I impatiently tapped my pencil on my biology textbook and continusly checked my phone. I think that's an anxiety thing, to constantly unlock your phone, even though there's no notifications or anything. The three other girls at my table, May, Alex, and Jada all did their usuals; May whispered to Alex about the other boy that has a girlfriend, but is talking to her at the same time and "how awkward for you" to know that she sent him nudes, and Jada was actually doing her work. She always does, even though no one in Mr. Hope's class ever bothered to listen to his constant "Punnett square" and "genotype" theories.
Two minutes
"Marecline!" May waved a hand at me. She's the sassiest girl I have ever met, and even though she's my friend, i'm scared to talk to her sometimes.
"What?" The key to talking to May is to be sassy right back to her
"Okay, how awkward for you, but did you hear what happened to me? Chris is talking to me!" I just nodded, I have no clue what Chris she's talking about. I have no clue who any of the guys are that she talks about, but I just go with it. Something about May makes me feel important. Her constant need of everyone and anyone's opinion gives me a certain confidence boost that can only be explained when you also find someone so deeply distressed in the very pit of nonsenseless drama.
"Well anyway should I keep talking to him or no way?"
I dropped my pencil next to my binder and closed my textbook, "Or no way, he has a girlfriend. Don't be that girl." I said, picking up my bag off the floor right as the bell rang. Instead of sticking around for her repsonse, I ever so awkwardly manuvered myself down West Wing as quickly as physically possible.
In life, you will meet people; people who will surprise you in ways and make you question if the future is actually written in the stars or are we just ever so (un)lucky to accidently stumple upon this one single person. I refer to these people as our Mishaps. Someone that you cannot erase from your script, no matter how hard you try.
A Mishap in my eyes, is not always a bad thing. Very rarely, you can find a beautiful Mishap, a person who can surprise you in ways that make you want to blast old 90's music and dance until you feel like your legs may give in, and can make you question how you ever were given the oppertuinty to expirence Mishap-ency. Very rarely.
Peter Grosh is my Mishap.
"Marcey!" He said, leaning against the lockers next to mine. I smiled at him but kept myself focused on not making any faults in my actions. You know, when you're so nervous that you drop your books and ten thousand papers you never even knew existed come flying from your binder?
"What class are you going to next?" He asked me, staring down A Hall as we walked. It always seemed that people only collided paths with me. I am always in everyone's way, in the school hallways, in relationships, in life itself. I literally am the herpes of the people I care about. But no matter how many times I have(n't) been told I matter and that I am not a burden, the little voice tells me to just stop.
"Spanish" I replied, admiring his profile in my perifial vision. So perfectly gorgeous, and hilarious, and- cue little asian sophomore running into my shoulder- "FUCK" escaped my lips as the ten thousand non existent papers waterfalled out of my binder.
"Oh" Peter said, stopping and picking up a few papers. -cue bell- "Fuck Marcey, I'm sorry I'll get you later." he says, shoving the papers onto my lap and taking off down the hall and out of my view before i could get out so much as a "Thank you". I couldn't help but to tell myself that if i wasn't there, maybe he wouldn't have gotten detention to being late to class that day.
. . . .
Walking out into the freshening air of southern New Jersey, a raindrop hit my nose and slid down my face, followed by another, and another. I walked quickly to my car and slammed the door behind me, throwing my purse into the passenger seat and started the old metalic blue, 2006 Toyota Corolla up. I bought it off my neighbor for 600 bucks because he "Just couldn't stand to see it in his garage anymore." As unlucky as i am, the car actually ran pretty well. Or at least, well enough for a Junior in high school who's just happy that she can finally drive. Five minutes and three texts later, i assumed that Peter was still with his "oh so lovely" girlfriend-thing, Lina. Lina Ventanni is a Senior who just so happened to be your average model-esque beauty. Her blonde hair just barely brushed the sides of her shoulders and her natural olive skin stayed a sunkissed tan year-round. Her outfits came from the select few of either Forever 21, or Aeropostal, and you better believe she had a Vera Bradley purse and smelt of some type of Dolce and Gabbana perfume. She was not Peter, But Peter tried his hardest to understand her. He won't admit to it, but I can tell when he's being Lina, and when he's being Peter. If he wants to ride home in her Mercedes instead of stopping by my house as promised, that's fine.
But really it wasn't
2:30 i finally get a text back.
He's sorry but he had to help Lina with her project after school.
Had.
No he didn't. But he did anyway. Fuck him.
But not really.
"Okay" i responded
"Am i still coming?" he asked
"Of course."
I threw my phone across my bed and rolled off my stomach onto my feet. Grabbing my old scratched ipod, i plugged it into my speaker and blasted Green Day as loud as i could. I want to be mad at him. But i honestly have no reason to. I never had a reason to be mad at Peter.
I ran a brush all the way down my hair that reached my pierced belly button and was dyed brown, then bleached blonde, and covered mahogonay, then bleached blonde, and finally brown again. This all being done by myself or my drugged out friend, so you could imagine the missed spots and roughness of the mane i called "hair" that i have aquired throughout the years. With a nose ring and eyebrow peircing, irish pale skin and winged liner, I am not the kind of girl Peter Grosh would go for. He tells me all the time to "take the fucking make up off and wrap my hair in a bun." and i tell him to "shut the fuck up and leave if he doesn't like it" but he always seems to stay.
When i heard my front door open, happiness flushed over me as i threw myself back on my bed and pretened to be texting.
"Wow what a lazy bitch." He said, pulling the covers of my bed over himself and laying down.
"I didn't invite you over to sleep fucker. Get up!" I said slapping his arm and laughing. He stared at me with a smile for a minute before looking away again. His smile was absolute pefection and his teeth were the whitest teeth i think i've ever seen. I always swore they shined. At any given moment, I was ready to grab the collar of his old and worn flannel and kiss him so deeply that he'll forget Lina Ventanni was ever born. But Peter is my best friend and oh how terible of me to think of doing such things to a boy i once referred to as my brother.
He sighed and looked at me once more, i fixed myself and proped my body on one arm. I threw my head back and mimiced his sigh. He just smiled again, but something about it raddled me inside. I choked up the courage to ask if he was okay.
"I think me and Lina are done." He whispered as he shut his eyes.
"Want to walk about it?" I said, also shutting my eyes, finally adjusting my position to be laying on my back next to him
"Maybe she cheated on me."
