means to me.” Scott relaxes as if he dropped a hundred-pound bag of feed. The bell over the clothing shop chimes. Scott places a hand on my shoulder and gestures at the shop. “Ryan, I’d like you to meet my niece, Elisabeth.”
She walks out of the shop and crosses her arms over her chest. Black hair. Nose ring.
Slim figure with a hint of curves. White shirt with only four buttons clasped between her breasts and belly button, fancy blue jeans, and an eye roll the moment she sees me. My stomach drops as if I swallowed lead. This is possibly the worst day of my life.
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Beth
“IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU,” Arrogant Taco Bell Boy says as if we never met. Maybe he doesn’t remember. Jocks usually aren’t smart. Their muscles feast on their brains.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I’m in hell. No question about it. This bad version of the town from Deliverance is certainly hot as hell. The heat in this forsaken place possesses a strangling haze that envelops me and seizes my lungs.
Scott clears his throat. A subtle reminder that fuck is no longer an acceptable word for me in public. “I’d like you to meet Ryan Stone.”
Once upon a time, Scott used to say words like s’up and sick. Variants of fuck were the only adjectives and adverbs in his vocabulary.
Now he sounds like a stuck-up, suit-wearing, cocky rich guy. Oh wait, he is.
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“Ryan’s volunteered to show you around
at school tomorrow.”
“Of course he has,” I mumble. “Because my life hasn’t sucked enough in the past forty-eight hours.”
God must have decided He wasn’t done
screwing with me yet. He wasn’t done
screwing with me when Scott blackmailed me into living here. He wasn’t done screwing with me when Scott’s wife bought these tragically conservative clothes. He wasn’t done screwing with me when Scott told me he was enrolling me at the local redneck, Children of the Corn school. No, he wasn’t quite done screwing with me yet. The damn icing on this cake is the conceited ass standing in front of me. Ha fucking ha. Joke’s on me. “I want my clothes back.”
“What?” Scott asks. Good—I messed with
him without cursing.
“He’s not dressed like a moron, so why
should I?” I motion to the designer jeans and starched Catholic-schoolgirl shirt disgracing my body. Per Scott’s request to play nice with Allison, I stepped out of the dressing room to look at this atrocity in the full-length mirror.
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When I returned, my clothes were gone.
Tonight, I’m searching for a pair of scissors and bleach.
Scott censures me by subtly shaking his
head. I have close to a whole year of this bull in front of me, and the woman I’m trying to protect I can’t even see—my mom. A part of my brain tingles with panic. How is she? Did her boyfriend hit her again? Is she worried about me?
“You’re going to love it here,” says Taco Bell Boy—I mean Ryan.
“Sure I am.” My tone indicates I’m going to love this place as much as I’d love getting shot in the head.
Scott clears his throat again and I wonder if he cares that people will assume he’s diseased.
“Ryan’s father owns a construction business in town and he’s on the city council.” Underlying message to me: don’t screw this moment up.
“Of course.” Of course. Story of my
freaking life. Ryan’s the rich boy that has everything. Daddy who owns the town. Daddy who owns the business. Ryan, the boy who thinks he can do anything he wants because of it.
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Ryan flashes me an easygoing grin and
it’s sort of hypnotizing. As if he created it just for me. It’s a glorious grin. Perfect. Peaceful.
With a hint of dimples. It promises friendship and happiness and laughter and it makes me want to smile back. My lips start to curve into an answer and I stop myself abruptly.
Why do I do this to myself? Guys like him don’t go for girls like me. I’m a toy to them. A game. And these types of guys, they all have the same rules of play: smile, trick me into thinking that they like me, then toss me to the side once I’ve been used. How many countless losers do I have to stupidly make out with only to regret it in the morning? Over the past year—too many.
But while listening to Ryan easily digress into a conversation with Scott about baseball, I swear that I’m done with loser guys. Done with feeling used. Just done.
And this time, I won’t break the promise—
no matter how lonely I get.
“Yeah,” Ryan says to Scott as if I’m not
standing right here, as if I’m not important enough to involve in conversation. “I think the Reds have a shot this year.”
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God, I hate Ryan. Standing there all
perfect with his perfect life and perfect body and perfect smile, pretending he never laid eyes on me before. He glances at me from the corner of his eye and I realize why he’s pouring on the charm. Ryan wants to impress Scott. Guess what? Misery definitely loves company. My life shouldn’t be the only one that sucks. “He hit on me.”
Silence as my words kill the moronic
baseball conversation. Scott rubs his eyes.