I crack, my chin trembling.
“Alright, let’s get started!” Ms. Till says.
But my stomach is shaking with sobs I can’t let out. He’s right. This is who I am.
And we both know it.
“Ryen, are you ready to talk about your project and where you are on it?” Till asks.
But I just pick at my thumbnail as my hands rest on the desk in front of me. Everything on the table is turning blurry.
I lashed out at Manny because he’s an easy target. Because he’s weaker than me. Because he’s the only thing weaker than me. Everyone else sees through me, and Misha is disgusted by me. He hates me.
“Ryen?”
Who I am and how no one likes me isn’t Misha’s fault. I did this. I’m stupid, weak, and a waste.
I feel tears welling, and I choke on a sob. Reaching down, I grab my bag and hook it over my shoulder as I walk through the class, avoiding stares and hushed whispers as I leave the room.
“Ryen?”
But as soon as I hit the hallway, I let the tears loose and run to the bathroom.
“Where have you been?” Lyla charges as she walks up to my side in the lunch line. “You weren’t at practice this morning, and Ten said he saw you before first period, but then no one’s seen you since then. And rumor has it you broke down crying in Art?”
Her tone sounds disgusted, and I don’t spare her a look as I grab a salad shaker and a packet of dressing. I’m not hungry, and my limbs are tired and heavy, but I can’t hide out in the library anymore. I feel like I’m losing everything, and I need to stand the fuck up and get over it.
“Trey got in major trouble this weekend,” she says as if it’s my fault.
Well I guess it is, although she can’t know that.
“All of us, including the whole team,” she continues, “went to his house after the game Friday night. His stepmom went upstairs, came back down, and kicked everyone out.”
Her voice grates on my ears.
But she keeps pushing. “Which you might’ve known if you were ever around anymore.”
“I don’t care,” I grit out, turning to her, unable to control myself. “You got that? And I’m sick of you thinking that I should. Now leave me alone.”
She rears back, giving me a WTF look and then narrows her eyes, looking angry. “You want to be left alone?” she asks. “I can do that. We can all do that, because we’re sick of your shit.” Her eyes fall down my body, surveying me like I’m a piece of crap. “Always disappearing, treating Trey like crap…and don’t think it’s escaped anyone’s attention all the little looks you and Masen Laurent are giving each other. If you want to play with that piece of trash, do it quietly, because I’m not going to act like I like it.”
I squeeze the plastic shaker in my hand and take a step, advancing on her. Bitch.
But then a guy steps between us, Misha’s friend with the Mohawk, and grabs a grape out of a fruit bowl. He pops it in his mouth, looking at Lyla. “Hey, baby. Wanna fuck?”
She grimaces, and I nearly snort. What the hell?
Her mouth falls open, staring at Mohawk guy, but then she spins around—probably having lost her train of thought—and storms back to wherever she came from.
Mohawk guy turns to me, winks, and then leaves.
What was that about?
I run a hand over my eyes, adjusting my baseball cap, and feel a sudden need to crawl in a hot shower and sit there for a year.
Turning back to the lunch line, I see Misha on my other side and jump, my heart skipping a beat.
“I need to talk to you,” he says.
I move around him and continue down the line. “I don’t want you here, Masen.” And then I stop, correcting myself. “Misha. Just go home. Go back to Thunder Bay.”
“I can’t.” He comes up behind me, placing his hands on the counter, blocking me in. “I have no life there if you’re not in it. You’re part of everything good I’ve ever done, Ryen. Please.”
People come up in the line and veer around us, continuing down to the cashier. I want to push away from him, but I can feel eyes on us already, and I don’t want to make a scene. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I know better. Lyla is taking note of everything I do.
“You’re in the music.” His low voice falls across my ear. “You’ve made me strong. I won’t do anything with my life if you’re not there. I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this—”
“You broke my heart,” I cut him off, turning around and looking up into his eyes. “I look at you, and I don’t see Misha.” Sadness burns my eyes, and I don’t care if he can see. “All the years, all the letters, it’s getting further from my memory now. Like Friday night clouded everything.”
His stare narrows.
“You tainted it all,” I tell him. “All the history. And soon, I’ll barely remember you or how we used to be friends.”
I leave my food and push his arm away, walking over to where Ten sits.
I don’t know if everything I said to Misha right then was true, but my head is in a constant fog. My feelings are clouded, and maybe I just need a long nap, a long swim, or a long drive to clear my head.
All I do know is that I can’t look at him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at myself right now.
I sit down at the table and snatch one of Ten’s fries, nibbling just so I can do something.
