Replies:
Strawberry-Shortcake01- Um, Linds, newsflash. Suze can't be finally happy, because Jesse isn't in New York to stay. But obviously she WILL be happy. Eventually. I love puppies. :sigh: Oh, and I love what you said about the rats. And the doorknob! And you!
DarkenedStar- HAHA! Evil $&#$. :snorts: Very, very true. Yes, Jesse's alive. Among a thousand other things, that fact is different than in the books.
Lisa-Beth- Aw. You always make me blush. Oh gosh, I do have the story pretty much all planned out, but it's the length I can't control. Aaah. Teehee, I'm trying to portray Jesse as best as possible, but that's proving to be quite hard. The old-fashioned-ness I can do. And maybe nice and sweet. But the, uh, hottness? I have trouble there. LOL.
BillThePonyLlama- Of COURSE I read all that! I love long reviews. :) Besides, your hyper/witty/random remarks make me want to dance. And that's weird, since I suck more at dancing than I do at singing, and my voice can wake up the dead. But anyway… you're not a loser for having already bought your dress! Isn't that what Suze did too in Ninth Key? Oh darn. Can't remember. You're not mental. You sound perfectly sane to me. My words probably taste like toothpaste, since that's the only thing that touches my tongue these days. P.S. I'm not in the least sorry I hurt Elfie's feelings. If the writing thing doesn't work out for me (which it probably won't), I plan on being a psychologist/therpist. I'm sure Elfie would have more problems then, being short and small and possibly ugly and all… so just send him to me!
Mrs. Nikki Slater- I LOVE YOUR NEW NAME!
UnangelicHalo- Katty, I was planning on making Paul do something way crueler to that poor dog. But then the animal activist in me wouldn't let me write it. So I had to settle for that kick. :( I don't know if the door thing was suppose to be funny either… I can't write funny. When I try, it sounds like I'm overdosing on pencil shavings.
blue x crush- Well, um. :smiles sheepishly: Never mind. Haha, Tuck Everlasting quotes… I guess they would make sense, since Suze is obsessed with it. :snorts: I still have trouble believing that. I can't really imagine Suze being obsessed with that movie… (Oh, Linds is going to kill me…)
Kimou- Oh, don't worry, Jesse will be doing plenty of holding her later on. After, you know, she's all heartbroken over PAUL. :D Okay. I'm sorry for saying sorry. I actually like writing long chapters…
Little Tinkerbell Girl- Thank you, Tinky. But I think the emotion in this chapter sucks. I had a very strong urge to delete the whole thing. :sigh: Aw, you're so sweet! You know, in the yearbook, I wasn't even voted "Most Likely to Write a Book." I was voted "Most Studious" and "Most Likely to Succeed." Pfft. That's basically the same thing, since in order to succeed, I need to write a book. :rolls eyes:
Gen. Kenobi- :blinks: G.K., I never enter the contests on MCBC because unlike you, I have no self-confidence. And you were characterizing completely RIGHT. Suze IS more of a typical girl, since I'm sure no rockin' Suze Simon would be obsessed with Tuck Everlasting. :snickers: But I can't portray Suze as she is in the books anyway, so I like it this way. :)
Mysteriously Mystical- Thank you:D Sure, I'll keep them long. I'm not capable of making them short anyway.
Arianna Sunrise- Haha, frightening? I can't write scary stuff to save my life. It always comes out sounding ridiculous. But yeah, Jesse's in! P.S. Kudos to your friend for dumping him, even if for the wrong reason.
nebulia- Well, I liked the fact you were yaying Paul! I mean, it's what I would've been doing. But yaying mommy rat was just weird... I can understand it if you were yaying her to kill her ingrate children... okay, KIDDING. Anyway, I love night people. Or two-in-the-morning-early people. :D
Agent Spanish Sweetheart- Aaaaah, I don't even know where to start. Replying to everything would take forever, and when I ramble, I sound downright deranged. (Wow, I made an alliteration! Go me.) So, I'll just say this: Thank you a BILLION times, ASS. Your review truly brightened my night. P.S. Suze took the rats to the animal shelter. P.P.S. Wow. I really made you feel ill? Aw! I'm so happy!
ML- Hi! Thank you. Instead of being typical and tell you to "read on to find out," I'll just answer your questions. Yes. And Yes.
somerandom- Thank you! That really made me feel good, since for some reason, I hate everything I write right now. I think it's summer-sadness...
tokengirl- Yeppers, Suze'll see Jesse in California when she moves there. I'm VERY excited about writing it, since if I write anything more of Paul hurting Suze, I think I'm going to throw up. :grimaces:
A/n- I say this every chapter. I do. And now I have to say it again:
This part turned out to be way too long, and I had to cut it in half.
:sigh: And some changes have been made (again). This is no longer eight parts. It's now two parts. The first part is called Paul Slater and the second is Jesse De Silva. Those that used to be parts are now called chapters.
Right now, the estimate is around ten chapters, but I can't promise anything.
Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming. :)
Chapter 4: Diagrams and Positions
My voice, which had been one with the wind for at least five or ten minutes, died suddenly as I finished pouring my guts out. There was a moment of silence as Jesse digested my words. Or, rather, my speech. Glancing sideways at him, I saw an intent expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed together.
