This is for a contest. I'm not good at first person or romantic fiction or even short stories. I'm more of a novel person. Thought I would try something new. I wanted to see how this went over before I actually entered it. Tear it to pieces.
Want to read the second part, "Boys?" Here's the link. http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/post818752.html#p818752
Want to read "Boys like Girls?" post819306.html#p819306
I act like I don't care. I watch her go through the hallways and then turn away when it seems like she's looking right at me, reading my thoughts.
I mean, look at me! I'm not like her god-awful boyfriend. I've got no muscle, no beautiful hair, no “smolder.” I'm not an athlete.
Wanna know the longest word in the English language? Wanna know why two plus two equals four? Wanna know how it doesn't?
You've come to the right place.
Run a mile?
Ah... I don't think so.
I'm not pathetically crushing. I don't obsess about this girl. I'm... mildly interested. I'm only mildly interested in Abigail Parker, the long-legged, blonde bombshell, captain of our varsity volleyball team (Go Raiders!). In my calculus class, I barely glance in the direction of the girlfriend of our very own Jason Lineburger, star basketball player, six feet and two inches of solid muscle and little brain.
That- Is she looking at me?
I dare a glance at her.
She is. Why is she looking at me?
I raise an eyebrow, directed at her and am glad for the absence of the kid normally between us.
“Marcus, I need question seventeen,” she whispers, watching our sleeping teacher out of the corner of her eye.
I deflate. With a resigned sigh, I remember my place is infinite geekdom and reply, “I don't know.”
She frowns and tries again, “One.”
I shake my head. I urge Mr. Wilson to wake up and cover the paper with my arm.
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, I get it. You don't want to cheat.”
I scoff and turn back to my drawing. I haven't even tried at the work yet.
The bell rings. Mr. Wilson starts, almost falling out of his chair. The practically silent class erupts into motion.
Shoving my paper into my backpack, I make for the door.
Lunch. Canned peas and questionable pizza. Yum.
Lilian joins me in the hall and smiles brightly. Friends since middle school, we've been lucky to stay that way.
She's been better with the opposite sex. She's not as introverted as I am. She's just... nicer.
“How was calculus?”
I laugh softly. “I don't think it could get any better.”
She gives my sarcasm a heartier laugh than needed and sighs happily. “Well, I'm in a good mood today.”
“When aren't you?” I smile, finding it hard to resist her laughter.
“This is different. Today, I had to look in the mirror and tell myself I was going to be happy.”
I frown at her, studying her carefully. “That worked?”
She shrugs. “Mostly.”
“I told you what's-his-face was trouble.” I slip into a chair and nod to the gargantuan line. “Go get your food and think about listening to my warnings next time.” I take out my lunch box and shake my head.
Her boyfriend... Her ex-boyfriend was a jerk. I had told her so. He wasn't her type. He was some hotshot member of the track team, really smart, really cocky. I don't know what Lilian saw in him.
I find Abigail in the crowd of highschoolers. She's not only surrounded by athletes. Things are never that black and white. There's a mix, ranging from the fittest of the fit to the smartest of the smart.
“What's this?”
I look down at Lilian to find my drawing in her hand as she rises.
She grins as I reach for it, keeping it just out of my reach. “Another masterpiece, Picasso?” She turns it around, and her face falls for a moment. She looks at the girl now sitting on a table, laughing with her boyfriend and forces a laugh. “Again, you outdo yourself. Did she ask you for this?” She hands me the portrait, sitting down with a tight smile.
I take an apple out of my lunch box, setting the drawing on the table, and mutter, “No.” I watch her eyes flicker and take a bite nonchalantly.
She scoffs and shakes her head. “And you make fun of me. You make fun of me for my boyfriends.” She stabs at her overcooked broccoli with her fork and continues vehemently, never meeting my eye, “At least, I can get them to pay attention to me, Marcus. At least- At least, they want to date me, even if they dump me later. At least, I'll take a chance.” She gets up, leaving her tray. “I've got to go.”
Her eyes meet mine, and, for a moment, I think I see anger glittering there. But that's not Lilian. She doesn't get mad. She laughs. She smiles. She forgets.
She turns away and says quietly, “She's not good enough for you, Marcus.”
I watch her walk coolly out of the cafeteria and glance at the tables around me. What had I done? It was a picture. It was a cr- a mild interest.
Suddenly, a girl I vaguely recognize as one of Lilian's many friends sits in her place and stares at me for a long time.
Finally, I smile in the uncomfortable silence.
“Don't even smile at me.”
I obey and look at the table she had come from to see a group of girls shaking their heads. “I assume,” I say awkwardly, “I've done something.”
The girl blinks and points at me, mouthing something to her posse. “You said no, douchebag.”
“To what?” I search for a rescue and slowly back away from the table.
She frowns. “Didn't she ask?”
I sigh, angry and confused. “Ask what?”
She looks at me disbelievingly and seems to search the tabletop for answers. Her eyes fall on the picture, and she picked it up.
Oh, crap. I look away, only to see the, now intrigued, gaggle of girls.
“I see. I'm sorry. There was a misunderstanding. I didn't mean to intrude.”
I look up and nod. “It's fine. Is everything okay?”
She smiles and nods quickly. “Of course, everything's okay. How could it not? I just- ah- nevermind.” She backs her way to her group.
I roll my eyes. Girls.
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