Valentine's Day- Eighth Grade
"Scott's gonna take me to see a romantic movie this year!" Allison chirped as she and I got out of our Honors English class, "Can your Dad drive us to the mall? Just don't tell my Mom 'cause she gets mad when I go shopping. Says I spend too much money."
Allison and I eventually made up after that fateful Valentine's Day a year ago, with us missing each other too much to be apart. Stiles Stilinski harassed me so much that I felt I needed my stronger, braver friend by my side to fight him off. And it got only better when Scott and Allison began to seriously date, which in middle school terms meant holding hands in between classroom, and maybe Scott carrying Allison's books occasionally.
Stiles stuck by Scott though, even when he completely stepped aside when Stiles and Jackson decided to still throw mounds of Kool- Aid on me as well as tie me shoelaces together while I sat in American History, causing me to immediately fall on my face upon getting up.
Scott sure was a different person than the year before, and it all had to do with his girlfriend Allison. For she basically gave him an ultimatum- he could continue harassing me like the rest of his moronic friends and not be able to make out with Allison (something he discovered that he particularly enjoyed) or be able to make out with Allison (something he particularly enjoyed). He chose the latter, much to his friends' dismay, for they couldn't conceive why a guy would pick an "icky girl" over them.
"Sure," I replied, balancing my books on one arm, "You gonna get a new dress?"
Allison thought for a moment, as if the question required deep consternation, "No, I might use the black and pink polka-dotted one I bought last week. I just really need to get new lip gloss. Scott loves it when I wear strawberry lip gloss."
"Cool," I said absent-mindedly. I wondered what I was going to do on this horrible day. Last year I just stayed at home with my dad, watching old movies on American Movie Classics. Of course, with my only being twelve at the time, Anthony Brown failed to worry about his daughter having a valentine. But I myself hoped I would be spending it with friends, and it sure looked like I wasn't going to this year.
"I got you a valentine present." Allison handed me an assortment of chocolates from Godiva she took out from the second compartment of her sleek, new backpack. "It's the best chocolate ever."
"Thanks. Wait a minute." I put down my books by the nearest bench in the courtyard belonging to the eighth graders and rummaged through my new red Jansport, "Here, I got something for you too, even though you already have a valentine."
"Don't be dumb," the petite girl joked, her eyes shining at the brightly wrapped little red box, "I can have two valentines, you and Scott."
Unlike most girls her age, Allison carefully picked removed the scotch tape around the corners, finally unwrapping the pretty wrapping paper without ripping it apart. She gasped as she twirled around a tiny, see through, purse with little handles that contained two sets of lipstick.
"I hoped you'd like it," I began, all the while shifting my weight from one foot to the other, "Now you don't have to go to the mall."
Allison broke into a huge grin, and immediately wrapped her tiny arms around me, hugging me tightly.
"Thanks, I love it."
The bell rang.
"See you at lunch?" Allison asked, already walking towards her class.
"Of course."
As I entered my fifth period English class and sat down in my assigned seat in the fourth row, I feel as if nothing could bring me down. I've gotten a really good present for Valentine's Day and on top of that, Allison loved her present. Nothing, not even Stiles Stilinski, who sat right in back of me, could ruin my day. I wouldn't let him, not like last year.
"Smells," he whispered as I opened my notebook, ready to take notes.
Ignoring him was my best option, so I said nothing. I attempted to pay attention while Mr. Wilkins called roll and proceeded to drone on about "The Old Man and The Sea", completely oblivious to the harassment I was experiencing with my tormentor.
"Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells" he whispered, as if in a chant.
I was finally at my breaking point, which was exactly what Stiles wanted.
"What?" I hissed, only half-turning to look at him, for I did not want Mr. Wilkins to get suspicious.
"You have a valentine this year."
"Who?"
"Do I hear whispering while class is going on?" Mr. Wilkins questioned monotonously, as if the new observation didn't faze him in the least, "Do I have to separate you two?"
Oh, God. Please…
"No, it's fine," Stiles replied, his voice low and respectful, "I was just asking Sarah for a piece of paper."
"Next time, be better prepared for class," Mr. Wilkins warned, finally turning his back to the class and proceeded to write some drabble about tone and symbolism on the board.
"You have a valentine this year. I'm surprised, since you're super weird. You're not human."
I felt as if my heart would break. I just wish I could smash Stiles' head onto the desk, repeatedly, mercilessly.
"I don't care. I don't need one. And I'm not weird. You're just an asshole."
Stiles shook his head. "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. There's no need for that kind of language. And you are weird. But you have an admirer."
"Who?" I ventured to ask.
"The love of your life…Jackson."
I immediately whipped my head around, not caring that Mr. Wilkins might see. Stiles grinned from ear to ear.
"Oooh, that got your attention. You only pay attention to me once I mention perfect Jackson," he said with just a twinge of bitterness, only to be replaced a second later with a devilish smile, "He wants to meet you by the lockers after school."
"Why couldn't he tell me himself?"
"He thought you wouldn't go because you wouldn't think that he really meant it."
"I don't."
"He's too shy to say."
I eyed him quizzically, "Jackson's not shy."
"He is with girls he likes," Stiles gazes at me seriously, "He's too afraid to tell you. He thinks you'll say no."
