Six: Not My Type

Joining Yearbook was probably one of the smartest decisions I made in my life. In fact, I had managed to establish my harem in the Yearbook room as practically every girl in the room pampered me like a king. This was living life to the fullest, except that I barely got any chance to talk to Maria. For instance my so-called partner, the Maya or Miley girl, was stuck to me like glue. She constantly showered me with questions and she constantly had me in her watch. Like if I wanted to go use the restroom, that girl would immediately ask where I was going. She was starting to get way more annoying than Natasha, who wouldn't leave me alone about First Beach. How come she couldn't just Google map the place? La Push was small, but I doubt that Google would forget to write down its road directions when they had directions for places in islands like Jamaica.

"So... Paul," that Miley girl started as she usually does when she wants to have some sort of conversation with me.

"Hmm?" I answered politely as I could. I learned through the past few days that Maria had a slight smile on her alluring lips whenever she heard me sound polite or nice. If I could get her to smile like that, I would attempt to be polite as much as I could without snapping.

"What type of girl is your type," Miley asked eagerly. In the back of my mind, I wanted to answer "not you", but of course I couldn't answer that bluntly. To be honest, I never really thought of what "type of girl" I like. I had always had sexy girls come up to me to have some little fun. It was never me working or chasing after some girl, and that would probably never happen. I basically assumed that Maria would come around sometime when she realizes how hot I am and how much of her world I could rock. It was a proven fact that all girls had a thing for bad boys. I would know since I immediately gain more ladies after punching Liam Reeds, the beloved quarterback of La Push High during my freshman year. But even if I knew that Maria would come around eventually, she probably wouldn't walk over to me due to a sudden eureka that I was hot and the king of fucking. Like a farmer waiting for scrumptious fruits to grow on a tree, I would have to plant the seed and feed it water. Thus, I had already planted my seed with my approaches. But she didn't seem to understand my interest for her. So now, it was time to water the seed.

"My type," I started, glancing at Maria nervously, is..."

I thought that speaking out my type of girl would have been easy. In fact, I thought that I could be able to say it out smoothly. "Someone like Maria," that's all I needed to say and yet my tongue was twisted into a knot. It didn't help that my heart seemed to be pounding at an irregular speed. Why can't I say it?

"Your type is," Miley probed. Suddenly, I wished she had never asked that question. It was embarrassing enough that I would be saying something cheesy, but the fact that I was nervous to say a cheesy line was even more frustrating.

"My type is," I tried again, glancing once more at Maria. I could do this.

"Maria."

All noise around the room suddenly fell silent as everyone - well, girl - stared at the back of Maria's head. I nervously waited for her to reply. What if she didn't want me? What if she full on rejected me? What if I wasn't her type? Well, if she didn't want me or if I wasn't her type, I would try my best to become a man that she'd fall in love with. But if she fully rejected me? As much as I wanted to boast that there was no girl who had the nerve and right mind to reject me, Maria was different from those girls. Sure, she occasionally blushed a bit when I got too close to her face, but that was a common reaction from every girl whether the guy may be hot or not.

I felt my heart nearly stop as she turned around and pulled out her earbuds.

"What?"

"You weren't listening... were you," a girl pointed out as I felt humiliated for the first time. I had confessed my heart out, and the one person who I wanted to listen to this confession hadn't even bothered. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed, hurt, or angry.

"Are we changing the layout or something," she inquired obliviously as she raised an eyebrow.

"You just missed it," the girl continued.

"What did I miss?"

"Paul's type of girl," the girl answered.

"Well, he's not my type," Maria replied back. My heart shattered to pieces as those words echoed inside my head. It had been the first time that I had ever confessed and meant it. In fact, I was always used to girls throwing themselves at me. In the seventeen years I lived, I never really cared much about liking and loving. Girls would always come and go, while I enjoyed the fun. There was never this attraction I felt toward any girl until now. But as her words "he's not my type" rang inside my head, I felt humiliated as she easily brushed my confession. This is why I didn't commit to girls. This is why I never wanted to imprint. This is why I didn't throw my heart out to people.

