Rated: Mature, for future graphic depictions of sex and masturbation, verbal abuse, and crude language. The characters in this story are 18, so no underage warning.
Note: I went through and edited this story, adding new material and a fresh chapter at the end. Still the epilogue to go, but it's pretty much complete! Enjoy!
CHAPTER 1: She's Got A Way
I slipped into AP Literature with only seconds until the bell to spare. My legs were shaky since I had run from the office to get to class on time and my breathing told me I needed to work out more. I made a plan to go running tomorrow morning and start my regime into fitness, so when the time came that I needed to make a dash to class again, I would be ready.
Yeah, that's about as believable as me not having three books in my book bag, just in case the first two got lost.
But hey, I liked making plans and setting goals for myself. I took my seat, sadly in back (I was more of a front person) because it was assigned, and pulled out my notebook and planner. I jotted down the note about jogging and located last night's homework to turn in.
I had just passed my essay forward when I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I looked up to ensure Mrs. Curry was busy collecting papers before slyly (and totally badass) removing my phone from my pocket and flipping it open to see who was texting me.
Did u get it? Becky, a friend of mine, had sent. She was in Economics right now so she couldn't have seen me come into class at a sprint.
I looked up again, because I really hated getting in trouble and Mrs. Curry would immediately confiscate my phone if she saw, and quickly typed back: Yes.
There was a quick reply of Thx and I stuffed my cell back into my jeans. I tried not to feel nervous about the stuff sitting innocuously in my bag, but it was hard. There was nothing to be ashamed of, especially since it was for another person, but I felt awkward anyway.
I refocused my attention on the class, watching in confusion as Mrs. Curry wrote something about poetry meter on the board. "Iambic pentameter has a unstressed syllable followed by a stressed. Like, da-dum. We see this often in Shakespeare and I want everyone to remember back to…" she droned, and I tuned back out. I was definitely not a poet. I could handle writing essays if the instructions were explicit and it was a structured type of expository. But fictional writing and poetry—not my forte. I loved reading, but lacked the desire to write.
My eyes drifted back to the little brown bag and I blushed, sinking further in my seat. I scanned the room for distraction once more, as the actual school aspect was of little interest to me. I never thought I would get the much-talked of senioritis, yet it was only three months into the school year and I was having trouble working up much enthusiasm. I saw Danielle Bly whispering with Dena Haloke, probably about our homecoming dance which was in three weeks. And a couple of guys were fooling around, tossing mini-paper footballs at each other. My eyes inevitably led to an empty desk a few rows down.
Jared Cameron.
My heart began to hammer and my palms got clammy. I sank further down than should have been possible and sighed at my pathetic reactions. Just hearing—no, thinking—his name, and I turn to mush. I tried to persuade myself that it was simply because he had been absent for almost two and a half weeks. Having lost my requisite staring time (I sounded like such a creeper), I was reduced to incoherence at the very thought of his name. It was just sensitivity that would go away again when I became once more de-sensitized to his presence.
I tuned back once more to make sure I wasn't missing anything important, realized Mrs. Curry was still discussing the common forms of poetry, and settled in my thoughts about my long-term crush.
Jared Cameron and I had gone to school together for six years. I had come to the reservation when my mom had died and I'd moved in with my father. It wasn't a particularly great year for me but the young boy had made it just a little bit better. I remember standing outside my new school on my first day, scared and nervous. I wasn't sure where to go, since my father had dropped me off and driven away without instructions, leaving me wide-eyed at the curb and too shy to ask for help.
I ended up standing at the front of the school for a longtime, simply debating what to do. The bell had eventually rang, perpetuating my fear of this unknown place now that I was late. I had stumbled inside, working up enough determination to at least do something.
Just as I had entered the doorway, I collided with someone, rebounding off them in surprise more than impact. "I-I'm s-sorry!" I recall croaking out, my voice sounding scratchy from disuse. The person had no way of knowing it, but it was the first time I had spoken in almost a month.
"It's okay," a boy, once I got my embarrassment under control enough to raise my eyes, said. He wasn't much taller than me and had messy black hair paired with friendly brown, also almost black, eyes. Just looking at him made me relax slightly, he had an effect on me even then. It was probably that, coupled with my worry of my tardiness on my first day and desperation, that I initiated further conversation.
"Could, uh, you tell me where the office is?" I mumbled under my breath, looking at the floor and then at him through my lashes.
