Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

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Michael

Why did I agree to her stupid deal? I wanted to drop out. I had no problem with it, but she did. Why did she care if I ruined my life by dropping out? Maybe that's why I agreed: curiosity. I know the saying - curiosity kills the cat - but I didn't care. I wanted answers.

She exited out of the lobby, the same way she always entered when I dropped her off. The sight of her surprised me. She wore her hair in a knot atop her head. A simple t-shirt adorned her upper body, and she wore shorts that really did her well. Charli had really nice legs.

"Wow," I said as she got in my car. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

She looked at me curiously, insecurely. "What?"

"You actually look like a teenager for once."

With an eye roll, she sat back, and we began our drive to a library downtown, a place I can honestly say I've never been. Sunday morning traffic was almost nonexistent, which disappointed me. I didn't want to know what Charli had in store for me.

"You have your books, right?" she asked, her hand ready to push the door open. The car was parked in the half empty parking lot, and Charli was ready to head in, while I was ready to let her get out and drive off. I'm kidding.

"Yeah, my backpack's in the backseat," I told her before we stepped out of the car together. We both opened the two back doors in unison, though I wasn't completely sure why she had followed my actions. She didn't seem to be sure either.

I removed my heavy ass backpack from the seat, and went to close the door, only to be halted by, "Uh, Michael?" from Charli. I looked back into the car, over the seats at Charli, only to find her awkwardly pointing down at something sitting where my backpack had been: black lace woman's underwear. Damn it, Harper. "Those aren't - yours - are they?" Charli said awkwardly. Her innocence was pitiful.

My laughter was loud and true, and I had to hold on to the open door to support myself as I caught my breath. "No - no. Those are Harper's. Sorry about that. She's kind of - frisky." I could see that she didn't like my choice of words, but hey, I could have said a lot worse.

"Harper?" she questioned.

"My girlfriend."

Under the realization, her lips formed the word 'oh', but no sound came. She looked away from me, pulling out of the car completely, shutting the door behind her. I followed in her actions.

Seated at a table in the corner of the second story of the library, I finally asked her what we were even planning to do.

She responded with, "What class do you understand the least?" She sat foreword, as if she was truly interested in my well-being. Either she was a good actress, or has done this several times before. She made me feel like she actually cared, which only gave me a reason to hate her. It's better just to straight out not care, than play around with someone's mind into making them think you care. Charli didn't care, she sees this as an act of charity.

"Math," I told her simply.

She dramatically rolled her uniquely blue eyes, and sighed a sarcastic sigh playfully. A smile was tugged onto her lips. "Of course, you pick my worst subject."

"You have a worst subject? What level of math are you even in?" I asked, surprised. Charli seemed to be one of the students to love every class, every subject, every teacher - except Mr. Douche - and every aspect of school. It was honestly hard for me to believe that she had a worst subject.

"Calculus BC."

"Okay, explain this to me," I started, leaning foreword to look her in the eye. "How can you be in the highest available math class and believe math to be your worst subject?"

"That class is hard!" she defended. "That's my worst class this year."

"What do you have in the class?" I smirked. "An A minus?"

Her beautiful eyes fell into slits as she glared at me. "We're not here to discuss my grades."

"Okay, but now I'm curious. What grade do you have? I will not make fun of you, I promise," I told her.

She looked down, shyly. "I have an A." I tried to hold back my laughter. I knew I was right. "Hey, you promised you wouldn't make fun of me!" she pointed out with an edge in her voice and a glare on her face.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. But why do you think that's a bad grade?" I told myself that I didn't care how the royals thought, but here, sitting in the presence of the queen, I suddenly wanted to understand the whole hype of getting good grades. I probably already knew the answer: she was probably trying to live up to her parents, or her brother.

"Every class but that one, I have an A plus. I know it may sound snobby to you, but I need those grades. I have to go to college, and a scholarship is the only way. And not even partial. I need a full ride."

"Why?" I asked. "Just ask your parents for money. They're rich, aren't they? They bought you your apartment, right?"

She flinched. This hasn't been the first times she's done that, either. Something was wrong, obviously, but at her reaction, I was afraid that if I asked, I'd lose her. Why do I care? "Come on, Michael, we really need to work on this stuff."

"That can wait. You've piqued my curiosity, Charli Sparks, don't leave me hanging. Why do you need a full ride scholarship?"

"This may come as a shock to you, Clifford," she said angrily. "But I'm not rich. I don't live off my parents. I don't have another option. You have your band, your friends, your family to fall back on, to support you. I don't. I only have my future, and I can't ruin that for myself. Now please, can we get back to the reason we came here?"

So we did.

After almost and hour of logarithms actually making sense for once in my life, our study session was interrupted by my phone going off. Charli, who had been so close to fully explaining something to me, seemed to be annoyed by this distraction. I could see that the caller was Harper, and I automatically knew I was fucked. She only calls me to yell at me.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," I apologized, standing up and preparing to answer the call. Charli nodded, dismissing me.

I had gotten to the elevator hall when I answered the phone, at the last possible second. "Hello?"

"Did you even notice my fifty text messages?" Harper scolded through the phone.

"I've been a bit busy, babe."

"With what, exactly?"

"Band stuff," I lied. I had no choice, if she'd found out that Charli was tutoring me, she would automatically think I'm fucking her. Her jealousy was beyond annoying. "What were you texting me about?"

"We're having dinner with my parents. Tonight," she ordered.

"What?"

"See that's the thing, if you had answered your text, I would have given you an option. But you screwed that up, like most things."

I was hardly listening to her. Never have I met a girlfriend's parents. Relationships for me consisted of getting to know a person, and sex. I don't want to meet her parents, and I'm not going to. "Harper, I can't do that."

"And why is that?" She sounded like she were about to yell at me again.

"I don't want to meet your parents."

"Oh, will you ever grow up?" she yelled. "If you ever want this relationship to get serious - "

"That's the thing, I don't."

She was silent for a second, before she came back, nearly screaming. "You're an immature bastard, Michael Clifford. We're done."

"Fine by me," I responded, ending the call before she could say anything else.