Charlie

3. Smeared Mascara

Okay, Charlie. Think. The Jeep was just checked out after getting an oil change last month and everything was fine! The car behind me honks again and I'm getting agitated. My mind races to think of any possible reason that this would be happening right now, in the car line drop off of my old high school, with at least one hundred teenagers staring at my car.
I'm embarrassed, I'm irritated and... I'm crying? Why does every emotion that I feel lead to tears?! I quickly wipe my face with my hands, sliding my fingers under my glasses, trying to salvage the mascara that was put on while driving. I take a deep breath and think.. when was the last time I got gas?
The man in the red vehicle that had been honking at me is now opening his door and I'm getting real nervous. I can just tell that he is gonna be so mad and there's seriously nothing I can do about it. I decide to muster up all of my courage, not that I have very much left and step out of the jeep.
  As I stumble out, my glasses fall off my face because of course they do. This is the absolute worst time to not be able to see, and when I tell you I can't see two feet in front of me without them, I mean it. Immediately I drop to my knees, harder than intended because, you know, no depth perception without my glasses. I sigh and begin feeling for my frames, squinting to gain as much vision as possible. And JUST LIKE in one of those soapy rom-com movies, I grab the guys shoe.
  I look up and can make out the vague outline of a dark haired man holding out something above me. I stand up and almost, maybe, muster something that sounds like an apology. It's all awkward because he starts laughing. Before I can say much of anything, he pushes my glasses into my hand. I swallow hard and rub the lenses on my shirt before shoving them on my face.

"Thanks." I say sharply. I really do mean it for getting my glasses, but I'm too embarrassed to be sincere.

"No problem, you looked like you were struggling a bit." He says through a chuckle.

I back up and finally get a good look at him. Tatum McNash. I haven't seen him since we graduated. Tate is the kind of guy that no one really notices in high school. Not really popular, but has a handful of friends. He's tall, built but not muscular. He looks different than he did last year though. His hair is longer and a little wavy, and hes not clean shaven, he's got a little scruff. How did I not notice that his eyes were so blue?
Tate seems to notice I'm staring and gives me a strange look.

"Are you alright?" He asks and touches my shoulder.

    The warmth of his hand causes my entire body to stiffen. My temperature must have gone up at least five degrees. My eyes scan from his outstretched arm up to his face. Oh God, hes still staring at me with those ocean blue eyes.
   Say something, Charlie. Say anything! But I don't, and what's worse, I feel like I'm about to cry. What is wrong with me? I want to yell that I'm embarrassed and awkward and out of gas and does it look like I'm alright?!
  Only, I notice that he's gesturing to my knee that I slammed not so gently into the ground while looking for my glasses. It's currently gushing blood and there's a big red splotch all down the shin of my favorite jeans.

"Oh no, my jeans!" I say in the way a whiny five year old would after dropping their ice cream cone.

"I think you have bigger problems," Tatum mumbles, gesturing first to my knee, then to my Jeep.
   
    I'd almost forgotten that was the problem in the first place. I'm suddenly all too aware of my surroundings. There are SO many eyes on me right now. Stupid nosy teenagers. All I can see is a rainbow of phone cases and I die a little inside, knowing that all those cameras are pointed in my direction. I make a mental note to check twitter later for a viral tweet of my ultimate demise. I can feel my cheeks flush and I know they must be as red as an apple. I sigh, then motion to my car.

"I'm out of gas."

Tate smiles. It's a beautiful smile. I can tell he's about to let out a laugh, but spares me.

"I was just dropping off my sister." He checks his watch. "I've got some time before my class. I can give you a lift to the gas station. There's one right up the road-"

"I know." I snap too quickly. "I live here. We went to school together for four years. Charlie Crawford?"

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. I can tell he has no idea who I am but he says he does anyway. I agree to let him drive me to the gas station, it's the least he can do after honking at me mad man.
  I jog over to the front desk to let someone know that I'll have to leave my car there while I get gas. Well, I guess I'm only kind of half jogging because man does my knee hurt. Finally reaching the front office, I un-stick my hair from my forehead and open the glass door, limping inside and trying to look like not so much of a hot mess.

"Hi!" I say, breathing a sigh of relief when I see my favorite teacher standing by the sign-in sheets.

"Charlotte! Hi, honey!" Ms. Craft smiles, but this happy expression quickly turns to concern. I guess I don't look as good as I thought.

She takes a good look at me, starting at my scuffed shoes, past my bleeding knee and smudged glasses, all the way up to my smeared mascara and sweaty blonde hair. I give her an awkward smile then bust out laughing. She laughs with me as I explain to her the disaster that was my morning. Ms. Craft assures me that my car will be fine and she'll notify one of the school deputies to stand with it until I return. Just as I'm about to tell her thank you and turn out the door, my knight in shining tin foil walks in.

"How's it going, Ms. C?!" Tatum says as he walks up to hug her.

My mood shifts from relieved to annoyed.