Something About Love: A YA contemporary romance in verse (7 page)

He chuckles. “I heard you and Harris really liked movies.”

Humiliation burns through my body.

I wonder if one of the Sharpie messages

I didn’t see said something about our make-out sessions

During movies, or

If Joey saw us once.

“Jerk.” I elbow him in the stomach, and

He drops back,

His laugh loud among the noise in the hall.

DON’T CRY, DON’T CRY, DO NOT CRY.

I coach myself all the way to my locker,

Managing to avoid another encounter with

Any overly-hormonal guys.

I hear my name plenty of times,

Along with “slut,” and

“Whore,” and

“Bitch.”

I try to ignore them, but

I can’t seem to get my locker open.

I smell the fresh paint,

Can still see the sprayed-on words,

Try to quiet my fingers as they shake.

I finally get the latch to release.

An avalanche of folded notes fall

To the floor when I open the locker door.

They’re all written in red pen and

Black Sharpie.

“FUNNY.”

Jacey swipes away as many of the notes as she can, but

There’s so many,

They’re everywhere.

I see my name.

See those horrible things Harris painted on the lockers.

See phone numbers,

Guy’s names, and

Crude drawings.

Jacey stands next to me,

Scooping the remaining notes out of my locker, but

I bend down and pick one up.

YOU ARE A TERRIBLE PERSON,

The note says,

Written in Sharpie.

Harris is a great guy.

You don’t deserve him, and

He didn’t deserve what you did to him.

It’s unsigned, but

Clearly a girl’s handwriting.

“I WAS WRONG.”

I drop the note and

Turn away from my locker.

“I can’t do this.”

“WINGS! WAIT!”

Trevor’s voice cuts through the laughter,

The pounding of my pulse as I sprint down the hall, and

The sound of the tardy bell.

I don’t wait.

I don’t go to class.

I don’t care.

“DAD, CAN YOU CALL IN AND EXCUSE ME?”

I stop my car at a red light, wishing he’d picked up, but

Maybe my tears will be obvious over the voice mail.

“I just can’t go today.

I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Maybe
, I think as I hang up.

The light turns green, but

I feel like I have nowhere to go.

“LET’S JUST SEE WHAT SHE SAYS,”

Mom whispers from the kitchen,

Causing me to pause at the bottom of the stairs.

Dad answers in his lower timbre,

Words I can’t hear.

He’d warned me Mom would be joining us for dinner, and

The fact that Rose left with Gramma-Linda twenty minutes ago does not escape me.

“Hey,” I say, rounding the corner and entering the kitchen.

Dad lets his glare linger on Mom a moment longer,

Then sweeps his attention toward me.

“Hey, Liv, how are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” I say, glancing between him and Mom.

I sort of feel like they’ve set me up for something, and

Click, click, click,

I see the brief moments of apprehension,

Fear, and

Determination

On my mom’s face.

“What’s going on?”

I sit at the table, where the Chinese take-out is spread, but

I don’t eat.

“Olivia, darling—”

Mom cuts off when I give her a scathing look.

I’ve been trying to get her to stop calling me
darling
for years.

Actions speak louder than words, and

Hers have told me I’m not darling to her.

She smoothes her honey-colored bob and tries again.

“Your father and I have discussed,

That is,

We think…”

She looks at Dad, just as she always has.

Mom’s never been able to break bad news,

Which is how I know whatever Dad says isn’t going to be good.

“We don’t think you should go back to Copper Hills,” Dad says,

His voice soft but strong.

“We’d like to explore some alternatives.”

I frown as the words settle into my mind.

I am both relieved and thrilled at the prospect of

Never darkening the doorway of Copper Hills High again, but

Also indignant and defensive.

“You think I can’t handle it?”

My voice is much too quiet to be polite.

“Of course you can,” Mom trills, but

I look to Dad for the truth.

“It’s not that we think you can’t handle it,” he says,

“It’s that you shouldn’t have to.”

He reaches toward the counter and gathers a pile of paperwork.

“We have some options we’d like to discuss with you.”

He spreads the brochures and papers before me,

Where I can examine them.

I glance at him before picking up the top item.

Private school =

Dreary and elitist.

“No,” I say.

Jacey could never afford the tuition to come with me.

Charter school =

Dreary and elitist without the academics or credentials to back it up.

“No,” I say,

Wondering what other options there are, and

If I’ll be able to convince Jacey to come with me.

Mom removes several brochures from the pile and

Tucks them in her purse.

She exchanges another glance with Dad.

“Well, honey, the last option is homeschool.”

I gauge them carefully, and find no snapshot tells.

“Really?” I ask. “But you both work.

Who—?”

“Grandma Baker,” Dad says,

“Is a retired high school teacher.”

Gramma-Linda is soft,

Like a teddy bear.

Growing up, I thought
Gramma-Linda
was how

Everybody said Grandma.

She always smells like baby powder and sugar,

Always tells the best stories about her former students,

About what her childhood was like in Berlin.

I suddenly want to be with her and Rose

Instead of sitting here at this table with my parents.

“She taught German, Dad,” I remind him.

“I am aware,” he says, the familiar quirk to his lips

That says he’s trying not to smile.

“Still, she knows how to make a student turn in assignments on time, and

You still have six months of your senior year to finish.”

Homeschool seems like it could be a viable solution.

Something that would allow me to avoid the jokes,

The boys coming on to me,

The staring,

The whispering,

The constant notes written in red pen.

“You can’t stay home forever,” Mom nudges.

“I know,” I snap.