But even though my mind gave out excuses and reasons of not to take her light rejection to heart, I couldn't help but grab her thin wrist and drag Maria out of the classroom.

My mind was blank as Maria tried to pull away her wrist from my firm grip as I dragged her wherever I could. I just wanted to be alone with her. I wanted to doubt the fact that she wasn't interested in my type. Perhaps she had already stereotyped me of liking those play bunny cover girls. Sure, I can't really like that I don't like staring at them, but it was practically normal for a guy to once in a while drool over them.

"Would you stop for a minute," Maria's voice rang as she panted behind me. Her order was my wish and I immediately stopped. Only, she crashed into my back and groaned out an "oww."

"Sorry... just that... I need us to be alone," I stammered as I tried to explain.

"But I don't want to be alone with you," I bluntly snapped as she tore her wrist from my grip. I felt my chest tighten painfully as the sparks I felt between our skin contact disappeared.

"Well... I-I want to know what type of guy you like. How can I change to make you like me," I asked, running a hand through my jet black hair with frustration. I wanted to know her type so I could become the man of her dreams. I wanted to become the man that she'd die to be alone with - in a good way kind of die- me.

Maria opened her mouth as if to speak. I waited.

"You don't really think that right," Maria laughed, treating my speech like a joke.

I nearly shook with anger as I defended, "Of course I think that! That's why I've been trying. Now tell me what you don't like about me and I promise I'll change." I couldn't help, but cornered her against the wall. I didn't want her to leave or escape just yet. I had to know why she tried to resist my hotness. She didn't even try to glance at me when I talked to her. It was abnormal on her case, unless she wasn't attracted to men.

"Everything," she hissed.

"What," I asked. Perhaps I had misheard her. Or perhaps she just wasn't interested in men?

But she proved me wrong as she spat, "I said that I hate everything about you! The fact that you can treat a girl like they're trash. The fact that you take pleasure in toying someone's heart. The fact that once you've achieved your notch on your bed, you'll completely forget them. I hate your face too. It makes me disgusted to see it. That stupid smirk you make just flashes arrogance. Your voice too. I hate it. It lures people in, catches their attention, and it's perfect for humiliating someone. Besides, what does it matter to you? Why does it matter whether I'll like you or not. This is just high school, Paul. There's other fish in the sea! You don't honestly think that I'd fall for the same stupid game twice right? Because believe it or not, I'm not that gullible anymore. So go away and play your stupid game with someone who would kill to be with you because I'd rather die than have any sort of association with you."

As she walked away, suddenly, my life felt as though it ended. I was doomed, forever alone, forever unloved. She seemed to know how my mind used to roll. Why?

[i]"This just high school, Maria. You can't honestly say that you believed me. I mean, seriously? This isn't some sort of flimsy Nicholas Spark story."[/i]

A distant memory seemed to focus inside my brain as I remember that girl. She had been blonde, beautiful light brown eyes, and a "Maria". In fact, she had been the first girl I ever took desperate measures. I met her parents, let her meet my mom, and I had taken her on many dates. She had been a new girl at that time. She had worn flowery blouses, knee-length skirts, and penny-loafers, which I had found interesting at the time. Those nerdy clothes had automatically indicated that she was a virgin. I mean, you couldn't really blame me; her clothes screamed aloud "This girl is a virgin". Last year, I had been on a search for virgins. What better than fucking tight vaginas and seeing them blush madly at the erotic moans? If I remember correctly, she had probably been one of the best fucks I ever had.

But there were times when I remembered those light brown eyes filled with hurt, sorrow, and betrayal. Even if I didn't remember the girl's name, I remembered her eyes. Fate was fucked as imprinting on Maria led me back to those light brown eyes. She had been that Maria. This time, no ounce of my charms would attract her to me. She knew my tricks, my hook-up lines, and most of all, she knew that I never really took "I love you" seriously. She wouldn't believe me now, even if I screamed my heart out and confessed aloud that I was in love with her. Filled with misery, I left the school, phasing into a wolf once I got to the woods.

I was hopeless and this matter was beyond repair.

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