Unexpectedly, at that moment, a desire to smooth them back into their rightful places flooded into me.
But then, it was gone as quick as it came. I was back to looking at him again, at his frown as he thought about what I'd said.
"Susannah," he murmured after awhile, startling me. The frown disappeared, and I realized I had been obliviously staring at him for some time. I made some weird nasal voice and went, as composed as I could be, "What?"
"So let me get this straight," He cast a glance at me and then started to paddle faster. "You liked this guy for a year because you thought he was perfect. You were overjoyed when this quote perfect unquote guy showed interest in you and you two started dating. But from then on, he has done some things that made you doubt his loyalty, and now you think he might not be so perfect after all. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And why is it," he continued after nodding at my answer, "that you want him to be perfect?"
"Um," I said, thinking how obvious it is. "Because I want a perfect love. If the guy's perfect, then he has the ability to make me feel perfect. And if I feel that we're both perfect… then that's when our love is perfect."
After I was done, I realized that my words didn't sound right. Instead of flowing together and making perfect sense, they sounded like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in the wrong order, or with some letters missing. Jesse looked at me strangely. I let out this nervous giggle, and mumbled, "it sounded better in my head."
I felt him smiling. His voice was gentle when he asked, "And why is that, Susannah? Why do you want a perfect love so much?"
Never before had I needed to explain that to anybody. No one who knew -which wasn't a lot, unless you think "one" is- questioned it. Ever since we entered our teenage years and started to notice boys, I'd always been this way: wanting that perfect guy, wanting to feel perfect, wanting to finally have that perfect love…
And because that's the way I'd always been, Gina thought nothing of it. She just assumed it was normal. That it was just how I was born like, what I was born thinking and believing.
So now, for the first time ever, someone was asking why. Why, exactly, I needed that perfect love so badly.
I should've felt weird about explaining my most innermost thoughts to a complete stranger. After all, I knew almost nothing about him, and vice versa. Here he was, asking the question with the answer that I'd never spoken out loud before. And true, the answer itself wasn't much of a secret. But still, it was about me.
But it wasn't weird. Nothing about it was. There was no tension in the air, no static in our electricity.
Everything felt normal and relaxed. I didn't want to be the one to break that natural bond. I didn't want to be that pair of scissors, cutting apart a picture perfect image. I didn't want to be the sudden shake of an artist's hand, smearing and besmirching that once flawless painting. I didn't want to be the one left to blame. I didn't want to mess up again by letting my insecurity stand in the way.
After taking a deep breath, I told him.
"Because, Jesse, everything in my life is a mess and it has been since the day I was born. My dad died when I was young, and my mom has blamed his death for every wrong thing that has happened to me since. I've been to the therapist's office countless times. Not because I truly have problems; but because my mother is convinced that just because I didn't -and still don't- have boys calling me day and night, that I'm a social pariah, that I don't do all the stuff regular girls do, I'm not normal. She thinks somewhere along the way, something went wrong with me. She thinks to this day, I'm still greatly shaken up over my father's death. She thinks I'm still not over it.
"The only thing she's right about is the fact I'm not normal. I haven't been since age two when I discovered something… out of the ordinary about me, I guess. I have this ability that prevents me from living a typical teenage life. I can't be like other girls and only worry about make-up, and fashion, and boys, or whatever. Most of my time is spent doing this so-called 'job' I have, which mainly consists of helping people I don't even know, much less care about. I don't want to do it. But like I said, I have to. I don't know how or why I was given this ability. But one thing's for sure: I don't want it."
I exhaled, and was ready to go on. "And so because-"
But at that same time, Jesse spoke up. "Are you speaking of-"
We both stopped. I stole a look at him, and was surprised to note that his cheeks were tinted redder than usual. The streetlight illuminated his face more, and I saw a dark lock of hair fall onto his features, covering the eyebrow with that mysterious scar.
"You go first," he said hurriedly. He struck me as someone who strongly agreed with the concept of "Ladies first," and I knew arguing with him would make no difference.
So I pushed my curiosity down and hedged forward.
"Anyway, so this 'gift' of mine took away any hope of me ever having a normal life. All it has done is make my life miserable and a total mess. My mother is convinced I'm deranged, my father is dead, and my best friend… well, aside from the fact she doesn't understand why I'm always in trouble with the police, she's the only right thing in my life. Everything else is so far from how I want it to be.
"Because, you know, I couldn't plan my life. Every time I tried, something always went wrong. I had absolutely no control over what happened. So, love. I thought that was one thing that can be right for me. I thought that that was the sole thing I have even the tiniest bit amount of power over. And I wanted my love to be utterly perfect."
The night air stood still as I paused to take a breath. All chirping of night birds and bugs had stopped. The rumble of the buses couldn't be heard anymore. All that was with Jesse and me was the moonlight, and the buildings and trees that light lit up.
It was a deserted and ugly street, but somehow, I felt like I was in one of those utopian places where I actually blended in with my surroundings. Where I actually belonged. Where I actually felt as if I wasn't the only abnormal girl out there, where there were others who were misunderstood, just like me.
