Water Bottles and Crooked Smiles

one: crooked smiles

note: to the readers who have been reading since before 5/16/15, you're probably confused haha. just read the note before this chapter. for the rest of you, enjoy. :) dedicated to alisha, because she's supported me since the beginning, even when my stories sucked and my grammar was awful.

Wyn was a good actress-he'd give her that. Ignoring him and what they had once been-although juvenile-was incredibly well-done.

It was kind of funny-not in a comical way, more of an ironic way, because to Kevin, nothing about their break up had been funny-that two different people had once been so alike. Wyn always forgot. Her main mottos were usually things like, "Forget it," or, "Never mind, it doesn't matter." For Wyn, forgetting was better than remembering. For Wyn, she thought she would get more from life if she forgot it all, in a sense. Forgetting was her safety blanket from remembering everything, even the pain.

For Kevin, he remembered. The only thing he couldn't remember to do, was forget. He remembered everything, and everything bothered him. He could suddenly get irked about the text message one of his friends sent a year ago, or about his sister breaking the vase when they were eight and her blaming it on him. He was bothered about the way Wyn left her headphones tangled up on his dresser after they broke up-or maybe he was just really heart-broken about that.

Because the other different thing about them was this: Kevin loved Wyn. Wyn did not love Kevin.

And that in itself, amongst all the others, was the main problem.

But anyway, Wyn was a good actress-an astonishing one would be more accurate. All of those theater classes in school really paid off when Wyn had used all the power inside of her-or maybe not much of it, since, as stated before, she didn't really care-to ignore Kevin. Or, to be more precise, to ignore what they once were.

Encounters weren't frequent, but when they occurred, they were incredibly awkward. Wyn would paint on a smile and cheerfully act as if they were best friends. He would muster a smile and a somewhat pleasant expression, even though the entire time all that would come to mind were the awful break up texts (yes, she broke up with him. Yes, it was over text, which honestly just made it a thousand times worse) and the feeling in his stomach he got for a week and a half afterwards. It dawned on him that she could just pretend nothing ever happened, like it didn't matter. Maybe to her, it just never did.

>>>

Kevin hadn't slept much the night before. He knew he'd be seeing Wyn today, again, for the first time in two months (and thirteen days-not that he was counting). Not really seeing exactly, though. He'd seen her around school a lot, but this was the first time that he'd likely talk to her.

He wasn't really excited, but he wasn't nervous either. If he was being honest, saying he missed her would be an understatement. Even though the last few months of their relationship had been rocky, he still loved her. Or, more accurately, the girl she used to be. The ghost of her. He felt like, buried beneath the fabrications and really good acting, she was still there. The same girl who loved photography and tapped her foot to the rhythm of her favorite songs and didn't care when pieces of hair escaped from her ponytail. The girl who didn't break up with boys over text and pretended that everything they had was never hers.

Kevin had been thinking about today for a long time. He wanted to try to get her back, but he was worried that she was too far gone now. It was like their relationship had been day, and now, it was night. Dark, silent; making the world seem as if it were in a disguise and not the same as it had been before. Everything was different, but Kevin's problem was that he was in love with everything before.

He knew he'd definitely see her today. He was going to the first football practice of the year. He didn't like football at all. He did like Wyn though, and her stepdad was the team coach. He always made Wyn the water girl (which always bothered Kevin, because when they were dating, he was always anxious that the team members flirted with her). He knew Wyn would be there. She had to be.

>>>

Once Kevin was in practice, he immediately was told to take a seat on the bench (no one ever said he was good at football either). He wasn't trying either. He wanted to be a benchwarmer. That way, he would get to talk to Wyn.

Wyn stiffened, realizing that he would need a refreshment. Her coarse, sandy hair was swept up in a ponytail, but no wisps of hair escaped, the way it had been before. She didn't have a change in character when she looked at him. She didn't flinch. Her ski-jump nose didn't wrinkle and her eyebrows didn't raise. The only one who was seemingly uncomfortable was Kevin. He tapped on his knee impatiently as she just stared at him, as though she was studying him in this uncomfortable state.

She heaved the lid off the cooler and grabbed two mini water bottles out of the ice, one for him and one for her, and shook them a bit to dial down the wetness from the ice that had been confined around it. His palms were sweating and his forehead felt sticky. It wasn't even that hot outside. September in Pennsylvania wasn't exactly steaming hot, especially on that specific day. It was cool and windy. Leaves were already beginning to fall, which had been Kevin and Wyn's favorite time of year, even though now it just kills him.

Wyn held the water bottle and still studied him oddly. She hesitated, then handed it to him. "Your eyes look different," she remarked suddenly. This was very Wyn of her. She always said this sort of thing to people.

"Is that a good thing?" He tried to jokingly smile, but he felt sweat trickling down his forehead slowly. He was trying so hard not to think, not to remember, not to begin feeling how he always felt when he talked to her.

"I'm still trying to decide," she admitted, squinting at him. "They look like honey with brown flecks dancing around the rims of your irises. They used to be hazel." She murmured that last part, as if she were ashamed to remember the color of his eyes still.

"Oh, yeah. Maybe that's just because they look at things differently now." That was lame. He didn't realize until after it came out, but it was definitely lame. He was trying to sound deep and metaphorical, but it did not work.

"Maybe," she flashed him a crooked smile, which gave him a glimmer of hope. It was kind of sad that the only thing at that moment that represented their current relationship (considering that, it seemed, to Wyn, their past one never existed) was water bottles and crooked smiles. It was better than what it had been yesterday, and the day before, and the grueling months before that. It gave him faith, pathetically enough, that maybe he was right. Beneath her exterior, Winnifred Jansen maybe, quite possibly, was still who she was.