Change | E.D

Eleven

Charlotte

"Do you want a ride?" Isaac asks me as we walk outside of the school later on into the afternoon. He's been attached to my side like super glue all day, walking me to and from practically all of my classes, sitting with me in the cafeteria, and now rushing me out the back door so that he can give me a ride home.

Honestly, at first, the attention was nice and it made me feel special, but now it's just downright aggravating. Though talking to someone is nice, I'm still too used to being alone all of the time. I'm not used to having to constantly please someone through conversation, to say something interesting all of the time.

In the hours I've spent talking to him, I've learned so many things about the students at this school that I honestly did not want to know. I don't want to know how the student body president is sleeping with some drug head even though she's dating the principal's son.

I don't care that Trent Jacobs, another popular guy at the school, is thought to be gay. I don't give a rat's ass about any of those things.

But Isaac has been so sweet to me, I feel awful when it comes to thinking about turning him down. I don't want to hurt his feelings, I really don't, and even though our date on Friday night is starting to sound worse and worse to me, I just can't back out. Not when he smiles at me like that or when he opens doors for me and carries my books.

So I just smile even though I'm cringing on the inside and say, "Sure."

"Great." he says, bumping his hip into mine and then leading me out to the student parking lot. I follow him throughout the maze of cars until we reach a sleek black Range Rover. I almost have to take a step back when I look at it, it's so fancy and so unlike a usual teenager's car.

I totally understand that Isaac's trying to look cool and that his parents are so rich that they're just throwing money away, but who on God's green earth would buy a teenage guy a car that probably cost as much as my house? Are they stupid? Do they honestly believe that he's not going to wreck it by showing it off to his friends?

"Nice car." I say, as he's taking my books out of my hands yet again and then sliding them into the back seat.

"Thanks. This is my second one actually. I totaled the first one my parents got me."

Sometimes it can be scary how head-on my thoughts are.

"How?" I ask.

Isaac is an excellent talker, something else I learned today, and if you give him a chance to explain something that'll make him look cool, he'll jump at it. He swings the back door shut and then opens the passenger door for me, something I hadn't even thought of doing myself. I get that he's trying to be a gentleman and everything, but this is just getting ridiculous.

While he's backing out of his spot he explains to me, "This asshole from the lacrosse team was getting onto me about how his car could beat mine. I won the race but I lost the car. I slammed it into a pole at the end of the road we were racing on. I still hate the guy for it."

I want to point out that he could have just taken the higher road and not raced him, but I keep myself quiet and just go to staring out of the window. I've had enough arguments this past weekend to last a while; I'm not looking to start a new one.

But looking out of the window seems to be a mistake because as we drive by where all of the baseball players are lining up to go practice, I spot Ethan and he doesn't look happy. His mouth is pressed into a thin, tight line and he's not even paying attention to the guy standing behind him who is having a completely one-sided conversation with him.