the ups and downs of micahs

2

    ▷ micah barrett ◁ 

She was achingly beautiful.

From the moment she had walked into Ms. Young's class, the conversations of summer had ceased and changed into talks about the girl with the tar black hair and "ass the size of Jupiter."

"You're a pig," I say to Watson, who holds his hands out in a cupping formation as we walk across the campus to the English building for second period AP Lang.

"I am merely making observations," Watson puts his hands down by his sides as we stand under the red awning, blocking the English building door. "Since you no longer can, I'm basically speaking for both of us."

"No," I disagree, moving back and holding the door open for two girls, who giggle when I offer them a smirk. "You're speaking for yourself." He throws his arm around my shoulders as we walk through the door and sighs.

"It must get tiring being tied down. That's the goodness about having a light switch relationship." I stare at him, my face clouded in doubt, but he's no longer paying attention to me. We cross through the threshold into Mr. Hodges' class, and he's walking towards the last row of desks, where my girlfriend sits with her sunglasses settled over her eyes, cheek placed in her palm.

"Watty!" She shrieks in joy when she spies him, dashing and throwing her arms around his neck. I stand back with my arms crossed over my chest, eyes low and watching how Sidney's cheeks splotch.

Watson's arms trail down her back and she pulls away, taking her sunglasses off and peering at me with a sheepish look.

Watson turns his head towards me and throws me a fiery gaze, with his lips upturned into his trademark smile which always translates to trouble. The smile is scarily familiar. He wears it when he knows he's going to take.

I stand straight up and ball my fist, begging my heart to stop pounding so hard.

Watson and I are best friends, yeah.

That doesn't change the fact that he's an asshole to me.

We met back in sixth grade, sharing similar interests and hobbies. At 11, I envied his ability to have any girl he wanted, but the idolization wore off when I realized that he cared more about quantity than quality.

His ego didn't inflate until high school, when he was chosen as the only freshman to play on the varsity lacrosse team.

"These girls deserve me, bro!" He cheered, the smoky effect of the March cold falling from his lips and green eyes charged with pride. We were walking to his mom's car after his game, where he had scored the winning shot and garnered the attention of every girl in the audience when he emerged from the locker room.

"You think so?"

"Micah," He stopped me, hand on my chest before continuing. "Not only do freshman girls want me, but senior girls want me. They see my skills on the lacrosse field and want me to bring that kind of power to their lives. They deserve a guy that can do that." His finger digs into my skin now, poking with each statement. When I didn't respond, he dropped his hand and turned back on his heel, continuing his trek to his mom's Land Rover.

"I'm pretty sure some of those girls are in relationships, Zach."

He paused again, white swirls of breath rising into the air.

Watson had this problem.

He was dependent. He needed these girls to make him feel something; superiority, pride, anything to make his chest swell. He didn't care if he had to take and steal to feel that way.