Between the Lines

- 10 -

Braden

I feel like someone should make a sheet…a spreadsheet maybe…or a…a matrix.  I think that’s the word I want, a matrix. Someone should make the Hot-But-Insane Matrix. And on that would be a table to help guys chart the instability and overall lunacy of chicks based solely on their hotness.  I have no doubts that I’m on to something here. The hotter the girl, the more proportionally insane they are.

My little epiphany is coming about as I watch her reaction to what I wrote. Clearly I meant to illicit a reaction, but I really had no idea what it would be. I kinda expected her to roll her eyes and say I was being stupid. Or rude. Or something. But she just-froze up-for a second. Then she turned red, and now I’m worried that the red face might mean she’s pissed.

Or maybe she was embarrassed.

Or pissed.

Or confused.

Or pissed.

She somehow managed to kick her own ass when she fumbled with her bag, smacked into something in the great wide-open under her desk, but it at least gave me the chance to get her bag for her. Not that she noticed, I’m pretty sure. She kind of stuffed everything in her bag and then started trying to shamble away.

The only thing I could think of to slow her down was to ask for her number, which the wonderful and wise Mrs. Buchanan suggested. From her reaction, she had no idea what she was doing when she gave it to me, but this is seriously the single greatest accomplishment of my high school career.

Her number…her digits…which I could call! And…and talk to her! And…and probably catch her when she’s with her meathead boyfriend. Then I could spend the rest of the night looking forward to getting beaten like a horse by a beefcake jock with repressed homosexual tendencies.

Maybe I should just step back.

Probably should. Just…just let her make her add-on. And deal with it tomorrow…that’s the smart thing to do if I don’t want her to think I’m a total stalker. And if I don’t want Kyle to drive my face in the dirt.

And I don’t want that. Like, seriously bad, I don’t want that. So that pretty much sums it up. I just stay quiet and act like I didn’t just throw out a huge open question to Kendal. Who doesn’t like me, but who I can’t help blabbing like a maniac in front of…

Kendal, who I’ve been crushing on for years!

Kendal, who has a freakin’ serious boyfriend!

Kendal, who’s carrying around the most self-destructive thing I’ve ever written in her bag as she heads towards her fantastic man with a fantastic temper.

I’m thinking and not thinking at the same second, worried senseless about what I just did and I’m desperate to get that freakin’ notebook back and burn the last sentence. That was stupid. Beyond stupid!  I. am. A complete idiot.

Watching her as she moves quickly away from me and navigates her way deftly through the mass of people, I decide to stop her and get that damn book. I’m not sure what to say, but it’ll probably be that I just thought of something I want to change-no-add! Something I want to add…that-um-that’ll develop the plot or some crap.

God, it sounds pathetic in my head, but right now, there’s the chance of looking momentarily stupid versus the certainty of picking my teeth off the floor with broken fingers in the morning.

When I finally catch up to Kendal, I put my hand on her shoulder to make her stop so I can talk to her. I try to smile, but it feels plastic, so I try just to get to the book without freaking either of us out further.

“Kendal, hey, um-I just-can I maybe-I just-see, the plot, um-”

“What?” She asks me with a wholly dazed look.

“I…” Bags of cement fall in my stomach as I decide to just blurt out what I need instead of make up a dumb lie to her. “Can I have the story back? I need to rewrite something.”

“Oh. Um…no,” she answers with a voice that I can’t tell if it’s defiant or hesitant or what. Just…certain.

“No? uh-please, Kendal. I, I really need to change something.”

“Actually, no you don’t. I want to work on something. And oddly enough, you gave me a good start for it,” she says in that still defiant/hesitant voice.

She doesn’t say it, but to me, it sounds like what I gave her was a great reason for Kyle to kill me. And what she wants to work on is-um-helping Kyle kill me…

My time to beg is gone. From down the hall I see a group of letterman’s jackets and the jarheads that sit on top of them coming down the hall. I don’t need to look to know that one of those jarheads belongs to Kyle, so instinctively I start to fade away from Kendal…without the book.

“Yeah-um-will you please seriously do one thing for me before you work on anything?” I beg without letting my panic come through in my voice, trying to sound ultra-casual.

She looks confused at the whole scenario, but finally says “Like, what?”

“Just call me first-or text! Text me!” She nods almost imperceptibly, but I’ll take it. If there’s a God who doesn’t want to see kids kill kids, he’ll make her text me before she tells meathead Kyle the whole story.

We’ll text first, and that’ll work.

Sure-sure…because writing back and forth with Kendal couldn’t possibly get me more certainly screwed.

For the third time in an hour I think very clearly to myself: This. Cannot. End well.