by Tijan
nodded and I saw some amusement that tickled the corner of his mouth.
I finished a drawing for the rest of sixth period and headed to the cafeteria for study hall.
Chet moved down and I took his seat. The rest of the group all moved, grumbled, saw it was for me and shut up. I hid a smile at their expense. Bryce dropped his history books on the table across from me and sat beside Becky Lew.
No one reacted, but—like always—they watched me for the reaction.
I disappointed them all and focused on my homework. I finished my calculus and got up to buy a pop. When I returned to the table, Bryce was back at his seat across from mine. Becky Lew and her friends had moved to the open section of the cafeteria. They were painting signs for the soccer and basketball team. The rest of the cheerleaders had moved into the cafeteria so it must've been a planned event.
I ignored Bryce and started my history homework until the final bell rang. Bryce walked beside me towards my locker and asked, "What are you doing after school?"
I ignored him, but then he tapped my arm and leaned closer when we arrived at my locker. His arm draped across the top of the locker and he effectively entrapped me against the locker.
"What are you doing now?"
I shook my head and slipped out from underneath.
"Sheldon," he called out.
"I'll see you later," I called over my shoulder and disappeared around the corner.
The counselor's office was vacated, but the back office doors were still open. I walked to Miss Connors, knowing from prior trips where her office was located and watched her shuffle papers around her desk. She gripped a pencil in her teeth and frowned at her computer screen. The day must've been long for her because there were sweat marks down the back of her silk blouse and her skirt was rumpled where she would sit on it.
She sighed in frustration to herself and wrote a note on a pad near the phone.
I cleared my throat.
As Miss Connors whirled in her chair to see me, I said tightly, "So I hear that you think I'm sleeping with a teacher?"
"Sheldon," she murmured, reproachfully.
I walked in, shut the door, and took a seat in the lounger besides her desk.
"It's out of line and I'm a bit disappointed in how unoriginal you are," I said firmly and leaned back.
She smiled tensely and retorted, "Got you in here, didn't it?"
"So you know it's a lie?"
"I know that you're not sleeping with Mr. Sayword, but you have to admit that it's a bit suspect. You mouth off to the teachers except him. You are either consistently late or you don't show up at all, except sixth period. You've never been tardy to one of his classes and you've had him for four years now. The days you do skip, you always stay after the next day." She sighed. "You do the math."
"I respect him."
"Your other two friends have never shared an art class with you. Is that why? Do you act out because you're reacting to their influence?"
I didn't even dignify that with an answer.
"No." Miss Connors ran a hand through her straw-colored thin hair. "I didn't think you'd respond to that one either."
"What do you want?" I asked, my eyes flat.
She seemed to consider me for a moment before she replied, "Honestly?"
I nodded, mute.
"I care about you and I think you're wasting an unfair amount of potential. You could be in college. Yes, I know that you've heard this already and I don't care. You could be the captain of track, volleyball, yearbook staff. You could have any number of prestigious scholarships if you wanted. I've read some of your essays. You have so much talent and I cannot stand the fact that you just waste it away."
"I'm living a typical teenager's life."
"A typical teenager is not rumored to screw an entire sports team."
I hadn't been aware of that one. It made me smile.
"I see." Miss Connors groaned. "You think that's funny. Granted, I've watched you around campus and I'm impressed at the amount of power you seem to hold with the other students. However, I'm not stupid." She shook her head as her bore into mine. "I know what girls have to do to earn that spot."
"Did you call me a whore?"
"What? No!" Miss Connors looked horrified and flushed. "That's not what I meant. I just..." She caught the amusement in my eyes and sighed in disappointment. With a gentled tone, she asked, "Have you heard from your parents lately?"
"No." I stood up and shook my head. I moved to the door.
"Wait. Please, Sheldon?"
"I'm not some wasted space due to negligent parents. That's not me, not who I am. I'm not going to talk to you about my hurt feelings because the last time I heard from my parents was three months ago." I left the room and walked down the hallway. Just before I opened the counselor's door that connected to the senior hallway, I stopped and heard a resigned sigh from her office.
