I Used To Be

Chapter 5

After a quick stop home to grab my books, I pulled up to the bookstore where Cash and I planned to meet. It was 1:55. After putting the car in park, I sat there for a minute, gathering myself, and procrastinating. I didn't really want to do this. I didn't feel smart enough, and I was afraid I was going to screw him up in this class and he would be disappointed in me. Failure. When the clock above my car stereo said 2:00, I forced myself to grab my books, notebook, and purse and head into the bookstore, straight through to the back cafe area. I wasn't surprised that Cash wasn't there yet. I didn't take him for the type to be compulsively punctual. This was good; it would give me time to look over his assignments and skim through Frankenstein. I was okay if he was more than a few minutes late. Actually, I would be really happy if he didn't show up at all.

But five minutes later, I heard the screech of wooden chair legs against the marble floor next to me.

"Hey," Cash said, sitting down. It appeared as though he might be wearing the same thing he was the last time I saw him. Either that or the outfit was so similar as to be indistinguishable.

"Hey," I said, probably a bit too brightly, closing Frankenstein.

"How's it going?" he sighed in a way that said that he could have given less of a shit. So I didn't dignify the question with an answer. I actually kind of wanted to get this over with. I loved bookstores and I was looking forward to finishing this particular chore and then doing some extended browsing. Plus I wanted to find those books I'd read about: Wasted and Unbearable Lightness. I'd much rather read those than Frankenstein and especially Discipline & Punish -- god what a snoozefest that one was. I'd really relied on online summaries to get the gist and find the important parts.

"So," I began, "when is your first paper due again?"

"Um, Wednesday I think. Something about fucktard and Frankenstein. I gave you the assignment sheet, right?" What, did this asshole think I was going to write his papers for him? I might have been stupid enough to do something like that a couple of years ago, but not now. I was a dancer now, not some pathetic follower. God, why did I even agree to this?

"Yeah, I was just checking."

"Seeing if I was paying attention?" He grinned. Was he flirting? Not a chance. That was just the way he was with any girl.

I chuckled, "Yeah. So, I had this idea about what fucktard was saying about 'spectacle," and the fact that the creature is can't hide anywhere he goes."

From there, we talked through my idea, which I did think was pretty smart. Cash even seemed mildly engaged. I wasn't convinced he had read all of his assignments, but he was more familiar with the material than I expected him to be, which made it almost fun. I never had anyone to talk about books with, so I really liked being able to dissect the themes of Frankenstein with someone who seemed to be surprisingly intelligent.

After about an hour, we had a decent outline and some passages for him to use in his paper. I was actually pretty proud of our work. It was too bad I wasn't getting any credit for this. But it still didn't feel like a useless exercise in foolish servitude to a popular boy; I felt like I was learning some things that would help me in school next year. The class he was taking was much more interesting and challenging than anything I ever got at school, so I was kind of enjoying this.

As we were packing up, Cash said, "Oh hey, so Becky is having a few people over on Sunday for a cookout. If you wanna come." What.

"Oh! Um, yeah . . . let me check my schedule, but that sounds fun! Thanks!" Check my schedule. That was a good one.