She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(4)

I watch Cam walk away, and the same stomach cramps that stole my breath this morning are back. Not Cam, I think. Don’t take the one person I depend on. The idea that I did this, made him leave, has the pain in my middle doubling, and causes me to wonder if karma is done with me yet for the day. Seriously, lady, take a break. Save something for the rest of the week.

My hands are shaking when I try to pick up my water bottle, and I’m forced to close my eyes and breathe deeply.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

Dear Karma, when I meet you, I’m going to punch you in the face. Sincerely, Kennedy.

“Is he mad about the fact that you’re my girl for the next five weeks?”

His girl? Over my dead body. I open my eyes in time to see Gage pound fists with a couple of guys before they all nod in my direction and leave.

“Christensen, not everything is about you. That’s probably the first thing you should learn, if we’re going to be spending any time together. And I’m not your girl. That’s a barbaric statement, implying ownership of someone.” Seriously, Kennedy, be ruder. What is wrong with me?

He sits down next to me, and I don’t miss the glances people give us. I refuse to acknowledge them, even though I feel the weight of them. “Ah, you’re a feminist. So is my mom, so I can work with that. My older sister is a total diva, but my younger one is exactly like me; we entertain ourselves by ganging up on the oldest, and doing or saying things to offend her just so we can watch her flip out.” He pauses by grabbing my crackers and shoveling a handful into his mouth. “What about you? What’s the family like?”

Cue the recoil. “My family is off limits.”

Gage nods, unoffended. “Too soon? Okay, but we have to get their eventually. You strike me as an overachiever, and there is no way to do this assignment without talking. But,” he says before I can disagree with him. “We can ease into it. Start with social circles and interests. You first. Who’s the guy?”

The problem with what he said is there’s a bit of logic to it. I am an overachiever, and I can’t afford anything less than an A on this assignment. Which means I’m going to have to be civil to Gage, at least until he starts to see things my way and lets me do the project on my own.

“Why are you doing this?”

Gage pauses in the act of drinking down my water. “Doing what?”

“This.” I motion between us, standing to gather my bag and garbage, so I can walk to class. “Sitting with me and telling me about yourself? We haven’t been given any instructions do that yet.”

Gage stands, too, studying me for a second before finishing off my water and tossing the bottle toward the recycling bin. I don’t have to look to know it goes in.

“You ever think that some people are just friendly, Kenny?”

“It’s Kennedy,” I say automatically. “And I don’t spend a lot of time talking to people.”

His laugh is light and easy; I envy it, just for a second, the freedom of it. “Yeah, I’ve picked up on that. The thing is, I am friendly. Can’t help myself.” A group of boys rush by, tossing a ball back and forth. One of them bumps me, making me stumble. Gage’s arms are around me in a second, holding me steady, and the sensation of being held—protected—is so foreign, I lose my breath again.

“Sorry, you okay?” I stare at the boy who bumped me, nodding. I realize Gage’s arms are still around me so I shift immediately, stepping back until I’m standing on my own.

“See,” Gage says, when we start walking again. “That right there tells me you’re not really as unfriendly as you think.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That guy ran into you—he wasn’t looking where he was going, and you paid the price. My sister, Karen, the oldest diva I was telling you about? She would have laid into him about respect, and paying attention, and not thinking the entire world was about him. Verbally annihilated him for thinking he had the right to so much as breathe the same air, let alone enter into her space. You know, basically what you did to me this morning.” His smile is amused, and the urge to respond with one of my own blows through me, taking me off guard. I hitch my backpack higher, linking my hands between the straps and my shoulders.

“But you didn’t,” Gage continues. “You kept your head down, and you let him get away with it, just like in class this morning. Every time you wanted to explode, you put your head down and said nothing. Which tells me,” he says, pausing outside of my Spanish class with me. “You’re not angry at the world—you’re scared of it.”





Chapter 4: The Game Plan

Gage

“I’m not scared.”

Said every scared person who ever lived.

I swallow back this retort because, however satisfying it would be to watch her steam even more, I think I’ve given my dearest life-partner enough food for thought for one day.

I nod ambivalently; prickly-pants takes this as a challenge to show me why she’s not scared. Women—so sensitive.

“Maybe,” she continues. “I just don’t bother yelling at people because I know it won’t change them. Maybe I’m smarter than the average dunce, and I’ve already realized what you and your diva sister haven’t: ignoring people gets better results. Responding only makes you the topic of conversation—nothing more.”