I grabbed my bag from the nearby chair, headed straight to the door and left, never turning back. I walked down the driveway as my dad was pulling up, willing myself to hold it all in until I could lock myself in my room. Reed knew exactly what I meant. He got it all, and I knew it. And as proud as I was of myself, I also silently scolded myself for being surprised that he would cuddle with Tatum in his house while I was busying myself with clay and glue … like a child.
I let the tears fall as soon as I pushed my face into my bed, and I cried until finally falling asleep well after midnight.
4. Words
I wouldn’t call it moping, but I walked to my homeroom that morning with a certain sense of hopelessness. I was exhausted from the previous night’s cry fest, and dreading my science class with Reed. As Sienna and Sarah bounded into the classroom, full smiles, I sank further into my seat. We had planned on going to the football game tonight, but that was before I made an ass out of myself in front of our cool new group of friends and lambasted the boy who had repeatedly broken my heart in a matter of weeks. I had to try to get out of this, and so as soon as they sat down next to me I put on a coughing act and said I wasn’t feeling very well.
“Like hell,” Sarah started. “Girl, you better suck it up and start taking some vitamin C, cuz there’s no way we’re missing that game tonight. Cole invited us to the desert party after, and we are going, because he is way hot, and I want him.”
“I don’t know,” I started, but was quickly cut off.
“You’ll feel fine as soon as we start having fun. If not, my sister will totally drop you off at home on our way to the party, ok?” Sarah said. There really is no reasoning with her when her mind’s made up.
“OK,” I shrugged, slumping down even more in my chair.
Sienna just looked at me with a soft smile. I think she sensed that there was something more to it, but she was also sweet enough to know when I didn’t want to talk. She just squeezed my wrist and whispered, “we’ll have fun!”
My morning classes flew by and I was on my way to science, walking alone. I spent extra time at my locker to avoid the chance that I might have to walk in with Reed. I scanned the quad on my way to the room terrified that I would still run into him. When I entered the classroom, I snapped my focus right to his seat. I wanted to see him first—before he locked eyes on me. For some reason, I thought that might help me prepare myself and square up my irrational emotions. But his seat was still empty.
I walked over, lopped my backpack over the chair and pulled out my notebook and a pencil. Intently counting the second-hand clicks on the clock, I started to fill with concern that Reed wasn’t here. He was skipping school, either because of the dressing down I had given him or because he was off making out with a 17-year-old hoochie. Caught up in the drama in my head, I didn’t notice when he slipped in at the last second and slid into his seat next to me.
I could feel the blood rushing to my head. In fact, I could hear it passing over my eardrums in waves, making it almost impossible to hear our teacher. I refused to pull my gaze up from my notebook. I didn’t want to see if he was frowning. I didn’t want to see if he was furious or sad. I just wanted to shrink down to microscopic size and scamper off unnoticed. The only part of Reed I could see was his feet. They were bouncing up and down, propped on his toes. He was clearly just as affected sitting next to me, but I was pretty sure that he was just counting the seconds that he could be free from me. He smacked his notebook on his desktop and pulled a pen out ready to take notes for the class.
I wrote down various bits of our lesson. Cell structures and mitochondria. It seemed pretty simple so I wasn’t too alarmed at my own lack of attention. Reed, however, seemed to be writing down everything our teacher said, word for word. His pen was busy and he kept stopping and scribbling every few seconds. He slowed down some near the end of class and started drumming his pen on his leg to match the tempo of his bouncing. I expected that when we heard the bell he would be off with a sprint.
Finally, after 50 torturous minutes, the bell rang. I slid my notebook sideways on my desk into my backpack and zipped it up. I heard Reed ripping off a page from his notebook and standing up to leave. I thought I would just sit still for an extra minute or two to let him get a head start. I was starting to imagine the pattern of doing this for the next eight months of school and was wondering if I could handle the stress of it when I saw Reed slide a folded piece of paper over to me on top of a blue pocket folder.
Confused, I looked up at him, pursing my lips and crooking the corner of my mouth.