That next Saturday, I am dreading the community service. I put on a tight white tank top, a black unzipped hoodie, and beige sweatpants. I am in no way trying to look good for anybody.
I drive to the soup kitchen and walk in right as my watch turns 10:00 A.M.
There is an officer and a nice old fat lady there. The lady walks up to me, grabbing my hands, saying, "You must be Reese Abbott. It's so nice to meet you. My name is Mrs. Toussaint. You're a pretty young woman."
"Oh, uh, thank you."
"Of course. Come with me. I'll teach you how things here work in a bit, but we first want to wait for another boy to get here who will be volunteering today. His name is Antoine Griezmann. Do you know him?"
I guess no one told her the story. Oh, lady, if you knew just how much I know Antoine Griezmann. Only if you knew. I just respond with, "Oh, kind of. We're not very close, though."
I have to admit, I am a little nervous about Antoine coming. He has left me alone at school for the last week, but we'll be so close to each other, with little to no barriers.
Then I see the tall, blond, handsome police officer, and I feel extremely comforted from my worries. When he catches me staring at him, he smiles, with a friendly nod, saying, "My name is Officer Brink. I'll be here for all the days you guys are serving here at this kitchen."
I'm happy about that. He's so cute, with strong, broad, shoulders, slicked back blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a square jaw. He has a bit of an accent from some other country; could be German. I already have a huge crush on him, and I haven't even spoken any words to him yet.
"Nice to meet you, Officer Brink," I smile respectfully. This man is young. He can't be more than five years older than me.
He nods, returning my smile politely.
Then Antoine Griezmann enters the building through the door, looking annoyed, tired, and slightly confused. He's wearing a hoodie and jeans. He looks like he'd rather be in hell then here.
But none of those things are what I realize the most. That's not what the eye is initially drawn to. His face is all bruised up. All bruised up. Even more bruised up than I have ever been, after any beating he has ever given me. This is very satisfying. It's very difficult not to grin at the sight of him, but Officer Brink is standing right there, so I hold back my snicker.
I love seeing him look like that.
Now who is the pathetic one? Huh, Antoine?
When Officer Brink sees Antoine's condition, he immediately asks him what happened. I hold my breath. Antoine glances to me very shortly, and behind Officer Brink's back, I shake my head, giving my the meanest, most serious face I can pull off.
Antoine brings in a shaky breath, and lets it out with a long sigh, before saying, "Some thugs a few days ago. Gangsters. They're getting bad in this town, Officer. Beat me up for some money, is all."
Officer Brink looks concerned, before nodding and saying, "If you can, call someone as soon as you can, either during something like that is happening, or if you can't, right after, okay? Do you remember where it happened?"
"Unfortunately, no, Officer. I just got out of there as fast as I could, and by the time I was far enough to stop, I hadn't even fully processed what had happened yet. Sorry, Officer."
Officer Brink nods, a look of sternness returning to his expression, before he says, "Well, alright. Both of you, now, turn your attention to Mrs. Toussaint. She'll direct you about how you will do your jobs."
For the whole time that Mrs. Toussaint is explaining the cooking and preparing and serving to us, me and Antoine stay as far away from each other as we can, and make a point not to even do the littlest act as to meet each other's eyes. Good. I'm glad it's that way. I don't want Antoine Griezmann to be in my life any more than he has to be.
Then we get to work. Because of how we were instructed, it's hard not to stand next to each other, or at least pretty close, because of what we're doing, but oh well, I guess. It's annoying, but we both make sure to keep our eyes away from each other's.
As I work, I can't help but start thinking. And because of my thoughts, I can't help but smile to myself, too. I'm thinking about my hurting Antoine, with my fists and my words. I feel great. I hit him so hard, he can't even meet my eyes. This is very unlike Antoine. Every single time I've done anything to him, he has always bounced back, ready with a new comeback. Ready with a new insult. Ready with something else clever. And when he ran out of words, he'd punch me, or kick me, or spread some lie about me. But never, ever, has Antoine Griezmann been so hurt by what I've done to him to be too awkward or embarrassed or hurt or whatever he is to even meet my eyes. I consider this is a win, but I might be starting to understand him, just a little bit. If I now have this power over him, and he's shown tenderness, that gives me all the more opening to keep it up.
What could I do to him? Oh, I don't know. Maybe if I could make up some believable lie and somehow get popular Brooke to tell some people about it, I could get Antoine what he really deserves. I could make his greatest fear come true. Having no friends. Having everyone hate him. Just the idea of that kind of revenge is wonderful. Absolutely brilliant. If only, somehow, I could find some way to lie about him... He has always made people believe his eyes simply because he is liked by all. I don't have that for me... I have to know at least enough about him to make up a believable lie...
An idea comes to my head. It's not the most pleasant one, and it would be sacrificing a lot to simply get revenge on him, but where I'm at now, I feel it's worth it. I feel it is totally worth it.