"You have to understand" -I took a step closer to Jesse so there wasn't such a huge gap between us anymore- "I thought that if my life couldn't be perfect like that of a movie, my love life just had to be. I mean, I didn't expect a simple and unrealistic love like those in Meg Ryan movies or whatever. I wanted more than to meet my other half. I wanted to truly feel the magic. I wanted to feel the spark every second I'm with the guy. I wanted the love to be undefeatable, to be unconquerable. I wanted it to 100 percent perfect."
I wanted it to be exactly like the love of Winnie and Jesse.
"Because everything else in my life is horribly, unbelievably, utterly WRONG," I concluded, playing with the strap on my purse. "I just wanted one part of it to be perfect: love."
I don't know what kind of response I was expecting from Jesse. I truly don't. All I know is, I expected something. An answer of some kind to show that he heard me, that he understood.
But I didn't get any sympathetic nod or considerate words. Instead, what I got was a matter-of-fact, cliché remark. What he said was: "The world isn't perfect, Susannah. Just like nothing in it is ever fair."
After I realized that he wasn't going to continue with any acknowledgment at all regarding my predicament, I said, trying not to sound too disappointed; "True. But that doesn't mean humans can't strive to be perfect. It doesn't mean that us humans can't try to be fair."
"Susannah-" He started to say, but I cut him off.
"All my life, I've heard again and again that nothing is perfect or some contingent of it. No one, with the possible exception of hopeless romantics, even believes that there is someone out there that's perfect. I-"
Now it was Jesse's turn to interrupt me. I know he hated doing it; I know he really had to say something, because otherwise he would never interrupt anyone, especially a girl. Someone with his manners just isn't capable of that.
"About what you said, Susannah." He even stopped paddling the bike. Putting his feet on the concrete ground to steady himself, he looked over at me. I felt the heat of his gaze boring into the back of my head, and I had no choice but to stop also.
"You said that some believes there actually is someone in this world that's perfect," He stated simply, his voice soft. "What you didn't say is that the person isn't necessarily all perfect. The person isn't filled with perfection to the bone. Not at all. That person out there is perfect for someone else. Neither of them need to be perfect. They just need to be perfect for each other."
I twirled a lock of my hair, something I only do when I'm really and truly upset. "I know that, Jesse," I said in answer. Instead of looking at him, I was then keeping my eyes focused on my bare feet. I couldn't meet his gaze, because I know what I would see in there if I did. "I know that. But don't you understand? I don't want just a perfect love. I myself want to feel perfect too. And because I know I'm not perfect, I need a perfect someone who can make me feel that way. I need a man who has no imperfections."
This is when I made the mistake. This is when I couldn't help it anymore and lifted my eyes from my feet, up to the empty road ahead of us, and finally, finally to his face.
His eyes. And what it was that I saw in there.
Hurt. Hurt so deep and abysmal that it would've broken the heart of the coldest person on Earth.
As I looked on, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, Jesse got off the bike and walked over to me.
He stopped and left exactly one breath of air between us. In the back of my mind, I saw dimly, in slow motion, as he lifted his right hand. His fingers stopped on the very tip of my chin. After several seconds of heart-stopping uncertainty, he tilted my face up with his index and middle finger.
It was then that I got a better view into his eyes. His soul.
Two pools of black ink… two murky windows, suddenly clouded over with a single puff of winter breath. Suddenly closed over with a single sentence. Perhaps even a single word.
"Listen, Susannah." His voice was even quieter than before. The softness of it made my heart ache with a pang that I couldn't define just then. "Your Mr. Right… he doesn't have to be perfect. He doesn't. And you don't need to feel perfect to be perfect. In someone else's eyes, you may actually be perfect."
I started at his remark. My chin and his fingers lost their connection. Jesse recoiled; he drew back as if his touch could make me combust.
A part of me was sorry. Another part of me, a bigger part, did not care just then.
Because his words, his last words… they described me. Exactly. In my eyes, Paul Slater is perfect. Or used to be, anyway.
Without realizing it, Jesse had just managed to bring back memories of my infatuation with him. Memories of what had happened earlier tonight.
I couldn't help the feeling of bitterness that flew into me then.
"Can we just go?" I grumbled, starting to walk again.
I glanced back, and saw a frustrated Jesse running his hand through his hair. For a second, an image of me doing that jumped into my mind.
I pushed it to the farthest corner of my heart.
"What is your glitch, anyway?" I asked, referring to his surprising reaction to my wanting a perfect man.
He ignored me as he got back on his bicycle and started paddling ever so slowly again. It didn't look like he was going to answer me.
I have to admit, I was quite offended.
After some time, I found us sidling along in yet another silence. And this time, it bothered me.
When we reached an intersection, I had had enough. I was about to turn to him and demand an explanation when he at last spoke up.
"Just be glad" -His voice, I decided, would definitely take the pie for silkiest- "that you at least can choose for yourself, Susannah. At least the decision of who you can woo and marry is in your hands."
I blinked. I looked up at the red light, and then the walking sign across the street. Jesse wasn't moving, and I wasn't about to go on and leave him there.
"What do you mean?" I was thoroughly confused.
Once again, the guy decided to ignore me.
"How much longer is it to your apartment?" He asked me.
"Um." I was still puzzling over his words. "Well, when I started, I had already made a really long detour to the animal shelter. I guess there's still quite a way to go."
