Her Name is Sorrel

IV

4

I avoided her like the flu - I’d be damned if I was caught in a 4 foot radius of the unanimously proclaimed, bitchiest girl at Woodbridge High. Thank god we only had English together.

“What a bitch,” they’d say. “Her parents are like, meth addicts.” “She used to be a hippie.” “I bet she picked that name out for herself.” “I wouldn’t be caught dead talking to squirrel.”

Hell, I didn’t either; I didn’t want to be associated with someone so ostracized from society - Danny O had a rep to withhold and precedent to manage. Squirrel would taint my coolness ... right?

Just to be safe, I kept my distance from the social crippling influenza and minimized any contact, giving her curt answers whenever she asked me a question. 

Eventually, my distance and cold demeanor translated to her equally cold and standoffish attitude towards me. No longer was I greeted with excited ‘hello’s’ before class or playfully slapped on the shoulder. 

The She-wolf glared at me whenever we made eye contact and flinched whenever my hand accidentally touched her’s. She hated me.

“Keep your hands to yourself you perverted freak,” she seethe in between lectures whenever my fingers unintentionally brushed her wrists, “I’ll scream bloody murder.”

“Die in hell,” I’d retort nastily back; it pretty much went down like that every, single day for the next three weeks. She’d say something pathetically irrelevant and I’d give her shit about it.

I finally broke the cycle after I failed my fifth English exam in a row.

“Geesh, someone didn’t read,” she titter excitedly and I found my shaking hands crumbling the D+ and tossing it into the trash can, “Well he’s a shitty teacher.”

“Or maybe, you’re just a shitty student.”

“I don’t understand poem deconstruction,” I lamented, “This shit’s hard. Harder than my dick-”

A squeal escaped her mouth and her small hands reached up with lightning speed to cover her ears, “Oh my god, shut up!”

 “Oh my god, grow up.”

She glared at me with burning eyes so intense, they would melt Olaf and kill Elsa in seconds.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Daniel.”

“Listen-”

“I’m not the one failing English here,” she snapped, “So don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

She was right. I was failing and she was prevailing. I had a D in the class, she had an A. Sorrel Solby was probably going to graduate in the top 10% of the class and I would be on the bottom of the pyramid. Rock on.

“I need help,” I finally admitted, “I don’t get it. Anything. I don’t get anything.”

Her hard eyes bored into me and I felt my throat close timidly as the fiery brunette scowled, “What do you not understand? You just have to read. It’s an English class for Christ’s sake.”

“Will you help me? Please?”

And in that moment, I swear I was desperate.

“If I fail this class, I’ll get kicked off the football team.”

Her eyes softened. Just a tad, though.

“Help, as in, a tutor?”

I nodded slowly, unsure where this was going, “Yeah, I need a tutor. I’ll pay you too if-”

“Payment’s not necessarily,” she responded loftily, twirling a strand of chocolate hair in between slender fingers, “I’ll help you because without football, you’d be a hermit living under the pier on the beach.”

I swallowed and nodded, “Thanks-”

“On one condition though.”

Frowning, I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, “And what’s that?”

“I don’t have a car so I need you drive me to Lake Havesu over Winter break.”

310 miles with the devil’s spawn or fail out of English and get kicked off the team?

Sorrel cocked her head at me, “Well?”

“I’ll drive.”

Hallelujah.