She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(3)
“Everyone knows who you are,” she snaps, but her voice stays low. “You’re Gage Christensen, the baseball god and social elite of the junior class.”
I smile; this does not please her. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Telling me I’m good at my sport, and people like me? Hard to feel insulted by it.” I swear, there’s a real threat of steam coming out of her ears at this point. For some reason, I’m becoming less annoyed with her the more riled up she gets. In fact, I’m enjoying that it’s me who is making her this mad. Huh. May as well go for gold.
“And you are?” I ask, now holding her hand in the semblance of a handshake.
She stops, those eyes still barely visible through the glare she’s giving me. “No one,” she says, glancing down at her hands. “I’m Kennedy Russo, no one.”
I should feel bad for her… the way she says that, like she really wants me to believe her. But, that’s the thing—I don’t feel bad. I feel motivated. I’ve always loved a challenge—it’s why I play baseball. People think it’s an easy sport—I let them because ignorance like that can’t be changed. In reality, I know it’s a sport about patience, determination, strength, stamina, and cunningness. All things I think I’m going to need for this relationship.
So, no, I don’t falter or feel bad when Kenny tells me she’s a no one—instead, I accept the challenge to get to know her, holding her hand and leaning in just a little closer until her eyes widen with the very real possibility that she might shoot fire from them.
“Wrong,” I say, a smile on my lips. “You’re Kenny Russo—life-partner to Gage Christensen. That definitely makes you someone to me.”
Chapter 3: Natural Consequences
Kennedy
“Um, Kennedy, hon, were you and Gage Christensen holding hands today?”
What the… My eyes snap up from the Spanish notes I was studying. “Where did you hear that?”
My best friend—fine, my only friend—Cameron gives me a look that says, Child, please, I know everything. So true. “Ugh, you know the ridiculous Life Science class I was forced to take this semester?”
“No, you’re taking a class you don’t like? You never said a word.”
I toss a half-eaten cracker at him. “It’s even worse than I thought.”
“Checkbook balancing, caveman style?” He gulps dramatically. “Tell me you’re not using a pen and paper to make calculations. I couldn’t bear it.”
“Are you done? Because no one’s laughing.” Always amused, despite my bad attitude, Cam laughs and then motions for me to continue. “Ms. Moyer has decided that there’s more to Life Science than learning about checks, balances, and finances. She isn’t even satisfied with adding in a little dream-crusher like STDs and natural consequences for our actions.”
“Teachers, always out to expand out horizons. So lame.”
I hate that I want to smile. Cam knows that, because he throws my cracker back at me. “So, what’s the dreaded woman done now if it’s not to crush your dreams about having sex, going to parties, and spending money with frivolous abandon?”
“She gave me a life-partner—for five weeks.”
I wait for his outrage. Cam knows me. The only person here who does so he, of all people, should understand that I can’t have a life-partner and play the get-to-know-you game. More importantly, I don’t want one. I’m here to learn, to get the grades I need, so that, in a year and two months when I turn eighteen, I already have a future lined up, one I can get to on my own.
Instead of outrage, or even sympathy, Cam smiles. Smiles. As in, looks amused at my painful dilemma.
“Should I be jealous that you have a life-partner, and I can’t even seem to get a date? I’m so much friendlier than you, too. And my style—well, it’s not really fair to compare.” He ignores my growl. “And, having your wagon hitched to Gage Christensen’s of all people.” He pretends to swoon, and I have to battle the very real urge to let my mouth fall open in horror. “Girl, you just keep getting lucky.”
“Lucky? Lucky?” I hiss, and Cam’s eyebrows raise. Hindsight will show me that I am most definitely overreacting, but I’m not in a position for hindsight at the moment. I’m in the now, and the now is reminding me that everyone knows who Gage Christensen is, and, soon, they’ll all be thinking stupid things about me, too. Things that bring questions, questions that have horrible answers, which only bring one thing: pitying glances and further inquiry. I get queasy just thinking about it.
So, without the value of hindsight, I rip into my best friend, and I take all of my fear and frustration out on him. “How dare you say that to me? How dare you think this is funny.”
Before I can stand, Cam puts his hand on mine, holding me in place. “How dare you think that you’re always the victim?” His voice is low, and his tone is sympathetic despite the words; still, it feels like a slap when he says it. I blink, as shocked by his response as I’m sure he was by my outrage not even five seconds ago.
The bell rings to end lunch, but I don’t move, not even when Cam lets my hand go, and begins picking his things up. I’m still sitting when he stands.
“You had it rough, Kennedy. I get that. But disappointment isn’t unique to just you, and, sometimes, it’s really annoying to watch you shut out everything and everyone because you want to wallow, or because you’ve decided your life can only be one way.” He pauses, and looks back at me. “We both deserve better than to sit here and watch high school pass us by while we hang onto only each other. I don’t think I can do this much longer—not like this.”