The appalled look that dawned on his face got me thinking.
"Hey, you don't have to walk me all the way home," I informed him. "I understand if you want to make your curfew or something. I've been on the streets of Brooklyn this late at night before. I'll be okay."
Jesse smiled uncomfortably. "I care more about your safety than my curfew, Susannah."
That was rather hard to believe. First of all, he hardly knew me. Second of all, I was kidding about the curfew thing. I didn't really think he had one.
"Hey," I said, as if overcame by a sudden stroke of genius. Which I didn't, of course. "If I ride on the handlebars and you actually paddle like a cyclist should, we'd be at my apartment in no time. I get home safely, and you'll get to yours on time. What about it?"
To say that he looked shocked at my suggestion would be a complete and total understatement. I mean, you would've thought I proposed that he make love with me or something.
"Or, if you would rather," I said, keeping my voice as bland as possible. "I could paddle, and you could ride on the handlebars."
Some nasal noise sounded from his throat. I smiled, and before he could gasp out a "no," stepped in front of his bike and jumped on.
"Am I blocking your vision?" I yelled, slouching down as much as possible.
"No…" Jesse sounded like he was one of those Victorian woman who fainted at the slightest ray of sunlight. Or maybe one with a tight corset. In any way, I thought he was going to pass out from the shock of a girl, in a dress, no less, jumping on his bicycle and demanding him to take her home like that.
"Jesse, hello?" I asked after a few seconds of waiting for him to start paddling. "You still frozen?"
A weak chuckle came from behind me. "You're really… you're seriously going to make me do this?"
"Of course!" I said, feigning surprise. "Jesse, if I'm too forward… if you're uncomfortable with this and would rather take two more hours of paddling along slower than a turtle as I trudge along in my blistered bare feet, then I would understand. I really would."
Yeah, right.
A sigh escaped his lips as he actually began to paddle. Slowly, at first, but after awhile, he gathered speed. I felt the wind blowing at my skin and flapping my hair, which had come undone long ago.
I felt the heat from Jesse as his head hovered above my slouched right shoulder. I don't know, but I think I could've imagined him saying, not exactly to my ear: "Querida, you are definitely something else."
The ride was probably was probably at least 15 minutes, or maybe 30. But when we arrived at my apartment, it seemed only 30 seconds had passed.
Jesse stopped the bike slowly, and I jumped down, careful to grab hang on to my purse.
No one was outside, not even rapists or thieves or gang members. It was Jesse, me, and the streetlights, and a small wedge of moonlight that outlined his every part of his face.
I had no clue what to say. I didn't want to leave things off with an awkward good-bye, and wonder forever what would've happened if, to paraphrase Paul Slater, I ventured outside my shell and did something un-Suze Simon, like ask for his email address or something.
I wasn't even given the chance for that. Good thing too, since I probably would've chickened out.
Yeah, that's me. Too scared to even ask someone for a freakin' email.
"Do you" -his eyes were directly on me again. I found myself wishing he wouldn't do that. I could do without feeling hypnotized by two wells of black ink- "still love him? Even a tiny part of you?"
The question unnerved me. Because the truth is, I didn't know. I didn't know if I still loved Paul or not.
"No," I lied. It was partly on account of the fact that I thought he would think I was deranged for continuing to like a guy after all he'd done to me.
Not that I told Jesse that, of course. Some details -like the fact Paul ditched me and left me with no ride home- are better kept to oneself.
"You're lying," Jesse said simply. How he knew that, well, he was keeping that to himself. "You've been obsessed with him for one year, Susannah. It's impossible to suddenly stop liking someone you've been infatuated with for that long."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he went on. "You don't want to still like him, I know. But a fraction of you, how big or small it may be, still do."
I think I spewed some gargle noises that made no sense.
"Go inside, Susannah," he said, motioning to the door of the building. "It's late. Your mom could be worrying about you right now."
I did. I walked numbly to the door, yanked it open, but stopped when I realized I was going to enter without any parting words to him.
A car of some kind rumbled by as I looked at Jesse expectantly. He was studying me again, his eyes totally focused, unlike mine, which was probably glazed over.
"Susannah," He said in that soft voice of his. A loud pang interrupted my heartbeat as I realized never again was I going to hear my name from his lips.
That thought did something startling to my already cracked heart.
He said my name again. "Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay? Everyone makes mistakes. You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."
With that, he turned his bike around, got on, and paddled away. My foot still holding the door in place to prevent it from closing, I stared at his retreating back. It wasn't until I could no longer make him out anymore, it wasn't until every part of him disappeared downhill that I realized I forgot to think anymore about asking for his email address, much less do it.
The next morning, I couldn't get out of bed. My mother tired to lure me up. Oh, she did. She baited with Chinese takeout for breakfast, then she baited with a trip to the mall. Finally, after several more tries, she just dropped a bomb with me there in my pjs, awake but feeling absolutely no desire to crawl out of bed.
"Listen, Suze," She went, all friendly-sounding. "I'm flying to Carmel tomorrow. You would be coming with me, but as of now, they have no space left open at Robert Louis Stevenson or the Juniperro Mission Academy. So you have to stay here with Nana until a space opens up, okay?"
That got me up, right. I was all, "WHAT!"
