...
Seven Minutes From You
Part 3
blamethebluebirds
If I was having trouble getting Victoria out of my head before, I definitely couldn't stop thinking about her now. The mystery of her took up most of my mental capacity. I lost sleep, pouring over the troubling mess Victoria had somehow gotten herself into. What really worried me was that the seemingly shallow, rich girl also happened to be one of the brightest students in Blackwell, so how the hell had mystery guy managed to manipulate her so thoroughly?
Enough, Max. You don't even know what's really going on. It's none of your business anyway so just drop it.
But then I'd hear those muffled sobs all over again and the overwhelming urge to just do something would rear its annoying head and the thoughts would come streaming back, demanding my attention.
In class, Victoria seemed to be the ever-prevailing queen, dishing out verbal abuse and looking perfectly put together. Though she still seemed to be resolute in avoiding me. It was both a blessing (I didn't have to worry about being constantly insulted) and a disappointment (she barely even looked at me anymore).
I was broken from my internal musings when I overheard Victoria's name being said in a whispered conversation between two popular girls in class. I hated how my entire body seemed to stand at attention at just the casual mention of her name, like everything within me was ready to rise up and meet her at any given moment.
"What about her?" the more preppy one whispered, no doubt eager to gossip. Our history teacher was in the middle of a rant session about the Native Americans so the two went unnoticed.
"Madison told me her birthday is this Friday," Monica, the dark girl who sat in front of me, replied. She was pretty cool. Popular, but not a Vortex club member. Plus, she let me borrow her notes once. "Are you going to get her anything?"
"No way," the other replied, prissily. "Like, what would I even get her that she doesn't already have ten of?"
Monica looked thoughtful before nodding, "Yeah, you're probably right."
The girls turned back to the front and that was the end of the conversation. My mind raced with this new tidbit of information and as I sat quietly in the back of the class, zoning out, a tiny, absurd thought entered my brain. It stuck with me and by the end of the day it had grown into this massive, persistent idea that refused to be silenced.
It's official. I've completely lost my mind.
Even knowing what a deranged idea it was, it didn't stop me from mulling over a possible birthday gift. It became something like a rhetorical concept, just a 'what-if' scenario that never held any actual weight. Monica and her friend were right; Victoria certainly had enough money to buy anything she wanted. What could a high school senior with a minimum wage job possibly offer?
Impossibly, I somehow ended up with a present for Victoria anyway.
Okay, but it's not like I'm going to give it to her or anything.
Friday arrives too soon.
My first class is Science with Ms. Grant. And Victoria. I'm toeing the line between being both pleased to see her and dreading it deeply. I shuffle quietly into class, a bit early, and see that she's already there. She's seated on the far side of her room, speaking with one of her brainless dark spawn. Neither pay me any mind but I notice Victoria sit up straighter from the corner of my eye and I wonder if she's just as aware of my presence as I am of hers.
At my desk I have a clear vantage point of the girl from behind. She's impeccably dressed as always in pastel colors and I try not to become too engrossed with the way her grey, knee-high socks contrasts with the paleness of her thighs. My eyes trace the line of her, lingering at a long neck that seems proud but, also, vulnerable in its leanness.
The warning bell sounds abruptly, making me jump in my seat. A stream of students trickles into the room, several of them Vortex members. I wait for the fanfare to begin, complete with the exchanging of gifts and well-wishes but, surprisingly, no one approaches Victoria's desk. No one even stops to mutter a 'happy birthday'.
Confused, I double check the date on my watch. The fourteenth of November; Victoria Chase's birthday. Facebook confirmed it.
I mentally shrug, going about my day like any other. When lunch rolls around, I sit with Warren and Kate, the former dominating the conversation. Kate, bless her, tries to keep up with the fast paced, roundabout story the boy regales with exaggerated hand gestures. I zone out, all my focus trained on Victoria who, of course, sits at what's deemed the 'popular table', full of boasting jocks and gossiping preps. Again, there isn't any celebrating to speak of; no yelled invites to a party or special treatment.
Sitting there in the crowded cafeteria, it finally starts to sink in that no one bothered with Victoria's birthday. A deep sympathy surged through my chest, constricting my throat and, as if Victoria could feel it too, blue eyes skimmed the room until they locked on me. She gave a slight start at finding my gaze already fixed upon her and quickly looked away.