The boy, whose name I was too shy to ask, smiled at me. Warmth had coursed through my body, making me feel lighter than I had since before my mother's death. I'm sure I made a fool of myself by staring at him in amazement but that, at least, didn't hit me until later when I had time to reflect on the encounter. I've dissected it a million times since then and realized that I likely looked at him with a dopey lovesick expression. I eventually learned to school my expression and hide my adoring glances.
"Sure, no problem. What's your name? When did you come to the rez? Whose your family?" At my slightly overcome look, he laughed boyishly and explained, "everyone knows everyone. We've all gone to school together since kindergarten, and our parents together, and our grandparents too."
"I'm Kim," I muttered, following the boy as he led me to the front office. "I just moved here, uh, last week," I couldn't help the flooding color in my cheeks. I was momentarily grateful for my naturally dark skin.
"Cool," he said, "I'm Jared. Here's the office," he pointed to a door that had ended the encounter way too soon for my young heart to accept.
"Thanks," I fidgeted, moving slowly to the door.
"You're welcome," he smiled again, showing a mouthful of white teeth, and turned to walk in another direction. I watched his retreating back with envy, wishing I was going with him.
That image became a precedence for our entire schooling career.
Him, walking confidently away; me, watching him depart with a wistful gaze.
I didn't see Jared again until lunch. I vacillated about whether or not to greet him since we had only met once. I decided to try and say hi. Gathering my courage, I walked to where he was surrounded by tons of friends.
I stood behind him in tormented nervousness. Someone noticed me loitering and pointed. Jared turned around. I expected him to shoot me another one of his nice smiles and I opened my mouth to say what I had valorously intended to relate. Instead, he quickly turned away, ignoring my presence wholly.
I felt crushed and stupid, standing with my mouth wide and eyes hurt. I fled to the opposite corner of the cafeteria, holding my tears at bay and silently waiting for the bell to signal the end of lunch.
Of course, I don't hold that day against Jared. He was just a little popular boy, who couldn't be bothered with the new girl who'd he only talked to once. He might not have even realized that I was standing there waiting to talk to him. It sounds like an excuse but it justified it in my mind enough so that I could get over the whole incident.
Unfortunately, I wound up with a huge crush on Jared Cameron, one that has never completely faded—has grown in its intensity.
The sad part is that Jared still doesn't acknowledge my independent existence or count me as a friend. He knows my name, at least enough to ask to borrow a pen or briefly chat about a school assignment, but that is probably as much as he knows about me personally. I, pitifully, know all about him.
"…Kimberly?" Mrs. Curry startled me out of my daze. I jumped in my seat, banging my knee on the top of the desk, much to the amusement of the rest of the class.
"Huh?" I asked stupidly, eyes busily searching for a clue to what question or comment I had missed.
Mrs. Curry looked at me in exasperation. I felt guilty; she was a nice person and didn't deserve to have a class of inattentive students, me adding to her burden. "Please pay attention, Kimberly, and read the poem on the board."
I did as she asked, my face red but my words clear. I finished as fast as I could and she went on with her lesson. I made a point of half-listening in case she called on me again. I doubted she would but I didn't want to be caught unaware.
The bell sounded a few minutes later and I was going to rush hastily out of class but a particular name caught my ear.
"Hey, Mrs. C, can I have Jared's missed assignments? I'm going to drop them off at his house after school," Danielle chirped in her falsetto voice. It scratched unpleasantly at my ears; or maybe it was just her words that were doing that. She was a friend of Jared's but plainly wanted to be more. My only consolation was that he didn't give her the time of the day. They had dated briefly, two years ago, at the beginning of sophomore year. It hadn't lasted long for Jared, but seemed to not have ended for Danielle.
"That's very nice of you, Ms. Bly, but Mr. Cameron already came by yesterday to pick up his missed work."
I had been leisurely gathering up all my stuff, and messing around with my bag to make my delay seem valid, when her words froze me. So Jared was all right? I had been worried for the past two weeks, enough that I had called his home number and had hung up when he'd answered, his voice sounding gravelly. As long as he was alive, I was content to not freak out and stalk his house. That would have been a little much, even for me. But the more he was away from school, the more I was concerned. Hearing that he had gotten his homework settled nerves I didn't even know were there.
"Oh!" exclaimed Danielle, apparently as surprised by that as I was. "Is he coming back soon?"
"He should be recovered and back by tomorrow," Mrs. Curry said, making me feel even lighter. I didn't wait around to hear more because I only had two minutes to get to my next class. I felt so relieved and excited for the next day.
I fled down the hallway with an irrepressible smile.