I mean, my own mother could've told me sooner than the day before she has to leave that she was moving to another state all the way across the country. She did not have had to tell me at the last second.
But I love Nana, so I was fine with the arrangement. After some grumbling on my part, I started to pack up some essentials to take to Nana's.
It's a good thing Andy makes her happy. Otherwise, I would be feeling way more reproachful right now.
When I got to school on Monday, I was in a pretty good mood. I had decided to take Jesse's advice and give Paul another chance.
Surely, if someone as rational as Jesse thought there could be more to Paul than all that he'd shown me so far, than there had to be.
Suddenly, my hopes of having found the right Jesse Tuck shot up again. I was reunited with that sensation, that feeling a love as strong as Jesse and Winnie's was right in front of me.
You're the first human I've ever wanted to know the truth.
Jesse Tuck, you're the first human I've ever wanted to...to…
:Kiss:
Do that.
Maybe I did something terrible in a past life. Maybe I murdered a baby, maybe I drowned kittens, maybe I was a prostitute.
Either way, karma had finally caught up with me.
All day, Paul Slater ignored me. He did not acknowledge me a single time, not even when we walked right by each other in the hall, not when I was right in front of his face as I entered English class.
Nuh-uh.
So when last period, French, rolled around, I was in a foul mood. I'd watched Kelly Prescott clinging to Paul like the Queen Bee to flowers, and Paul looking as if he did not mind in the least bit.
Moreover, Gina wasn't in this class with me. Therefore, I had no one to complain to about the fact Paul was giving me the cold shoulder for some reason, and that Kelly's constant battering eyelashes and blatant flirting was grossing me out, not to mention pissing me off.
When Mr. Clayton soon entered the room and announced that today, he was giving oral quizzes, my mood did not improve. Not in the least. My pronunciation of French words was not exactly one of the best out there.
Immediately after he left the room with the first five victims, the class started buzzing. The jocks were having a burping contest of some kind, the rebels at the back seemed to be in a discussion regarding admitting a new member to their gang, and the cheerleaders were all sitting on their desks, tossing their hair every other second like it would all cut itself off if they didn't.
Well, all except Debbie Mancuso, anyway. She was actually sitting at her desk, looking frantic as she stared down at a worksheet in bewilderment.
I was doodling on my binder when Debbie finally spoke up. She sounded really exasperated as she went, "You guys. You've taken health, right? What the hell does all these terms mean?"
And Kelly said, like she was on the most boring place on Earth; "What, Debs?"
"These health terms," she grumbled, snatching her worksheet up. I, along with the jocks, watched in fascination as she cleared her throat and started to read them out loud. "Just what exactly are the vas deferens, prostate gland, epididymis, scrotom, seminal vesicles, and cowpers gland?"
The cheerleaders and jocks, with the exception of Paul Slater, looked as clueless as Debbie. Me, I actually pay attention in health class, so I knew exactly what those terms meant. However, I wasn't in any hurry to explain to Debbie Mancuso with the whole class listening in.
I needn't have, anyway. Because just then, Paul Slater lifted himself off his chair and sashayed over to Debbie, his expression containing just a small hint of conceit and mockery.
Not that Debbie saw that. She probably was too stunned over the fact her best friend's crush was paying attention to her.
"Debbie, Debbie," Paul said as he reached her desk. He gave her a smile that would've melted my heart, if it'd been directly had me. But since it wasn't, since he didn't even glance in my direction, all I felt was this pang of jealousy.
And trepidation. I dreaded what he was going to do with every fiber of my being.
"Here, Debs," Paul grinned even broader at her and slowly led her out of her chair. Debbie looked like she was going to faint. Black out. Pass out. Keel over. Collapse.
I watch them walk over to the blackboard. I watch as a hideous glare made its way through every line of Kelly's face. I watched, too numb to say or do anything else, as Paul picked up a white chalk and began to stealthily draw on the board. First lines and curves. Then, actual shapes began to take place.
I know I should've looked away. I know I should've shrugged the whole thing off and went back to doodling a girl kicking butt in a Betsey Johnson miniskirt. But I couldn't. I couldn't tear my eyes off of Debbie, off of Paul, off of the abhorrent image gradually appearing on the blackboard.
So I was sitting there, feeling as if the winter snow had frozen my heart and wanting to leave the room, to get away from that whole image -Debbie, Paul, the picture in the background- when one of Paul's jock friend hooted. "Dude!" He said fatuously, pointing at a certain spot on the drawing. "That's, like, a penis!"
The cheerleaders all giggled in their stupid sly way, and Kelly gasped indignantly. But anyone could see she was just acting. Trying to get attention. I know for a fact that she could not care less if Paul started to draw a vagina too, along with the crude penis.
"Now, Debbie," Paul said, the smile beginning to look sickening now. "This is the male reproductive system. Those words you mentioned- they are all part of it."
Then he labeled the vas deferens, prostate gland, epididymis, scrotom, seminal vesicles, cowpers gland, and some parts that Debbie had failed to name.
"Yo, Slater," Another jock called out from somewhere near the front of the room. "That diagram isn't based on your own reproductive system, isn't it?"
And then he, along with his dumb jock friends, chortled like "HAHAHA, you've got to be kidding me." I guess they thought it was downright hilarious, since the penis was on the large side, and I guess to them, Paul's own penis wouldn't be the size of a fire hydrant.