“Alright, let’s get started!” Ms. Till says.
But my stomach is shaking with sobs I can’t let out. He’s right. This is who I am.
And we both know it.
“Ryen, are you ready to talk about your project and where you are on it?” Till asks.
But I just pick at my thumbnail as my hands rest on the desk in front of me. Everything on the table is turning blurry.
I lashed out at Manny because he’s an easy target. Because he’s weaker than me. Because he’s the only thing weaker than me. Everyone else sees through me, and Misha is disgusted by me. He hates me.
“Ryen?”
Who I am and how no one likes me isn’t Misha’s fault. I did this. I’m stupid, weak, and a waste.
I feel tears welling, and I choke on a sob. Reaching down, I grab my bag and hook it over my shoulder as I walk through the class, avoiding stares and hushed whispers as I leave the room.
“Ryen?”
But as soon as I hit the hallway, I let the tears loose and run to the bathroom.
“Where have you been?” Lyla charges as she walks up to my side in the lunch line. “You weren’t at practice this morning, and Ten said he saw you before first period, but then no one’s seen you since then. And rumor has it you broke down crying in Art?”
Her tone sounds disgusted, and I don’t spare her a look as I grab a salad shaker and a packet of dressing. I’m not hungry, and my limbs are tired and heavy, but I can’t hide out in the library anymore. I feel like I’m losing everything, and I need to stand the fuck up and get over it.
“Trey got in major trouble this weekend,” she says as if it’s my fault.
Well I guess it is, although she can’t know that.
“All of us, including the whole team,” she continues, “went to his house after the game Friday night. His stepmom went upstairs, came back down, and kicked everyone out.”
Her voice grates on my ears.
But she keeps pushing. “Which you might’ve known if you were ever around anymore.”
“I don’t care,” I grit out, turning to her, unable to control myself. “You got that? And I’m sick of you thinking that I should. Now leave me alone.”
She rears back, giving me a WTF look and then narrows her eyes, looking angry. “You want to be left alone?” she asks. “I can do that. We can all do that, because we’re sick of your shit.” Her eyes fall down my body, surveying me like I’m a piece of crap. “Always disappearing, treating Trey like crap…and don’t think it’s escaped anyone’s attention all the little looks you and Masen Laurent are giving each other. If you want to play with that piece of trash, do it quietly, because I’m not going to act like I like it.”
I squeeze the plastic shaker in my hand and take a step, advancing on her. Bitch.
But then a guy steps between us, Misha’s friend with the Mohawk, and grabs a grape out of a fruit bowl. He pops it in his mouth, looking at Lyla. “Hey, baby. Wanna fuck?”
She grimaces, and I nearly snort. What the hell?
Her mouth falls open, staring at Mohawk guy, but then she spins around—probably having lost her train of thought—and storms back to wherever she came from.
Mohawk guy turns to me, winks, and then leaves.
What was that about?
I run a hand over my eyes, adjusting my baseball cap, and feel a sudden need to crawl in a hot shower and sit there for a year.
Turning back to the lunch line, I see Misha on my other side and jump, my heart skipping a beat.
“I need to talk to you,” he says.
I move around him and continue down the line. “I don’t want you here, Masen.” And then I stop, correcting myself. “Misha. Just go home. Go back to Thunder Bay.”
“I can’t.” He comes up behind me, placing his hands on the counter, blocking me in. “I have no life there if you’re not in it. You’re part of everything good I’ve ever done, Ryen. Please.”
People come up in the line and veer around us, continuing down to the cashier. I want to push away from him, but I can feel eyes on us already, and I don’t want to make a scene. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I know better. Lyla is taking note of everything I do.
“You’re in the music.” His low voice falls across my ear. “You’ve made me strong. I won’t do anything with my life if you’re not there. I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this—”
“You broke my heart,” I cut him off, turning around and looking up into his eyes. “I look at you, and I don’t see Misha.” Sadness burns my eyes, and I don’t care if he can see. “All the years, all the letters, it’s getting further from my memory now. Like Friday night clouded everything.”
His stare narrows.
“You tainted it all,” I tell him. “All the history. And soon, I’ll barely remember you or how we used to be friends.”
I leave my food and push his arm away, walking over to where Ten sits.
I don’t know if everything I said to Misha right then was true, but my head is in a constant fog. My feelings are clouded, and maybe I just need a long nap, a long swim, or a long drive to clear my head.
All I do know is that I can’t look at him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at myself right now.
I sit down at the table and snatch one of Ten’s fries, nibbling just so I can do something.
