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Seriously. If you're not going to review and tell me how much I suck, how much this story sucks (the opposite would be great, too!), you can just stop reading right now.
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I mean it.
Chapter Ten
It was raining. Not the kind of light, romantic drizzle you'd expect on a Sunday morning in late fall, but more of a soaking through my windbreaker, re-tangling my hair kind of torrential downpour.
Honestly, I'd tried to dress up. I wasn't, like, wearing a micro-mini dress or anything (no way, no how) but I'd put forth an effort, at least. My hair was pinned up with a silver clip. I wore my best pair of jeans and a lace top, tucked-in, collar perfectly in place. I'd even stuffed a pair of Kendra's silver metallic flats into my messenger bag on a whim.
My feet were, of course, stuffed into whale-printed rain boots from J. Crew.
I had a terrible taste in my mouth, though. Even if the caked-on layers of Revlon concealor hid my under-eye circles and the red grooves in my cheeks, nothing could take away the taste of Honey Nut Cheerios and mint toothpaste combined. So. Gross.
I was walking down the street. Every so often, I'd see a glossy-haired girl toting a huge purse and a just-as-huge latte. OCD girls and guys were notorious for hanging out in this part of Westchester - the downtown core - even if their lavish McMansions were further upstate.
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Derrick Harrington stood, shivering, outside the small cafe Massie had requested they meet at. His face was a sickly shade of pale, his lips almost blue. She was supposed to be here over an hour ago!
The worst part of it was everyone - even his own driver, Isaac, for God's sake! - was there to witness him being stood up by the most uncool girl in the entire school.
A raindrop trickled down his cheek.
Later, when asked, Saylene Homer would tell Aimee Colt that she had seen a single tear fall from the stony Derrington's melted-caramel eye. Aimee would shake her head, As if. Saylene would insist. The rumour would be started.
Derrington was lovesick, all right.
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LAYNE: How R U?
I bit my lip. In one gloved hand, I had a cup of organic green tea. Not quite as sugar-filled as I would've liked, but CoffeeWorld was out of iced caps, and there was no way I was dropping eight bucks across the street at Starbucks for one.
With my pinkie finger, I typed out:
MASSIE: so tired. late for The Date w/ dh. think he's gonna kill me?
In less than three seconds, a ping signfied a reply was made.
LAYNE: Nah.
Phew.
LAYNE: He'll prob hire a hitman to do the job. ;)
Greeeeatt. Just great.
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Three girls were huddled in the bright orange and sage green armchairs that were positioned in a circle at Starbucks. They each clutched Venti cups of espresso. Kristen's and Dylan's were topped off with plenty of whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Alicia's, however, was a bare as Derrick's butt during soccer season.
Slurping noisly, Kristen instigated the gossip-fest, "Did you see Cam Fisher on Friday?"
Alicia looked bored. Dylan looked intrigued.
When the blonde didn't respond, Alicia tapped her long manicured fingernails against the side of her white coffee cup. "And?" she pressed.
Kristen flipped her hair and leaned forward. With one surreptious glance over her shoulder to check for any nosy bystanders, she commented, "He was all buh-roody and stuff."
"That's it?" Alicia almost-screeched. All the dra-matic build-up for nuh-thing? Bo-ring.
"Not quite..." She smiled, glanced at Dylan, then revealed, "I think he's cuh-rushing on - get this -"
"Out with it already!"
"Hurry up!"
"Fine." Kristen rolled her blue-green eyes. "Claire Lyons."
"Did someone say my name?"
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Another nervous peek at my Timex told me I was running way late. I'd stopped to have a quick chat with Layne via messaging. The just of the convo? "You're so lucky, Mass!" A lot of winking emoticons were used.
I was almost at the cute little cafe, called Mira's Place, when I spotted him. Mr. Marks. My English teacher?
Through the windows of the hole-in-the-wall bookstore he was strolling through, I waved enigmatically. When he caught my gaze, his striking brown eyes lit up. He smiled widely and mouthed something along the lines of, "Come in!"
I did, of course. A quiet tinkling of bells sounded when I pushed open the heavy glass door.
He was waiting there, a large stack of books under his arm.
"Hey," I said shyly, "Couldn't find anything, could you?"
Mr. Marks laughed. "Nope," he agreed. "Nothing."
"Um, if you don't mind me saying..." I hesitated, his eyes urged me on. "Don't teachers usually live really far away from the schools they teach at?"
"Not when they don't have cars." He just grinned.
Quizzically, I asked, "You don't have a car?"
Mr. Marks shook his head. "No." He smiled again. "I thought green was the 'new black'? Isn't it hip now to take the bus?"
"I'll let you in on a little secret." I lowered my voice. "It's not 'hip' to say 'hip.'"
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All three, well-dressed, well-heeled girls turned around at the sound of a coy girl's voice. There she was. The same Claire Lyons. Her hair was a little more brassy, her bangs longer. She was still the same LBR, though.
They snubbed their noses at her. In one fluid motion, each Pretty Committee member raised their perfectly-slanted noses into the coffee-scented air.
"It's impolite to eavesdrop." Alicia shot the blond-haired freak a harsh glare. Claire didn't even flinch.
"I've got a...proposal for you."
Their interested were picqued.
"Shoot."
"You hate Massie, she ruined my life at OCD with her stupid red cards. Thus," she announced with a flourish of her pale-pink manicured hands. "I despise her, as well."
"So?" Dylan inquired, rolling her emerald green eyes.
"So." Claire clasped her hands. "Let's take her down."
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"Ugh!" I whisper-yelled at a soaking-wet Derrick Harrington. He looked like a puppy dog - kicked repeatedly. It...broke my heart to see someone - who I'd hurt - this way. "I am so sorry!"
"It's no problem," he muttered, uncharacteristically shy and dishevelled. "I should go, Massie." He hitched a thumb at a sleek black limo - the very same one we'd ridden in not days ago. It seemed like forever.
He turned on the heels of his sneakers.
"No, wait!" I called to his retreating figure. "You can't leave! I apologized; I can make this right!"
"No you can't." His eyes bore into mine. "It's too late. For everything."
I gulped. "I can fix this."
"No, you can't!" he argued, his face flushing an outraged shade of red.
"Yes. I can."
My pace painfully slow, I walked up to him. All the while, a completely un-romantic rain was pouring on us. I drew my hand to his cheek; it was frozen. And so pale. Like freaking Edward Cullen. Stop with the Twilight comparisons! I told myself.
Shoulders squared, I leaned in, ignoring the pressure of the midday rain.
And kissed him.