Paul smiled at him, but instead of full of warmth and friendship, it was icy and challenging. "How do you know, Dopey?" he asked, his voice dangerously low but the smile still intact. "Have you seen it?"
This Dopey guy then turned an unnatural shade of crimson. His friends thumped him in the back as he muttered some stuff under his breath.
"Oh, you guys." Kelly spoke up and tossed her hair back with such vigor that I was surprised it didn't come tearing out. "Stop comparing the size of your dicks. Some of us really don't want to know."
She battered her eyelashes again at Paul and continued, pointing to that diagram on the board. "That drawing is enough for me, thanks."
The jocks then threw back their heads and laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd seen and heard since the day their head popped out of their own mother's vagina. The cheerleaders' imitation of a hyena then would've won them an Oscar for sure. The rest of the class looked on, all seeming to be utterly interested.
Like them, I was still watching Debbie and Paul, waiting to see what would happen next. But unlike them, I wasn't bubbling with interest and fascination.
At that moment, I really wished that certain Celine Dion song were true. I wanted wings. I wished love had indeed given them to me, and I could fly.
Not because I was brimming with happiness. Not because I wanted to soar up to Cloud Nine. But because I just wanted to fly away. To fly out of that room, so I would have no choice but to stop staring at something that should not have been created in the first place. So my eyes would no longer be glued to a man with so much physical and outer perfection, but be filled with such iniquity on the inside. A man whose core, whose heart, was not glimming gold.
"Okay, so," I heard Debbie say, trying to direct Paul and the rest of the guys' attention back to her. "All those terms describe the parts of the male reproductive system. Duh! Of course! Thanks for your help, Paul. I thought you might know."
She said that last part in this pathetically coy way, and added a piercing giggle for effect.
To me, her voice sounded weird and out of sorts. I felt like I was on one end of the tunnel, she on the other end, calling in. Yet somehow, the words got lost as they traveled the distance from one point to another. And when they finally reached me, they were a distorted mess.
The tiring task of interpreting them from only breaths of air and jumbled letters to sentences that made sense resulted in another one of those ringing in my ears. This time, the ring didn't start, go on for awhile as I sat slumped over, and stop suddenly. No. This time, it started and steadily grew in volume until it was so loud, so deafening, that I was convinced any second, someone was going to wonder where it was coming from, glance in my direction, and find me hunched over in my seat, my hands balling into fists, shaking, doing all they could to not raise up to my ears and cover them. I was convinced that my eyes, though they were open, looked dead.
I felt dead.
I felt like the earsplitting sound was going to penetrate my eardrum like no sharp needle or drill could.
I felt like the overpowering ring was going to pierce my heart too, after it was done with my ears.
I felt like a Greek Goddess's best friend. Except Debbie was no goddess, and I was most definitely not her best friend.
I felt like that armor girl in Heath Ledger's A Knight's Tale, never measuring up to the princess whom the knight was in love with, but only because of her title and outside beauty.
I felt like Paul Slater had shattered my cocoon, my world, all over again.
And I had no idea why, since this time, he wasn't making out with anyone. He wasn't kicking a poor dog. He wasn't giving me some malarkey about how he was this saint who was trying to guide woe-is-me out of my dreamland where I created all the characters and believed they were real.
He wasn't even acting as if he knew me, much less had shared saliva with me on more than one occasion.
And that's when it stopped. The ringing. I guess the anger I felt at his ignoring me, pretending I didn't exist after leading me on and taking me to Homecoming outweighed any of my loneliness and hurt at what he was doing.
I guess that's when I felt the urge to haul off and slug him.
"Suze? Hello? Are you all right?" A voice startled me out my fantasy of walking up to Paul Slater, and tore me out just before my fist connected with his jaw.
I looked up. Paul. Paul Slater, whom I was just envisioning not in the most refined manner, was staring at me. As our eyes locked, latched, and intertwined themselves together, I felt myself drowning in his gaze all over again.
The desire to hit him, to do anything to him but kiss him and run my fingers through that blonde threads of beauty, was knocked out of me before I could say, all groggily, "What?"
"I asked if you were all right." He didn't tear his gaze away, and I found out for the hundredth time what two circles outlining the Pacific Ocean could do to you.
"Right," I said, looking down at myself. My hands hung limply at my sides, and I saw with a single glance that they were covered with fingernail marks. My face, I realized as I touched it tentatively, was burning, and my hairline was brimming with beads of sweat.
"I'm okay," I assured again. Paul nodded and broke our connection, and I saw other pairs of eyes staring at me. Debbie's. Kelly's. The jocks'. And more, I felt, were boring into the back of my head.
When our eyes wandered, I realized something else. He, Paul, had asked me the same question before, on our first day, only hours before our first kiss.
"Suze? Hello, Suze?"
The only difference was back then, he was calling me out of a Jesse/Winnie fantasy. This time, my thoughts were as far away from their perfect love as they could get.
How did things change so much, so fast? I pondered as Paul and his friends talked to Debbie some more. She looked like she had third-degree sunburn, her face was so red.
It wasn't all embarrassment, though. She was enjoying the attention.