My hand paused for a moment, but I hardened inside and left.
Chapter 8
I drove past the Café Diner and saw Bryce's car in the parking lot. Corrigan's was somewhere else. As I continued home, I sent a text to Bryce and Corrigan telling them that I had beer waiting at home.
When I got home, I removed one of the cases that was still in my car from our previous trip to the diner. I stuffed it underneath the steps leading to the connecting door. As I moved down the hallway to unlock the front door, I found a note that had been stuffed underneath the door. I opened it and read:
Whores get stoned to death. Are you the stone or whore? Or maybe you're death.
I laughed and crumpled it up. After a quick toss to the garbage, I pulled out a frozen pizza and warmed the oven. It took two minutes for the oven's pre-warm up bell to ring and as I slid the pizza in, my front door opened. Bryce and Corrigan were both laughing as they made their way inside.
"Grab the beer from my trunk," I shouted over their laughing.
Corrigan hollered, "Will do."
Logan was the first to appear around the corner. She was hesitant, but seemed to relax when she saw an easy grin on my face. I still hadn't formally met the girl, but I was determined to be in a gracious mood. There was no bitchery allowed when it was beer and pizza night.
I crossed my feet as I leaned against the corner and stared at her.
She changed her expression back to caution and edged, hesitantly, onto one of the stools.
Neither of us said a thing.
Logan stared at anything except me. Her hands also seemed to fight with each other. She'd hold them still, then they'd start trembling, and she'd jerk only to start it all over again.
When I heard footsteps jog down the stairs, I smiled to myself at her predicament. She's with a guy, one of the most popular, and thinking she's his new girlfriend. She's in his other best friend's house, who's a girl, who's known to get her jollies by taunting girls just like her. What to do?
Predicament.
A moment later, Bryce and Corrigan both walked in with a case in their arms.
Awkward silence time was done…for now.
I raised an eyebrow and murmured, "You could only handle one case?" I said it in disdain.
Corrigan wasn't affected and grinned cockily. He jumped onto the counter right in front of Logan and shot back, "I'm just conserving my energy for more pleasurable activities."
He ran a hand down the side of Logan's face and lingered at her lips.
Logan flushed, but didn't move her head back. She even relaxed her lips and Corrigan slipped his finger inside where, after a moment's hesitation, she sucked it. Her eyes looked somewhere else. Not at Corrigan, Bryce, or myself.
Bryce whistled in appreciation and asked, "Why don't you do that for me?" He held up his hand.
I punched him in the arm.
"Ow!" He cradled his arm, but smiled endearingly at me.
Corrigan sniffed the air and asked, "Please tell me that I'm smelling pizza?"
"You are." I knew my eyes were frosty as I watched Logan take
two of Corrigan's fingers into her mouth.
"Hey," Corrigan suddenly said as he noticed something in the front hallway. "You have a voice message on your machine." He looked at me, confused, "Since when do you use your machine?"
I'd been distracted with creepy notes. I hadn't noticed.
"When was the last time someone even called your landline?" Bryce asked.
Corrigan jumped off the counter and hit the play button.
A second later, I stiffened when I heard my mother's voice echo around the house's hallway and kitchen.
"Hello, dear. This is your mother. I am calling because your father and I are getting a divorce. I won't be returning home for Thanksgiving and I have no idea what your father is planning over the holiday. I'll be in touch with my new number. Love you, honey. Hope you stay out of trouble."
The air was thick in silence when the machine clicked it's end.
All three watched me, but I was paralyzed.
Finally, I choked out, "God."
Corrigan reached inside one of the beer cases and offered a bottle. Bryce took it, opened it, and moved it into my numb fingers.
I downed it.
Another beer came along and I downed that one.
A third proceeded the same until I spit it out and threw the bottle across the kitchen.
The buzzer rang on the oven, but I ignored it and walked upstairs. I passed my bed, headed straight for the bathroom, dropped my clothes, and stepped into my shower. I turned it to a scalding temperature and stood there, with my head hung downwards. After awhile, I slid down and wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging them to my chest.
