Leaving for school the next morning, I noticed that the black Camaro in the Cliffords' driveway was missing, which meant that Michael had apparently driven himself to school. Well, fine by me. I could sing along to my music in peace.
As soon as I stepped out of my car in the senior lot and started heading towards the school, I felt like I was being watched. I quickly turned around and locked my car only to see that I was right. Each and every pair of eyes was on me, the glares burning holes right through me.
Weird.
I spun around and hurried across the street to be met with more stares and smirks, even some snickering. What the hell was going on? I was always the invisible one, but now I was suddenly the center of attention? Or the butt of some joke known to everyone but myself?
"Good morning, Branchville students. Please begin making your way to first period as you listen to songs from Terrific Tuesday!"
Speed-walking down the hallway, I kept my gaze focused on the linoleum floor in front of me as Wake Me Up by Avicii played over the loudspeaker. Everyone was staring, even when i tried to walk behind taller people in a pitiful attempt to hide myself. I quickly gathered my things from my locker and practically ran back down the hallway to AP Psychology.
Immediately, I spotted Ellie inside the room in her seat and made my way over to my desk behind her. "Morning," I mumbled. Ellie glanced over at me and flashed a tiny smile before going back to reviewing her notes for today's test which, of course, I had forgotten about. Shit.
After completely bombing the test, I went through the rest of my day trying to open up a bit more just to try and figure out what was going on, though I wasn't very successful. No one would utter a word to me. They just kept whispering to one another while looking right at me, clearly making it obvious that they were talking about me.
I spotted a group of girls in my grade doing just that while walking down the hallway later that day. I wanted to punch all four of their pretty faces or at least confront them. I mean, if you're going to talk about me, at least do it when I'm either not there or in a way that wasn't so damn obvious. But no, they kept whispering and staring like the dumb bitches they were while I averted my gaze and tried to hurry past them.
"Ohhhh, Jesse!" one girl moaned.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
No. Fucking. Way.
That's what this was all about? Me and Jesse? From the mocking grunts and moans still coming from behind me, I would take that as a yes.
Suddenly I felt an arm slither around my shoulder. "You know," a male voice whispered in my ear, "I really hope you're not fuckin' around with Jesse anymore because I would love to hear you scream my name from the things I can do to you."
I tried to move my feet but it felt like they were filled with lead instead of muscles and bones.
"It would be easy."
This wasn't happening.
"Almost as easy as you."
In the few milliseconds it took for me to process exactly what he had said, I had finally regained control of my limbs, kicked him squarely in the groin, and hustled right through the doors out into the crisp November air.
Snow flurries danced in the wind, occasionally sticking to my hair but I barely noticed them. I thought I heard someone calling my name behind me but I wasn't going to turn around. Just keep going, keep walking, away from the issue, away from that prison.
Eventually I made it to the Dunkin' Donuts up the street. The small shop always reeked of coffee but perhaps the scent would help clear my head a bit. There were a couple of people there for lunch though there wasn't a line. "I'll just have a vanilla chai and a pumpkin muffin," I told the petite Asian woman behind the counter. She looked up at me and gave me a small smile, like she knew that something was off about me today. Her entire family owned the franchise so she was there every day and had never seen me as flustered as I was then.
The woman handed me my muffin as the jingle bells above the door rang, letting the employees know that another customer had come in. "Kelsey?" I turned around at the sound of my name.
Michael was gaping at me, repeatedly running his hand through his hair, with the strangest expression on his face that could have possibly been worry. And no, I was not dreaming. He was breathing heavily, as if he had just gone for a long run.
"Um, hi." I was surprised not only at the fact that he had followed me but also at what he was wearing - khakis with a button-down shirt. I pinched my bicep just to make sure I really wasn't dreaming. Yes, preppy Michael was real.
"Vanilla chai!" I quickly covered the remaining few feet to the other end of the counter to pick up my drink.
"Thank you," I said as I grabbed the hot styrofoam cup and swiftly snuck an extra five dollar bill to the same Asian woman. I always tipped the employees well here, but I felt I needed to give this woman her own personal tips instead of splitting the tip jar with everyone else there.
"And what exactly are you doing here?" I asked Michael as I shuffled over to a table to sit down. "Don't you have class or something?"
Michael followed and sat down across from me. "I just wanted to see what was going on."
I scoffed. "What, in the hallway?"
"Uh, yeah. Just wanted to, uh, make sure you were okay."
Did he just show that he cares about me? "I'm fine, I guess." The vanilla liquid burned my tongue as I took a sip and I almost spit it out.
"Here." Michael reached down to his backpack on the floor and pulled out a water bottle, handing it over to me.
"Thanks," I muttered before gulping down nearly a quarter of the bottle.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Michael kept fidgeting in his seat and quickly looked away from me every time we made eye contact. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, which I didn't understand. If he came here to check up on me, why was he acting so weird and distant? Of course, he was always short with me but at the moment he came off as nervous. Something was obviously up, especially with the way he was dressed. "What are you even wearing?" i chuckled.
"Oh, this?" He looked down at his shirt.
"Yeah, you look ridiculous. You're really not the preppy type."
Michael looked up at me and half-smiled. "Is it really that bad?" I nodded and brought the lip of my cup to my mouth. "Well, I tried," he said, letting out a sigh.
"What do you mean?"
"I dunno," he replied as he threw up his hands. "It was something different. Change."
I set down my cup and leaned towards him. "I think you've had enough change already, Michael."
"Yeah, but you said - never mind." He ran a hand through his hair once again.
It took me a couple of seconds to figure out exactly what he had just implied. "Wait, what did you just say?"
"Nothing, it's nothing," he affirmed. But it wasn't nothing. He made a joke about Jake and how preppy he was the other day. He even asked me whether I liked preppy boys. Could it be that Michael was trying to, dare I say it, impress me?
I doubted it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Michael practically whispered.
"No." I knew he was referring to the encounter in the hallway and the tweets from last night but I wasn't going to let him in on the full story. Nobody knew, except for me. Maybe that's why I was tormented but nobody would understand, and it's not like anyone would even want to listen to what I had to say. The worst part was that I wish they knew. I wish somebody, anybody knew. I just wanted someone who I trusted enough to take in every bit of information and keep it to themselves instead of slinging it back in my face. But every time I tried to open up, I was met with laughs. And jokes. And "you don't know what you're talking about"s. I was criticized for my decisions, decisions that made me happy. Why couldn't anyone just respect that and move on?
Michael's chair scraped across the floor as he stood up. "Well, you know where to find me if you do." He gave me another half-smile and walked out the door, leaving me to wonder what in the world made this Michael Clifford guy want to care for me.