"Paul," Now it was Debbie's turn to bat her eyelashes at him. I didn't have to look at Kelly to know she was fuming at the mouth. "What does 'incest' mean?"
She consulted her worksheet to make sure she got the word right.
This time, even Paul looked befuddled. As usual, no one else had a clue.
Except for me. I for a fact knew what it meant. I was just skeptical that the word was really on Debbie's worksheet.
There was moment of silence as all eyes trained on Paul. He looked so uncomfortable there, under all that spotlight, that I couldn't help but open my mouth.
"Incest," I said, trying to seem nonchalant to all the new eyes focused on me again. "is sexual intercourse between persons too closely related to marry legally. As in brothers and sisters."
Kelly let out a disgusted "ew" and the other cheerleaders fanned themselves with their hands. The jocks rolled their eyes and said some indistinguishable stuff to one another.
For some reason, I couldn't leave it there. "Haven't you guys heard that story about the incestuous twins last week? It wasn't on the front page or anything, but still. It was quite interesting."
It was again Kelly who remarked first. "TMI, Suze. We don't need to know about two persons sharing the same egg having sex with each other. Like, gross."
I ignored her and looked over at Paul. He shot me his trademark grin and then turned back to Debbie. For some reason, he kept gesturing and touching her sweater set.
Disappointment, like it had before, flooded into me.
Loneliness, like it had before, overtook a corner of my heart.
A patch of anger, like it had before, started to sizzle in my temples.
My eyes were on him as he turned back to the chalkboard and added another term to the diagram, drawing a line from it to the word to indicate what it was.
Testes.
"Man, testes," One of his jock friends said, scrutinizing the word. "Is that like, testicles or something?"
It felt like history was repeating itself as the jock part of the room erupted in laughter.
Their immaturity, added with Paul's patent desire to show Debbie every part of his privates, was seriously getting to me. My head was hurting like it was going to crack right open.
"Funny, you guys," I noted dryly, resting my chin on my knuckles. "What're you going to do next, demonstrate sex positions?"
My tone was dripped with sarcasm, but apparently that goes right by some people, if this Dopey guy's next words were any indication.
"Dude, that's such a dope idea!" He exclaimed, widening his eyes as if that thought was a stroke of genius. "Slater, you could, like, show her the 69!"
A girl who was sitting by the window, actually doing some homework, choked as she heard that. A few others looked appalled. Kelly looked like a ripe peach, ready to burst open.
Me… well, I was trying to seem indifferent to the guy's stupidity and inane suggestion.
Deep down, however, I was seriously scared of what Paul's answer was going to be. My fingers were actually shaking as I brought it up to my temples.
"Um," Debbie broke the silence with that one word. "What's the 69?"
All the cheerleaders and jocks looked at her like she was born in the same year as the cavemen. But Debbie honestly seemed bewildered.
"Oh, stop feigning innocence, Deborah," Kelly snapped, glaring at her best friend. "You know perfectly well what that is."
Debbie looked offended. "But I really don't!" She protested.
"Now, Kel," Dopey cut in before she could make another snazzy comeback. "If Debs here don't know what it is, then let's just let Paul show her, shall we?"
Kelly looked like she wanted to jump off her desk and deck this Dopey hard. But instead, she refrained herself from doing so and just said, "How about let's not" through VERY gritted teeth.
But surprisingly, all the guys ignored her and unsurprisingly, turned to Paul. He was merely standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.
I couldn't tell if what he was wearing was a grimace, grin, or smirk.
"Well, what do ya say, Slater?" A beefy-looking guy asked him with a repulsive smile. "You gonna show the virgin how it's done?"
Please God no, don't let him say yes…
I didn't realize I was praying until my eyes were closed and my fingers clasped. When I did deem how stupid it all was, how pretentious and fake those people were, I almost flew out of my seat.
I know it was impossible for them to demonstrate anything in school right then. I knew it was all talk, and the most that would result was some making out and groping. But still, at that moment, I hated Paul for not giving an answer already.
I loathed him for not saying "no" as quick as possible.
Like every feeling relevant to Paul, that hatred disappeared in a flash. As quick as it came.
Thank God Mr. Clayton opened the door just then, interrupting the lively "fun" Paul's friends were having. When he saw the diagram on the board, the poor man just about had a coronary.
A part of me was irked at him for letting Paul get away with not replying, for not letting me ever find out what he would've done.
Another part of me, a part only slightly bigger than that one, was glad Paul had not been given the chance to respond. Because I, as much as I don't want to admit, was scared to death of what his answer would've turned out to be.
When the final bell rang, everyone bolted out of his or her seats. Because I had been in the middle of an oral quiz, I was a bit late getting back into the classroom and packing up all my papers and notebooks. When I was done and was safely in the hallway, I was dismayed to note that almost everyone had went outside already. Only a few were still loitering, chatting and waiting for friends.
I hastily walked along, and it was when I rounded my first corner that I saw it.
Kelly Prescott. Paul Slater.
Well, they weren't locked in a passionate embrace or groping each others' butt or anything. They were just talking in that flirtatiously way popular people talk.
I had a pretty good view of both of them since they were standing sideways to me. Kelly seemed to have calmed down after the occurrence in French class. She was touching Paul every other second. First his hair, then his face, then his shirt. It was sickening. Paul made it even more so by looking as if he was enjoying it.