After Wednesday’s failure,

I haven’t even tried to go back to school,

Unable to face the freshly painted lockers,

The mocking laughter, and

The rumors of Harris’s expulsion.

I’ve connected with Jacey and Trevor, and

There isn’t anyone else I care enough about to talk to.

“Homeschool.” I roll the word around in my mouth

As I chew on the idea in my mind.

“With Gramma-Linda.”

“OKAY.”

I meet Dad’s eyes and then Mom’s.

Dad smiles, and I see that moment of acceptance.

He would’ve supported me in whatever I chose.

Mom bends her lips up, but it’s not a real smile.

Click
—I see disappointment in her eyes before she can force it back.

I’m sure she wanted me to pick the swanky private school—

Only minutes from her and the Youngbloods.

“I’ll call Gramma-Linda,” Mom says,

Running from the room like it’s caught fire.

“HOMESCHOOL?”

Jacey’s disbelief echoes off the walls in my bedroom.

I pick at the threads on my quilt and don’t look up.

“Livvy, are you sure?”

She touches my knee, and

I simply stare at her fingers.

“I don’t want to go back,” I say.

“I just wish you could come to my gramma’s with me.”

She chuckles. “Right. Your grandma scares me.

She yells.”

I let myself smile. “Only because she thought you’d eaten her chocolate.”

I look up, and

The tension between us fades.

“It was in German,” Jacey says,

“I didn’t even know what she was saying.”

“I’m tired of hanging around here.” I stand up.

“Want to help me while I take pictures?”

“Who are we shooting?” She stuffs her feet back into her shoes.

“Maybe Rose,” I say.

“Maybe you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Not Trevor?”

I bite back my grin. “Not today.”

“Okay, I just need to check in with my parents.”

She gives me a look that clearly means,

Oh, so Trevor
later
. I get it.

“I CAN’T ENTER THIS,”

I mutter to myself.

Number one, the picture of Jacey

Doesn’t fit into the portfolio.

She’d dragged me to the Ferris wheel

At the city park, and

The shots I’d taken are carefree and joyous.

They don’t match

The Many Sides of Trevor Youngblood,

Teenage Boy Who’s Hiding Something.

Not only that, but the sun was too bright, and

The light in the photos is all wrong.

She hadn’t listened to me about the golden hour, and

She won’t understand even if I show her the overexposed pictures.

She’ll analyze how her hair looks, and

If her teeth look straighter now that she’s been wearing her night guard.

I’m looking for something deeper,

Something beyond hair color,

Straight teeth,

A beautiful face.

I’m looking for a person’s soul,

Their hidden feelings,

Their deepest secrets.

I can usually find those things easily,

Just a
click, click, click,
and

I see
them
for who they really are.

I sit back, and

Wonder why I haven’t been able to

See who Trevor is in a single photo.

He’s more complex than I imagined,

Than I even knew.

I upload Jacey’s pictures from my memory card to my computer, but

I don’t waste my time editing them.

They’re useless, even if the afternoon wasn’t.

“IT’S OVER,”

I’d told him eighteen months ago.

He thought we’d broken up because my mom

Got engaged to his dad, but

It wasn’t the only reason.

I felt myself falling for him.

Fast,

Furious,

Completely.

I couldn’t allow myself to do that, so

I smothered the flame,

Telling myself that fire burns.

I quenched the fire inside, even

If the simple sight of him feeds it.

I know nothing about love,

Other than it’s a powerful feeling that shouldn’t

Be equated with falling

Or fire.

Both are dangerous.

Both break important things,

Like hearts,

Like families.

“YOU CAN’T IGNORE ME FOREVER,”

Trevor says on my voice mail,

A message he left during his lunchtime.

“Call me back when you get this.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about.

I’ve texted him three times over the past week.

Of course, each one was an excuse why I couldn’t meet him to shoot, but

Still.

“I’m not calling you just because you tell me to,” I mutter to myself

As I delete the message.

He’ll get a text, and

That’s it.

Me: I’m not ignoring you.

It’s seventh period, and

He has world history.

He might be able to text.

Trevor: You don’t answer your phone when I call.

Me: Maybe I’m busy, have you ever thought of that?

Trevor: Busy doing what?

I look up from my phone,

See the same caging walls of my room,

Where I’ve been for too many days.

Suddenly, the halls of Copper Hills High don’t sound so bad.

Except for the outing to the Ferris wheel with Jacey and Rose over the weekend,

I haven’t left the house.

Me: Stuff.

Trevor: Rumor is you’re not coming back to school.

It’s Monday,

The sixth day of school I’ve missed.

Dad excused me again this morning, but

He’s been leaving me home alone while he goes to work.

Gramma-Linda is coming over tomorrow to begin homeschool.

Me: Rumors can be false.

Trevor: Sometimes they’re true.

Me: Who did you hear it from?

Trevor: Jacey.

I take a deep breath, so

I won’t hit the call button and tell him off.

Or end this conversation and

Call Jacey and demand to know why she told him.

Then I remember that they’ve been all buddy-buddy lately.

Me: Fine. It’s true.

Trevor:

When he doesn’t text back for ten minutes,

I take my phone downstairs and

Plug it in.

I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

“GET THE DOOR, LIV,”

Dad yells from his office,

Where he’s been since he came home early.

Rose, who got home ten minutes ago, is in the living room,

Watching TV and snacking on apple chips, but

Dad thinks she’s not old enough to answer the door by herself.

I’m in the kitchen,

Just starting dinner.

I heave a sigh Dad can’t hear,

Wipe my hands, and

Go to answer the door.