A/N: I normally try to keep my notes short, but today's an exception:
Would anyone like to be my beta reader? As pointed out from a reviewer, I do need one, and I think I really could use one too. Just email me or send me a review if you are interested. Thanks!
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The rest of my day was a considerable hell. During the course of the day, not only was I tripped, and had my books 'accidentally' thrown clear across the hallway floor, but I was also pushed, and bumped by people I knew were the friends and lapdogs of the 'Pretty Committee'. I will tell you this, they may be pretty on the outside, but their insides were ugly as sin.
But if the in-between time before class was hellish, than I couldn't name what lunch was.
I had brought a bag lunch, not wanting to wait in line, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do now. Layne wouldn't even look at me, and so sitting with Meena and Heather were completely out of the question. But every time I thought I had found a table I could sit at, there seemed to be no room. After the fifth time that had happened, I summarized that this was also part of my purgatory. I heaved a sigh, and left the cafeteria. I ended up wandering around the halls until I found an empty classroom. I ended up eating lunch in solitude.
--
When I got home from school, I felt like shit. But after feeling sorry for myself for about an hour, I finally decided to confront Layne. I told myself it was stupid to actually care about what Massie Block did, whether it was inflicting pain on me, or if it was laughing at someone else's jokes. But I did, I really did, and I hated myself for it. I hated how she had turned my friends away from me, I hated how she controlled an entire student body with only her eyes. But mostly, I hated her because she took Cam away from me. I thought about all of this on the elevator ride to Layne's apartment. She was on the top floor, the penthouse level. The doors slid open to reveal a short hallway with two doors on either side of me. I knew Layne's apartment was number 33, the one on the left. I rang the doorbell, and waited patiently. The door opened up to a tall buttery blonde-haired boy, with a red Briarwood High Lacrosse sweatshirt on with black Diesel jeans. He was gorgeous. His blue eyes were crystal clear, and he looked at me as if pleasantly surprised.
"Um, hello?" I asked, it coming out as more of a question. He simply smiled.
"You're Claire aren't you?" He knew my name too? I nodded, mutely, still in awe of the Adonis before me.
"Layne's in her room. Come on in." He let the door wider, and I walked in. Layne's living room freaked me out. It was a Art Nouveau kind of theme, with spotless white carpets and couches, and Jackson Pollock paintings adorning the walls. The only evidence that someone lived here was the issue of Sports Illustrated, and Diet Coke on the clear glass coffee table, and the NFL game on the T.V. Chris threw up his feet on the coffee table and took a swig of his Coke.
"Layne!" He yelled from the couch "You're friend's here!" He nodded at me, and I crossed the living room, passed the kitchen, and into a longer, wider hallway. I turned and knocked on the door with echoes of J-Pop emanating through the door. I opened the door, and saw Layne flipping through a copy Seventeen, with her iPod blasting Buck Tick. She looked up and smiled.
"Hey," she greeted me. And I remembered what I was here to do. I stood there, just looking at her for a little while, as she sat on her bed, smiling, as if nothing was wrong. As if today had never happened. It made me angry, to see her so unaffected.
"How can you smile after what's happened?" I demanded of her. Behind her, a new song started up, this time with a new artist. Layne's smile slipped off of her face quickly. She closed her magazine.
"You made your own bed with this Claire." My mouth hung open in shock.
"You're blaming me for what those girls are doing to me?!" I was incensed with fury. Layne only raised her eyebrows at my outburst.
"Claire," she began calmly, as a teacher explaining something to a small child. "You were stupid enough to get caught flirting with Massie Block's crush. What did you think would happen?" I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes as Layne flung these accusations at me.
"So why are talking to me now? Why did you ignore me at school and then act like everything's fine?" I struggled not to let the tears into my voice, but it was very difficult.
"No one can see what goes on in the privacy of your own home." Privacy? Her excuse was flimsy, how could she say that? The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them:
"That's it?! That's why you avoided me? You're scared of a sixteen year old girl! How could be so two faced?!" I screamed at her. Layne's face was set as marble, hard and edged, and I was scared I had gone too far.
"Don't yell at me." she enunciated slowly "For your mistakes. It's not my fault this happened to you. But what would you know about this anyway? You have nothing to lose."
I felt like I had been hit in the stomach, her words like knives. The tears were welling up in my chest, locking up my throat. I blinked the back furiously, as I spoke to her.
"No Layne, I lost a friend." I turned and fled, startling Layne's brother, flying out the door. I called the elevator, praying it would come soon. The tears were falling freely now, and the coppery taste of pennies filled my mouth. The doors slid open, and with no one in it, I filled the empty elevator car with my sobs.
