“Do you want to grab some pizza and take it home for your father?”
“That sounds great.” I told her as we left the bookstore.
I knew deep down she had to be upset that I wasn't jumping up and down at the opportunity for a shopping spree on her dime. But she still accepted me for who and what I was. And it was a memorable day.
In any case, I think my mom knew that I always gravitated towards the same thing: jeans and a long-sleeved sweater or shirt. I didn't like to have it all hanging out there. I guess I just didn't like living any part of my life under any microscope. When you let it all hang out, people inevitably stare.
Well, I guess I didn't need to worry about anyone staring at me anymore.
What was so wrong with being a bit prudish? I did not want to be someone who was easy and in turn was used and tossed aside by guys. Perhaps I was a dying breed.
I shook my head and tried to make sense of it all. I know that I looked plain, but was I invisible?
To him, obviously, I was.
I reminded myself that there were boys in town that found me attractive. I had been asked out a few times here and there. But when a girl says no a few times, the offers stop coming.
It wasn't that I didn't want to date someone, it's just that I never felt a connection. Shouldn't I feel something? Shouldn't the earth move when I looked into his eyes? Wasn't that important? Did it even exist? Probably not, but I had to try and find it. I was a romantic at heart. I wanted someone to love that would rock me to my very core.
I deserved that.
I believed in that.
But there was one thing that was irrevocably established. I wasn't cool. Clearly, I was the antithesis of cool. And therefore, why would the captain of any football team, even a small school on Roanoke Island, ever look at me and find me desirable?
Or even attractive.
With Famous at my side, I dressed carefully for school. I decided that today I would at least try and look my best so when I was ridiculed and whispered about in front of the entire Roanoke High population, I at least looked as good as I could.
I wore a pair of my dark jeans and a fitted green sweater. I chose to leave my hair down, which I believed was my best attribute. I looked at myself once more and was satisfied that today I looked decent. I looked down at Famous.
“What do you think?” He turned his little head to the side and barked. I guessed that was his way of saying he approved. I kissed him lightly on the head and headed downstairs and into the kitchen. He followed me like a shadow.
I had found him on the side of the road five years before, a puppy, abandoned and lost, and I had taken him in. The only thing he had that identified him was a small chain around his neck with the name Famous. I decided that I would not change his name because it had been given to him for a reason.
He slept next to my bed. He waited for me when I came home from school. Was there to send me off every morning. He smiled when I smiled. Was sad when I was. He was my little precious gift.
The kitchen was empty this morning because my mom had taken my father to the airport. He was leaving on a business trip to New York. They owned and operated a restaurant off the two sixty-four freeway. Definitely a favorite of the locals, but running a restaurant took up a lot their time, and unfortunately they had odd hours because of it. It provided me with a wonderful, easy life so I could not complain. But it was hard at times to be alone so much.
I checked and made sure that Famous had kibble and water, turned the TV on for him, and kissed him goodbye.
Foregoing my traditional breakfast cereal, I quickly grabbed an apple and ran to my car. I didn't want to be late. English was my first class, and thankfully it was my favorite.
Luck was on my side when I arrived at school, and I found a great parking spot. One of my many vices was that I was late to almost everything. For some reason, I could never be on time. It was my curse.
I walked through the crowd of people at school, noticed a few looks from some of the guys, and felt my confidence rise. Strangely, the cheerleaders didn't even look at me.
Interesting.
I had expected them to whisper. Point. Cackle out loud. Clearly word hadn't spread yet.
I walked into my English class still carrying the huge chip on my shoulder that was placed there the night before by Devilyn. I loathed his arrogant smile. His beautiful eyes. And worse yet that look he gave me. The look that meant that I was insignificant.
Easily dismissed.
Forgotten.
Not in his league.
I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration as I took a seat in class and practically threw my backpack down on the ground.
“You look like you're going to kill someone. Was last night that bad?” Trust Teddy to bring up such a sore subject. “You never called.” He took off his jacket and leaned against his seat.
“Last night was fine.”
“Really? Was he as dumb as they come?”
“I couldn't tell.”
“How's that possible? All he had to do was open his mouth, and you'd know in five seconds.” Teddy shrugged, then looked at me again. Only this time his stare was different, almost like he was looking at an alien. “What's wrong with you? Your hair is different.”
I touched my long tresses insecurely as Teddy continued to stare.
“Is it bad?”
“No. You're justâ”
“I'm just nervous.” I said quickly.
“Nervous?” Teddy said as he grabbed his notebook out of his bag and still stared at me in a peculiar way. “Since when do you get nervous?”
“I'm just nervous about the paper today.” I lied. “I wrote my paper really quickly last night, and I just hate presenting papers. You know everyone stares at you, and it just makes me nervous.”
Lying. I hated it. I always felt like everyone knew I was doing it. Like it was so obvious. I would inevitably get diarrhea of the mouth. I'd just ramble on and on and then I'd catch myself doing it and I'd abruptly stop talking. And I always felt such guilt that I'd eventually end up confessing my sins.
Only this time was different. I really didn't want Teddy to know any of the details of the prior evening. I couldn't bear to have him look at me with any sort of pity.
“Like I said, since when?”
“Since today,” I said defensively. “And besides I have a lot on my mind. That's all it is.”
“Well, you're acting weird.”
“No, I'm not.”
“You
so
are.” Teddy laughed as he scribbled the date down in his notebook.
Mr. Simmons walked in the room and thankfully saved me from having to continue defending myself. Our class, Advanced Placement English, was one of my secret favorite pleasures in school. I loved reading Milton, Blake, and Shelley. I was a total geek about my literature, and I wasn't afraid to admit it, to myself at least. Only Teddy knew all about my secret obsession. The class had only ten students because of the high level of reading and writing. So every student had to really enjoy the literature or they wouldn't survive.