I don't know how long I stayed there, but I stayed when I felt the first chill. I didn't move until my entire body trembled from the cold. And I wasn't too surprised to see that Bryce had taken root on my toilet seat when I climbed out. I wrapped a towel around my body and moved into my bedroom. After I closed the door, I just crawled into bed and pulled the covers over me.
Bryce stood beside the bed. He watched me.
After awhile he slid to sit on the floor beside my bed. He didn't watch me, but just stayed there.
I didn't cry. I didn't do anything.
"Do you want a beer?" Bryce asked sometime later.
"Yes."
"Okay." He stood up and returned a little later with four beers. He uncapped two and handed one to me. I sat up and downed it. I passed him the empty bottle as he held out the second. The third and fourth went down the same way.
After the fourth, I looked up and asked, "Is this a wrong coping mechanism?"
Bryce flashed a grin and my heart beat.
He leaned down and whispered, just before he touched his lips to mine, "Coping is coping, baby. Either way, you get through it."
I captured his lips in mine and found myself in his arms. I had one knee firmly between his legs on the bed and raised my body so I was kneeling above him.
"I don't want her in this house."
Bryce nodded and left. I heard the front door shut a few minutes later. With a tentative knock at my door, Corrigan called from the hallway, "Can I come in for a minute?"
I didn't answer and the door was pushed open.
I had laid back down, still wrapped in my towel, but I knew my face was void of emotion.
Corrigan's eyes skipped over the empty beer bottles.
"Hey," he murmured and moved to sit beside me. His hand came out to smooth down my hair, but I shoved it away.
"Sorry," Corrigan breathed, ruefully. He took a deep breath and commented, "So…drunk orgy is the way to go?"
Drunk orgy was the way to go.
He nodded and patted my shoulder. As he moved to the door he stopped short said, "If you want to go hustling, give me a call."
"I will," I murmured, hoarsely.
Corrigan threw me a tender smile and moved through the door.
I laid there and heard a murmur of voices from the front hallway. A second later, the door shut again. Another minute and Bryce appeared in the doorway. He had the case of beer underneath his arm.
A grin slipped past my lips at the image of him.
He grinned back and moved to sit on the side of the bed.
After setting the case on the floor, he asked, "You want another one?"
"Yes." I sat up and leaned against the headboard.
Bryce took two out. He handed one to me and downed his own.
I didn't down this one, but took some sips as I watched him stand up and empty his pockets. He placed his phone on the nightstand and then pulled his shirt over his head. He grabbed a handful of condoms and placed them on the nightstand before he sat back on the bed.
He met my gaze.
I took another sip and asked, "Do you think I'm a whore?"
He frowned, but asked, "How many guys have you slept with?"
"Three." I didn't hesitate.
"No," he answered and I knew it was the truth. He had thought about it.
I murmured, "Brian Kincaid. He was my first."
"Our first time was the end of freshman year."
"He was before that, long before that. He was my first boyfriend and I thought…I thought it was what I was supposed to do."
Bryce took a drink from another beer and rubbed a hand over my leg. It wasn't meant to be seductive, but soothing. Comfort.
"Nah," he murmured. "Girls don't have to do anything they don't want to do."
"I know that now." I hadn't then. I took a deep breath and finished my—I hadn't been counting—. Bryce took it out of my still numb fingers and placed it in the case.
"We've been friends for a long time," I said quietly and laid back down.
"Yep." Bryce nodded. "We became really good friends in…?"
"When we were ten."
"That's right. And in seventh grade, you kissed me."
"You kissed me."
"No." He shook his head and moved to lay beside me. He flipped on his stomach and threw one arm over my waist. His head rested on my shoulder and he gazed up at me.
"Yes. I remember because it was during recess."
"No." Bryce smiled at me, a beautiful sight. He inched closer. "It was during lunch, but you kissed me because you wouldn't let me go and play football with the rest of the guys. I wasn't happy with you at all. Why would I kiss you if I wanted to play football?"
I noted, "You're supposed to always say that you were the one who kissed me. That's what a gentleman does."
Bryce laughed a full laugh and teased, "You admit that I'm