As I continued to hold his gaze, I sensed that he was telling the truth. I really wanted Jackson to like me, and I would believe what anyone said about him feeling the same way that I felt about him, even if it was Stiles Stilinski himself.
"Tell him yes," I whispered, butterflies beginning to flutter in my stomach.
Stiles broke out into a full-fledged grin. "He's gonna be happy. I'll tell him right after class."
I narrowed my eyebrows as I turned around in my seat to face the blackboard. Stiles was acting too nice; it was unsettling…and just weird.
I whipped around to face him the moment Mr. Wilkins' back was turned. "You for real?"
"Of course," he smiled, leaning forward until he was only inches from my face. I could smell the tic-tacs on his breath, "You're ugly but for some reason he likes you. Thinks you're pretty."
Stiles then made a point to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Without thinking about it, I smiled, really smiled. I felt elated. The butterflies seemed to multiply within my stomach. Jackson thought I was pretty. A boy never thought that about me, and I couldn't help but think that this was the best Valentine's Day ever.
Stiles noted the glow on my face, the sudden color to my cheeks, and the disgusted look on his face faltered a little, "You really like him?" his voice was hesitant.
"Yeah," I breathed, forgetting who I was talking to.
"He'll meet you by the lockers after school," Stiles said tersely, and his attention suddenly focused on Mr. Wilkins, signaling that our little exchange was over.
I returned my gaze to the board as well, feeling as light as a feather and as happy as I could be.
I waited by the eighth grade lockers, not telling Allison anything. Allison barely noticed that her friend was still hanging around school once the last bell rang, only waving to her good-bye as she got into the school bus with Scott, both of them holding hands. Allison told me at lunch that her parents already thought she was going to hang out with me after school. But now that Allison had her new lip-gloss, she had no need to go to the mall with her bosom buddy, and opted to spend the rest of Valentine's Day with her boyfriend and ride the school bus with him to his house. How Allison was going to manage to get home was a mystery to me, since her parents had no idea she was going to be in a boy's house…without her permission. I rolled my eyes at my courageous friend, for I would never do something so careless.
I turned the dial on my locker door and finally got it open, attempting to do anything to distract myself from looking too desperate. I fiddled around with the books I had inside, trying to look as if I was deciding what books to take.
"Hi, Sarah," a deep voice that had obviously just hit puberty spoke up from behind me, causing me to drop all my books to the ground.
"Here, let me," and he bent over and lightly retrieved the three heavy textbooks that were half-opened, the brand new pages now folded with the impact of the fall.
"Thanks." I held out my hands, lowering them instinctively once the weight of the objects were felt in my arms.
"Uh, wanna be my valentine?" Jackson asked suddenly.
"Sure," I tried to act nonchalant, but didn't know if it was working, for I could sense more than anyone else how much my voice quavered.
Jackson grinned, looking behind him. "Can I- Can I hug you?"
My eyes felt as if they were going to bug out of their sockets. Hug me? It was a dream come true.
"Yeah, sure."
Act cool. Act cool. Don't spaz out.
Jackson immediately wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. I felt something lift up on my back, my crotch tightening a bit, but the feeling was soon gone. He felt so warm, so strong; more so than any eighth grader should. And I couldn't help but close my eyes, wanting to make the moment last forever.
But my admirer quickly broke away from me.
"I gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Wait for me?" And before I could answer, he dashed off in the opposite direction, leaving me to look after him, perplexed.
It wasn't too long before a few seventh graders passed by the eighth grade lockers, laughing hysterically before I turned to them, and they immediately changed the expression on their faces, only to continue their laughter once out of my sight.
People kept looking at me and laughing. A flush of heat crept up my cheeks, making me hunch up my shoulders as if willing myself to hide from everyone's ridiculing gaze. I checked my clothes. No stains, nothing mismatching, everything looked fine. What the hell was going on?
"Haha. It's true," I heard someone exclaim once he came to stand in front of me.
"What's true," I asked nervously, afraid to hear the answer.
"You got camel toe!" He pointed to my crotch.
I bent my head down, seeing clearly that my shorts were tight in the front, revealing two little lumps, barely noticeable to a casual observer but still there.
"Oh, My God," I exclaimed. I then remembered the feeling of something being lifted from my back when Jackson hugged me and once I brought me arms around my back, I felt a pin that brought my pants a little higher than they should be, and upon raising my arms a hand a bit above the pin I noticed that it was attached to the middle of her loose-fitting shirt. I also felt a piece of paper once going up a little higher. I quickly ripped the paper, only to find in huge, bold, black print something that horrified me immensely, "I have Camel Toe" was written on the front, with an exclamation and everything.
I was going to cry, I knew it. I hate Jackson Whitmore. Hate him so much.
"Smells," another voice said behind me.
I turned around to see the brown-haired demon himself. He was the cause of this. He always was.
"Wow. Didn't know you had a huge, camel toe.' He then laughed, "No wonder Jackson went running."
"You did this," I accused, pointing at him as my eyes watered, "This was your idea. I know it."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Stiles smiled evilly, "Happy Valentine- Camel toe day!"
He ran off, howling with laughter.
Last year's fiasco was nothing compared to this. I loathed Valentine's Day with all my being, but I loathed Stiles Stilinski even more.