEL emblazoned across it. “Seems the most like your style. I got you a wallet to go with it. I assumed Valerie probably dumped out the contents of yours, so I put some cash in there for you, too. If I underestimated how much cash you had on hand, just let me know and I’ll give you more.”
My face is beat red. At this point, everyone in class is watching. The teacher has noticed, but while every single thing I do is wrong, she doesn’t say a word about Hunter putting on a show in her classroom.
“I don’t need your money, or your purses,” I tell him, keeping my voice low.
Hiking up an eyebrow, he asks, “Don’t you want to at least see what I picked out for you before you reject it?”
Dammit, I do.
It’s not so much the purse as my curiosity about what Hunter thinks I’d like. What he would pick out for me.
When I don’t take the bait, he opens the bag himself and pulls out a lovely blue tweed purse. It’s small, but perfectly big enough for me. The $14 Wal-Mart special I brought to Valerie’s house was really too big for me; I barely had anything to put in it.
This one is perfect.
And beautiful.
I’m not a big purse person. Not that I have anything against them, it’s just that we live on a tight budget, so I don’t have money to spend on extravagant purses, or even extra purses. Other than the one I brought with me to Valerie’s house that night, the only handbag I own is a tiny black one that I bought on clearance for $4. I don’t alternate handbags; I wear them out, then keep them for another month or so before I finally cave and buy a new one.
This Chanel bag, though… Wow.
I wish I could keep it.
I also wish the bag and I didn’t have an audience so I could open it up and look inside, but I can’t express any interest in the lovely purse. Not in front of Hunter. I don’t want him to think I’ll take his bribe.
Without waiting for me to comment, he reaches into the shopping bag and grabs a small wallet in a different material, but the same shade of blue. As if giving a demonstration, he holds up the wallet, opens the flap of the tweed purse, and tucks it inside.
“So, which one do you like best?”
“The Chanel.”
He smiles. “Good.”
“But I’m not accepting it. Or any of them.” Grabbing the purse out of his hand, I shove it back into the shopping bag and hand it to him. “Kindly take your thi
ngs and get away from me.”
I hear someone whisper, “Is she crazy?” but I ignore the peanut gallery and Hunter. Once my desk is clear of shopping bags, I go back to my book and pretend he’s not there.
“You’re allowed to accept the bag, Riley,” Hunter says, his tone no longer that of a showman. He’s trying to reason with me. “It’s my fault your last purse was destroyed. I should’ve grabbed it when you left without it, but I was a little distracted.”
“I can buy my own purses,” I tell him. “Valerie is the one who owes me a new bag, anyway, not you.”
“Yeah, well… carry this one around in front of her and really piss her off,” he suggests, a hint of roguish amusement in his tone.
I shake my head, but don’t respond.
He stands there for a moment, waiting. When he accepts that I’m not swayed by the gifts he bought me, he gathers up the bags, but he slides them beneath my desk, not his.
“I told you, I don’t want them,” I say without looking up.
Without acknowledging I’ve said anything, he asks, “What are you reading?”
“Tolstoy.”
“That’s not for this class, is it?” he asks, glancing at the surrounding desks to see if anyone else has a copy.
“Nope.”
“Just a little light reading, huh?”
I focus harder, though I can’t digest a single word on the page. I don’t want him to know that, so I let my eyes travel across each line like I’m fully absorbed in the story and totally not distracted by him at all.
“Still not talking to me, huh?”
I say nothing.
“That’s not very nice,” he says.
My blood pressure shoots way up, but I can tell by his coaxing tone, that’s the response he wants. He doesn’t care if I yell at him for his audacity—I’ll still be speaking to him. Feeling things at him, even if it’s anger.
Nope. He’s not getting a rise out of me.
Crossing his arms and leaning forward as if letting me in on a secret, he says, “I’m supposed to be the mean one, you know.”
My eyes narrow on the page, but with some effort, I continue to hold my tongue.