The Opposition

Chapter 21: Sadie

I first started hooking with with Randy in sophomore year. He wasn't necessarily a bad boy by book standards, but he was by Fairridge standards. He was a junior who wore leather jackets over all of his clothes, sat in detention at least three times a week, and had a reputation for sleeping around and sneaking out. The first time I talked to Randy was when I was walking across campus to get to French class and I heard him emit a low whistle and yell, "Nice ass, blondie!" I hadn't dyed my hair by then and, I guess, under the spring sun it appeared more golden blonde than dirty blonde.

I turned around and flashed him my middle finger. I wasn't a fan of wasting my breath on people who were so proud to display their idiotic tendencies.

Somehow, he was unnecessarily encouraged, jogging over to stand in front of me. "Get out of my fucking way," I sneered.

"Aggressive," he mused, ruffling up his nearly black hair.

"Annoyed," I rolled my eyes.

"I'm Randy Davidson," he said, as if I asked for an introduction from him.

"Oh, so the harasser has chosen to identify himself."

For some reason, this caused him to smile. "I'm not harassing you. I'm just admiring your figure."

For a reply that stupid, I didn't have an answer. "Okay, disrespectfully, why don't you fuck off." And I walked around him before he could say anything else.

After that moment, I would've been happy to never speak to Randy again, but he kept popping up. In the halls, on campus, at my favourite coffee shop. One time I walked up to him–in a the library, which I've never seen him in–and asked if he was stalking me. He just smirked and replied, "Why? You like it?" The answer was "hell no."

One day, Ana coerced Angie and I into going to a football game. I assume she was dating Landon at that time because she wasn't really one to go to sports games. After getting into some sort of argument with Carter over who would win that year's house games, I had walked off to get some fresh air that wasn't contaminated with the screams of 400 football fans. That's when Randy found me and one thing led to another and we were making out under the bleachers. I still don't know how it happened. One minute I was telling him to "go to hell" and the next he was kissing me, and I was so pleasantly surprised by how good of a kisser he was that I didn't bother to tell him to stop. That's how I found myself abandoning the game entirely and going back to his single dorm.

We weren't necessarily subtle, so the fact that I was sleeping with him wasn't really a secret around campus. That was all, though. It turned out that Randy's personality wasn't really a fit with mine. We weren't exclusive either. There were a number of times when some girl would run up to me and say that someone hooked up with Randy and expected me to start screaming that he cheated on me.

I don't quite remember why we stopped getting together. After we came back from summer break, I just wasn't interested anymore. I told him just that and, after protesting a bit, he accepted it and moved on. I stopped with long-term hook ups after then. Junior year was important and no one was going to distract me from crushing Carter Conners and stealing the number one spot on that Principal's List.

"Her blade was still pressed firmly against his neck, threatening to spill blood. His eyes were trained on her; he hadn't even spared a glance at the crested dagger that cooled his flushed neck. How very interesting this predicament was. She smiled up at him, and a burning desire took over him, so strong that he didn't even feel the cut of the blade when he leaned forward, anxious to catch her mouth with his–"

I'm blushing and trying to suppress a squeal as a hand taps me on the shoulder and I nearly fall off the treadmill I was sprinting on. I had found one the books Ana gave me as an audiobook and had been listening to it for the past hour. I repeatedly tap a black button on the machine until I slowdown into a walk so I can look over my shoulder, where Carter stands, wearing no shirt and glistening in sweat. We had decided to hit the gym this morning because there was no way we could walk past the hundred machines that littered the room and not go in to check it out. As soon as we walked through the door and warmed up, I had challenged Carter to a deadlift competition. Sometimes my need to be the best is really fucking annoying because it makes me irrational. And, as the logical part of my brain would've expected, Carter won. And he did not keep the gloating to a minimum. After that, I left him to lift weights and went to run on the treadmill.