I think I secretly loved it more than anyone else. I loved the way the classic literature spoke to you. In their words you could feel the longing, sorry, or elation of the moment. Whether it was a testament to the times or the authors, I always found that these works had a special place in my heart.
“Morning class,” Mr. Simmons said as he set his things down on his wooden desk and perches himself in front of it.
The ten people in the class mumbled their own version of good morning.
“Before we get started on the assignment from last night, I'd like to welcome an addition to our small circle.”
I looked up at Mr. Simmons in curiosity; who could it be? I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to transfer from regular English to this classâespecially at this point. Just as I was running the names of all of my classmates through my mind,
he
strolled in. The last person on earth I ever expected.
Like George Clooney walking on stage to accept the Oscar, Devilyn sauntered through the door of the class and stood right next to Mr. Simmons like he owned the room.
He wore that inscrutable look on his face that was fast becoming an annoying part of his persona. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. He was too gorgeous for words even while wearing worn jeans, a simple navy sweater, and a dark brown leather jacket. He looked like a male model. It was so unfair.
Why did he have to be so perfect?
Only on the outside
, I quickly reminded myself. A few moments passed as I continued to stare at him in disbelief.
And then I remembered my paper.
I could feel the thudding of my heart as it practically leapt out of my chest. My face lost all of its color. My mind was racing. I was going to die.
My paper
.
The paper I was minutes away from presenting would be my undoing. I was frantic as I remembered spending a good portion of my evening writing our “read out loud” assignment about how rude and annoying Devilyn was during my miserable attempt at interviewing him the night before. The whole paper was about him.
I put my hand on my chest and tried to calm myself.
“Have a seat, Devilyn,” Mr. Simmons said, gesturing to the empty chairs in the classroom. “Take your pick.”
His eyes flickered over me briefly,
dismissively,
and then he found his seat.
Right.
Behind.
Me.
I felt as if the air was sucked right out of the room. Of course he had to sit behind me. It was my luck.
My lousy luck
. He would spend the entire year staring at my back and watching the heat rise through my neck. And I would, of course, obsess over him.
I was happy I had left my hair down.
I could feel his body behind me. My ears acutely tuned in to him as he leaned over and pulled his notebook out of his bag. He clicked his pen, scribbled down a date, and leaned back in his chair.
Dear God, I had to endure this for an entire year?!
“Alright then, how'd you guys do on the assignment I gave you last night?” Mr. Simmons asked the class.
I wanted to laugh hysterically.
This had to be some kind of a sick joke.
“I want to make sure we get through everyone today, so I'd like to get started. I can't wait to see how descriptive you all were. So for those of us who were not here yesterday,” he smiled at Devilyn, “I wanted you to write a brief paragraph about your day detailing one moment which bothered you or upset you the most. I also wanted you to incorporate elements of a position paper. In that your writing should illustrate your taking a stance against this problem or issue you faced yesterday. I have a feeling this is going to be really entertaining.”
I was starting to sweat. Soon I'd be hyperventilating. I started to rub the back of my neck but immediately stopped when I realized that
he
was sitting behind me, no doubt watching my every move.
Entertaining? Yes, this would definitely be entertaining.
“Who wants to go first?” Mr. Simmons asked as he anxiously looked around.
As expected, not one hand went up. Mr. Simmons actually smiled at that in amusement, and then he looked straight at me.
Oh my God.
“Caroline, I think you're up.” He winked at me. The odious man actually
winked
at me thinking that I wanted to go first. All eyes turned to me, their gazes filled with pity. And if I had to guess, I'd bet he was looking as well.
“Really?” I squeaked out. Yes, squeaked. Since when had I become a squeaker?
Mr. Simmons laughed.
“Since when did you become so shy about your writing?” Mr. Simmons said smiling as he took a seat in the front desk facing the small classroom. “That's a first for you.”
If you only knew, I thought miserably to myself. I got up as slowly as possible, grabbed my pages, and took the ten or so steps to the front of the classroom.
Unfortunately, it didn't take too long to get there. I didn't look up. In fact, it was the first time in my life that I kept my head down when reading something I wrote.
“Umm,” I began slowly.
Since when had “um” become a part of my vocabulary? When did that start?
It's all because of him
, my mind snarled at me,
he's ruining you!
“We don't have all day, Caroline,” Mr. Simmons said as he tried to move me along, clearly not understanding my anxiety.
I tried to smile, but I couldn't. So I just sucked it up and started the monologue of hate.
“Yesterday I came across one of the most self-obsessed, arrogant, over-hyped individuals I'd ever met in my life.” Yes, that's the way I began my speech. That was the great descriptive starter line.
“It is baffling to me how some men and women are born to believe that they are better than others. Is it the way they are raised? Or is it the way of the world? Why do we continue to give undeserving individuals titles, like President, Manager, Team Captain, and
Quarterback,
and then watch passively as they use their status to treat others with disrespect.”
My fingers were trembling. I dared not look up when I posed that question.
“Last night I was the victim of one person's wrath. A person, who perhaps may have at one point received my respect, but now is only deserving of my disregard. Initially, I made excuses for his dismissive behavior. Perhaps he does not have a strong command of the English language, I thought. But then I realized there is no excuse to treat anyone as anything less than an equal.
“As we know, some of us are born genetically blessed: some physically, some mentally, and some even have an overall package. Does this give this
blessed
section of society the sense that they are allowed to stand taller, command more, and demean? I don't think so. I have more faith in humanity than that.”
Stop now
, Caroline. Stop now. But of course I did not.