Rivals

Without Love, Elizabeth

I sat in my bed watching the last episode of the second season of Atypical on Netflix on a Sunday night, and as Casey's romantic web tangled even more I found myself thinking about Tyler. Ugh. I really wished I could get him out of my head, but it was hard when I didn't even know how I felt about him since the White Shirt Party.

Picking up a pen and a piece of paper, I started to write in my notebook.

Hey. You kind of suck...

By the time I had finished, I had 251 words written and a good enough conclusion for me at the time to describe what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. But as I turned my light off and closed my eyes to sleep, I still couldn't stop thinking about it.

So, I turned my light back on and grabbed my notebook.

All day the next day, I couldn't stop thinking about the folded up papers I'd written on in my bag. But every time I thought about them I decided to ignore them. Until I couldn't anymore.

It was the last block of the day and Physics came to a close. As 3:10 rolled around and students started filing out of the class and into the halls to catch the bus or walk uptown or wherever, and I noticed Tyler staying behind to finish packing up his things.

I took a deep breath.

Now or never I guess, right?

"Hey Tyler, I need to talk to you for a minute," I said before realizing how impolite demanding that was. "Do you have a minute?" I reworded.

"I have minutes," he said as he grabbed the Physics 12 text book from in his desk and piled it onto his binder.

"Okay, can we talk?"

"Sure," he shrugged as he grabbed his chair and made a stack with another one, while I stood in silence waiting for him to finish. 

He stopped and stared at me, as if to signal for me to speak.

"I mean privately," I explained, suddenly feeling very awkward - as if I wasn't already.

"Oh," he nodded as he grabbed his binder and textbook. "Is the hallway private enough? I mean it's loud."

"Uhhhhh," I hummed as he followed me out of the classroom. "Maybe not... Do you have to go to your locker?" I asked, knowing that it was on the floor below us because it was near mine.

"No, I'm good."

"Okay then can we go out this door?" I asked, pointing to a fire escape stairwell that led straight outside of the main entrance.

"I'm fine with that."

"You'll understand why I don't want to do this publicly once it happens," I said, trying and failing to sound less weird. "I'm not going to confess my undying love for you, by the way," I told him as we descended.

He didn't say anything.

"I just thought that might have seemed like where this was going.." I tried to explain.

Again, he said nothing, and my level of Wanting To Die escalated exponentially.

When we got outside we stood to the left of the stairs to the main entrance. 

"Okay, here works, I guess."

I shuffled through my lunch bag to find the two perfectly folded pieces of paper I tore neatly from my notebook and unfolded one to see that it was, conveniently, the one I needed.

"Oh you wrote it down," he commented.

"Yes I write everything down so I don't forget anything important," I explained. This, you'll find, is one of my many quirks.

"Fair enough, I guess."

I took a shaky breath and looked at the paper.

"One of the human species' main downfalls is that we are incapable of properly understanding - let alone expressing - our feelings. As a human I have grown to recognize and accept this fault of mine in my own way, and I have tried to fix/overcome it as best I can. This is my way of doing said thing, and as this is extremely embarrassing I would like to ask for your discretion regarding this entire encounter and everything involved with it, as well as that you refrain from being a dick. I will do very minimal explaining so I can take up as little of your time as possible, and to save myself from the ever-growing mortification of this one-way conversation. It is with that that I give you this, and turn around so I can't see your face as I allow you to read it."

I handed him the letter I'd originally written him the night before, and I stepped to the side to hide behind a large wooden and metal beam.

"I'm just gonna hide over here while you read that," I said, looking off at the playground and trying to cool down my burning face.

Because I didn't read the note aloud to him, I will read you guys the note specifically.

Dear Tyler,

Hey. You kind of suck. You're egotistical, inappropriate, loud and obnoxious, rude, and oblivious, and I hated you for a while. So here's my dilemma: the white shirt party. I am now stuck with the knowledge that you, sir, get very close and personal seven beers in. We had two interactions, the first initiated by myself and the second by you or, indirectly, Jackson Campbell, both apparently chalked full of what Hailee likes to call "sexual tension". And I, now, have been blessed with the curse of not being able to get this out of my head. I hate you though, right? I already listed why. Basically, you're a dick. Why, then, won't the idea o you leave me alone? Rhetorical, because I don't want to think about the answer. I am, though, hence why I'm writing this. I believe that I owe myself the truth. The major flaw in this, however, is that "m not sure what said truth is. I don't know what is happening. The all-consuming thoughts of you wrapping an arm around my waist have lessened since school started, which makes me wonder if I was infatuated by the physical contact and that was why you leeched on my brain like a parasite. Or, on the contrary, maybe I really do like you, but I've basically forgotten since we haven't spoken since that night. Since starting this letter I've discovered that the answer is the former (thank god). Thank you very much, and goodbye.

Without Love,

Elizabeth

After what seemed like an incredibly unnatural and nerve-wracking amount of time during which I actually considered turning around to see if he was still there because he was so quiet and slow, he spoke.

"Okay so I've read it, I'm just rereading it."

"What?!" I asked, turning around to look at him, but he stopped looking at the paper and looked at me. In response, I looked back at my own paper. "I do not want  response and please do not make fun of me for any of this. Yes, I am weird. Yes, this is all sort of fucked up. And yes, this is a mistake that I will very much regret making but fuck it because it's not like my life is peachy anyways. With that, I think I'll leave and never look at you again. Maybe I'll drop out, I haven't decided. And again, don't tell anyone. Goodbye."

"Wait, why would you drop out?"

"So that I never have to look at you again after this," I told him. I grabbed my lunch bag from the floor and put my paper in it. 

"Ah."

As I grabbed my lunch bag from the floor and put my paper in it I realized that he never gave me back the letter I gave him.

"Can I have that letter back?"

"Oh, sure," he said, digging it out of the front pocket of his jeans. I decided not to question why he put it there in the first place, because to think about it would only cause me problems.

"Thanks, I'm going to burn these."

He let out a little bit of a laugh and I felt relieved.

"Hey," he said as he gave me the folded up letter and our hands rubbed against each other, "I like your style. This seems like something I would do myself."

I smiled at him and let out a sigh. "Thank you. I'm gonna go run and catch my bus now." And with that, I left. I could hear him chuckle to himself as I sped down the stairs and to my bus before it took off, and that was the end of that.