Well maybe no one else cares but I do, regardless of how much I try to pretend otherwise.
My hand slips into my camera bag and I unconsciously finger the gift I never planned on giving Victoria.
I slip unnoticed into the dimly lit auditorium. There are already several dancers on stage, stretching and warming up for practice in their skin tight suits. Victoria steps out from backstage with a well-dressed man I've occasionally seen around campus. Mr. Jefferson, my brain supplies. Apparently, he's a famous dancing coach or something and the sole reason many dance majors choose to attend Blackwell.
The man promptly claps his hands and his students wordlessly line up in two rows. As soon as a classical number crackles through the speakers, they're all set in motion.
Victoria is in the very front and I'm left in awe as she spirals in tandem with the others like they're all connected by invisible strings. There's a certain grace in her movements—a purpose—that I will never know. Her body sways to the melody, arcing low then leaving the earth with an elegant leap. My heart swells with some nameless feeling that fills up all my empty spaces. In that moment, she's so beautiful it hurts.
When the music slows to a halt, I feel like I've floated out of a dream.
Mr. Jefferson dismisses the group with a wave of his hand. The dancers all start to wander off backstage and I catch the tail end of Victoria slip behind the curtains.
I stay slumped in my seat for a time as, one-by-one, the dance majors file up the center aisle before leaving the auditorium, freshly showered and wearing normal clothes. By the time Victoria starts up the aisle, she must be one of the last ones to leave.
I stand from my seat, drawing her gaze. A surprised look crosses her face before her eyes narrow in suspicion. Even under the dim lighting I can tell that her hair is still a little damp, the blonde now dark ochre.
"What are you doing here, hipster?" She asks, uncertain. I must have really stunned her with my random appearance considering the lack of insults being thrown my way.
I don't really know how to answer that. "Happy Birthday," I mutter awkwardly instead, stuffing my hands in the pocket of my overly large hoodie and fiddling with the present hidden there.
She stares at me like I've sprouted an extra head. "Thanks," she states simply, almost like a question, but something passes behind her eyes and I somehow know I've said the right thing. She stalks up the aisle until she stands passively in front of me, shouldering her fancy gym bag.
"Um," I fumble, pulling the gift from my pocket then all but thrusting it towards her. "Here."
She glances at it before arching an eyebrow at me. "Mind explaining to me what the CD is for, weirdo?"
I frown. Isn't it obvious? "Your gift. From me."
"You do know were not friends, right?"
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
"I know," I shrug, acting like her sharp words don't cut me. Victoria hesitantly takes the CD case from me, our fingers accidentally brushing, and something lodges itself in my throat. I garble around it. "It's a playlist I burned for you."
"No thanks. That emo garbage you mistakenly call music isn't for me."
Yeah, definitely not a good idea.
I'm about to just call this whole thing off when Victoria shoves the CD in her gym bag. "Well it's not like I can take it to a department store and return it."
It dawns on me then and it's a wonder I haven't figured it out before; it's a front. All of it. The careless insults, the bitchy looks, the flippant attitude. It's a mask that Victoria wields with a vicelike grip and I have to wonder what kind of world she must live in where such a thing is necessary.
A toothy smile blooms on my face before I can stop it and, at first, Victoria seems taken aback by it but then I see a small tug at the corner of her lips and my grin grows impossibly wider.
"Vic—" I start to say, but I'm cut off.
"Victoria!" exclaims a loud voice that easily carries in the open design of the auditorium. My smile disappears as quickly as a flame blown out and Victoria's mask snaps sharply back into place.
'Enough with the attitude, Victoria.'
I recognize the voice immediately and I turn, seeing Mr. Jefferson leaning casually against the stage.
"I have to go," Victoria says dully. I watch wordlessly as she squares her shoulders and trudges over to him. It isn't until she's standing next to him that I realize how small and thin and young she is.
And, suddenly, I'm afraid.
Author's Note: Alright, so I think it's time we sat down and talked straight for a moment. This fanfiction will be exploring some dark themes (evidenced by both Chapter 2 and 3) and while it won't be anything too scandalous, this is a M-rated fic. Of course there will be plenty of the good, fluffy stuff as well but I just needed to make sure that everyone goes into this understanding that perfectly clear.
Now bring on the feels. *basks in the emotional turmoil I've caused*