“I called you last night,” she said, looking up at me with a small frown on her face.
I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her, but I saw Alyssa at the end of the hall talking to Maggie, so I wrapped my arm around Brittney’s shoulder. “Would dinner tonight make up for it?” I asked, walking down the hallway with her practically glued to my side.
She yelped and said, “Totally!” She blabbed on, but I tuned her out, my eyes on Alyssa’s face as we passed her. She looked up and for a brief moment seemed almost hurt. She caught my eye and turned her attention back to Maggie, her expression instantly one of total unconcern, though it didn’t quite ring true.
***
I sat across the table from Brittney, annoyed at myself for suggesting this date. She seemed happy, though, and a continuous stream of words babbled out of her. I ate my food mechanically, trying my best to appear interested in what she was saying.
She was nothing like Alyssa. She wasn’t smart or funny, though she was pretty in a more artificial and obvious way. I sighed, telling myself I would never get anywhere if I compared every girl I went on a date with to Alyssa. She was simply incomparable. My attraction to Alyssa might run deeper than I originally thought, and I feared feelings were beginning to develop. The thought of caring for Alyssa in an intimate way invoked a horrifying anxiety. She wasn’t just some girl, she was going to be in my life forever. The reality of the situation was that, as her stepbrother, I simply couldn’t have her.
I looked at Brittney, and even though she was in the middle of a sentence, I interrupted. “Brittney, I just want to make sure you understand something.”
“What’s that?” she asked with wide eyes filled with what might have been adoration.
“I just want us to be friends.” I hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t be hurtful. “I’m not really looking for a girlfriend right now.” I instinctively knew that what I said might be mean, but it had to be said. I looked at my food guiltily. I could see the pain on her face, and her eyes watered. I scrambled to find words to comfort her, the hurt I caused her cutting through me. “It isn’t you,” I added in a calming voice. “I just have a lot going on in my life right now. I hope you understand.”
It made sense for me to date a girl like Brittney. Because of my football-star lifestyle and my reputation, I had only dated girls like Brittney in the past. Over and over again, I dated the same shallow cheerleader type. Still, I felt guilty, knowing it would be enough for my image if I took her out to eat once in a while or attended a few parties together. I reminded myself it wasn’t my fault that being on the football team had certain expectations. Reputation was important, and I convinced myself, on some level, Brittney understood that.
She looked at me in silence for a long while, clearly processing my words, and simply said, “Oh. Okay. I guess I understand. I just thought you felt the same way I do.”
Her soft reaction despite the obvious reluctance in her eyes made it even harder to deal with the consequences of what I had done. I mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
We finished the rest of our meal in silence, and I struggled with unfamiliar feelings of contrition. I tried to reassure myself internally, knowing it wouldn’t be long before she was back on her feet. She was a beautiful girl, and guys were always hitting on her.
We drove home, and as I pulled in front of her house, I said, “I’ll see you around.”
I could feel the air around us shift. Her quiet, not quite sulking attitude changed to hungry and fierce. She spoke in a soft, silky voice, but in the glow of the streetlight I saw an almost hysterical look of desperation in her eyes. “My parents aren’t home. Do you want to come in?”
She leaned in, trying to kiss me, but I pulled back. “Not this time, Britt.” I almost let her because it would have been easier than letting her down a second time.
Her face turned a light shade of pink, flushing with humiliation. “Your loss!” she snapped before getting out of the car and practically stomping up the stairs to her house.
I drove home, gripping the steering wheel tightly. A hunger deep inside me twisted painfully, reminding me that there was only one girl who would satisfy it.
The next week was a little easier. Things between Alyssa and I were strained as her anger continued to burn. After several attempts to talk to her, we were finally able to slide into a more normal routine. I was relieved that she had decided to forgive me, and we were in silent agreement never to speak of our slip-up. The fact that we were both distracted helped—me with football, her with exams and papers. As we drove to school Thursday, I was in a good mood, and on an impulse, I invited her to my game.