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For the second time in two weeks, I found myself in Central Park. I sat on a park bench, depressed. I really needed to get out of this funk I was in. But I couldn't help it. Not even the glorious promise of a weekend cheered me. Just I was about to fall into the precipice of melancholy, a shadow fell across my body as something nudged my foot. I looked down, and saw an Adidas soccer ball underneath my bench. I glanced upwards and saw a figure clad in a tank top and mesh sports running towards me. It felt like I had boarded the Tower of Terror ride at Disneyworld. I swallowed, trying to quell my nervousness, as I saw the oh-so familiar figure run towards me.
"Hey, ball?!" Kristen shouted as she came closer. She stopped in front of me. "Oh, uh Claire," she said awkwardly. She licked her lips "Um, ball?" she asked, shaking me out of my stupor.
"Oh, right." I bent over and retrieved the ball from the grassy spot underneath the bench. I tossed it to her. Kristen deftly caught it with one hand. She still stood, holding the ball, as if she wanted to say something. I pursed my lips. But Kristen only shifted from foot to foot. Finally, she did speak: "So, Claire. I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping tomorrow…" she trailed off. I frowned slightly. Two sides within me raged, trying to decide whether I should even answer. If you've ever imagined those little angels and devils on people's shoulders, that's what I pretty much had right about now:
You should be nice to her, say you'll go.
Yeah, but she's been a total bitch!
Give her a second chance, Kristen could be sorry for all she's done.
Yeah, but-
For God's sake throw her a bone!
"Yeah, um sure. What time?" I asked, giving into the-rather aggressive- angel figment. Kristen's smile lit up her face, and I felt an teensy bit guilty for leaving her hanging like that.
"How about noon? We'll be going to the Westchester mall. I'm sure you'll be able to find on Yahoo Maps." I thought about her proposition, mulling it about in my brain. Oh what the hell? How bad could it be?
"I'll be there." I replied.
--
It turned out the Westchester mall was a two hour drive from where we lived. As you can imagine my mom wasn't exactly pleased when I asked her if I could borrow our car for a two hour drive. But she surrendered, as long as I promised to pay for any fill-up, along with promising to call her when I arrived and left the mall. I think my wallet took the brunt of the blow the most. So, when Saturday did arrive, I checked the gas gauge, praying I wouldn't have to pay for outrageously overpriced four-dollars-a-gallon gas. Luckily, my mom had half a tank left. So, at nine thirty, I took out my mom's Mercury out. I spent the majority of the commute avoiding other drivers as the blasted their horn at my petite, sixteen-and-seven month self. Needless to say, I was quite traumatized. I arrived at the Westchester Mall, I began to wonder if a mall was worth the pain and suffering inflicted from the drive up. But when my stomach growled, I knew I had no choice but to go inside the mall. I decided going into the Starbucks. Like all other stores, Starbucks has a uniform appeal to it, that I thought was a very endearing. I mostly went there for there for the Frappucinos and muffins. But this one seemed especially crowded. Well dressed women and teenage girls wearing Uggs and miniskirts in 78° weather carried delicate looking iced lattes, and writers sat plugging away at their slim Macbooks and Dell laptops. I had never felt so out of place in my life, with my Gap jeans and Abercrombie t-shirt. It also didn't help that while I toted a venti mocha Frappacino, other girls carried non-fat sugar free iced lattes. So, feeling like a crow in the midst of swans, I settled for a back table, and waited for Kristen,
--
Kristen didn't actually show up until twelve ten. I was a little ticked off, after all I had been waiting since eleven fifty. When she did arrive, I was dismayed to see she wasn't alone. Accompanying her was Massie, Dylan and Alicia. My eyes widened slightly as they sauntered into the Starbucks. I was beginning to regret the text I had sent to Kristen to tell her I was here, Sure enough, Kristen spotted me in my corner and waved. I wave back begrudgingly. Massie, Dylan and Alicia got in the line to the cash register, but Kristen broke away and sat down on the chair opposite of me. She frowned when she saw my dismayed expression.
"What up?" she asked, concerned. I looked at her like she had grown a third head? What was wrong? I just Punk'd that' s what!
"You told me it was just going to be us!"I hissed. But Kristen only shrugged, sitting back in her chair.
"No, no I did not. I said 'we', you didn't ask whom 'we' entailed. And this 'we' is you, me, and my friends." I felt my eye involuntarily twitch, and I wanted to slap myself for my stupidity. But I only put my head on the table, and sighed slowly, and deeply, somehow trying to let out all of my tension, and anguish.
This much was clear to me: God hated me.
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Disc.: I own nothing you recognize.