I couldn't do anything but watch as Kelly edged herself closer and closer to Paul until their bodies were pressed as close together as peanut butter and jelly. Paul encouraged this by luring her with his look-at-what-Crest-White-strips-did-to-my-teeth smile. That, and the fact he was subtly, sultrily playing with a single strand of Kelly's permed, honey-blonde hair.
Kelly dug her fingers into Paul's strong shoulders. She shuffled her feet around and looked up at him with huge eyes full of longing. She inhaled deeply of Paul's scent and buried her hands into his shirt, itching to get closer.
This is where Paul decided to play coy. He pushed her away, provoking a pathetically wretched, pitifully wounded look to overtake Kelly's normally pretty features.
He didn't just drop it there and go. Instead, as a parting present to Kelly Prescott's raging teenage hormones, he decided to satisfy her fantasies. Just like, a seemingly long time ago, he decided to quench mine.
I was merely standing there, frozen on the spot, as I watched Paul take a step away from her. Then, as if on second thought, he turned back toward her and grinned in a way that could only be described as lewd.
Pretentiously, of course. Paul Slater is a good actor, after all.
Anyway. I wasn't holding onto anything, I was totally unprepared with what he was going to do. The fingers from his right hand slowly rose from their original position by his side and moved up, up, until it came to Kelly's breast. Her eyes -and mine- widened as his hand rested there for awhile.
Then, in a flash, he gave her nipple a quick pinch, and then traipsed away.
Not only that, his posture screamed nonchalance. Like nothing had happened. Like they just had a quick chat. Like he had merely pecked her goodbye or something equally absurd.
I felt the acid in my stomach stop its churning and slowly come up toward my throat. Halting its journey when it reached my tongue, it left a sour taste there. A taste so disgusting, so vile, that it was completely unlike any I'd encountered before.
I thought I was going to throw up.
Paul had already walked away and was already out of sight when Kelly finally came back to life. She, instead of looking downright offended like any other girl would have, seemed absolutely delighted.
When she spotted me, she didn't even question why I was there or if I was spying (which I wasn't). Instead, she bounced right over with her best cheerleading smile.
"Suze!" She exclaimed when she reached me. I was still too overcome with shock and couldn't move. Otherwise, I would've hightailed it outta there before Miss Infatuated noticed me.
But as it was, I couldn't just turn the other way and ignore her. That was simply rude.
So I stayed and pasted a fake smile on my face as she clapped her hands together and squealed.
"Guess what, Susie?" She gushed, bouncing up and down and being the perkiest cheerleader I'd ever seen. "I'm throwing a party! It'll be on the last day of winter vacation, so it would be like the last celebration before we're doomed to books and boring teachers once more."
She actually looked sad there for a minute, but after exactly one nanosecond, her expression brightened again.
"Anyway, Paul was telling me that you are moving to California soon. God, Susie, we're so going to miss you!" She gave me her best dejected, puppy-dog eyes. I didn't buy it, especially since she was using that awful nickname only my mom was allowed to use.
"So, of course I'm inviting you!" She continued when I didn't say anything. How could I? I still wanted to kick some sense into her for looking so blissful after a blatant act of sexism and obscenity, courtesy of the guy I had been obsessed with for more than one year.
Kelly went on. "It could be sorta like a going-away party for you too. Oh my gosh, Susie! We've all known you since kindergarten! It'll be so sad when you leave!"
I seriously doubted that.
"So," Kelly said, some of her delirium wearing out as I still refused to say anything. "You are going to come, right? And bring your friend Gina if you must."
She tossed out the last remark as if she couldn't care less. But I knew she -and everyone else on the squad- did. Gina was ultra cool. She was beyond cheerleading cool. She was always invited to parties like these, but for some reason, she always chose to stay home with me and watch utterly sentimental movies like Tuck Everlasting.
"I don't think so, Kel," I said in reply to her first question, keeping my tone as impassive as possible. "I really don't enjoy watching people getting drunk and making out while I stand there and feel like the only sane soul in a horde of cliché, typical teenagers with nothing better to do than get wasted or stoned."
Her smile was starting to seem forced. "I can assure you there will be no illegal substances at the party. And we have special rooms for people who cannot control their unbridled hormones. So you don't have to worry."
I was still perplexed, not to mention not in the least interested. She could see that, I guess, since finally, she just threw her hands up and said, "At least think about it, all right, Simon?"
"Fine." I faked a smile at her and walked around her toward my locker.
I had no intention of going to her party. Especially not when I knew Paul Slater was going to be there. Especially not after the scenes I had witnessed in French class and the hallway. Especially not when I felt this disgusted, this hurt, and I knew, for the third time in one day, Mr. Perfect Paul Slater had managed to crumble my world with a single gust of air.
He called me at Nana's later that night. How he had known I was staying there, how he had gotten ahold of her number… well, that he wasn't telling me.
"Suze." I was trying to catch the slightest hint of feeling in his voice, but all I was getting was a big fat nothing. He sounded like himself. Like Paul Slater, cool and unperturbed. "Listen, I'm really sorry about Saturday night. I didn't mean to just let you walk home by yourself. I hope you were okay. You did get home safely, didn't you?"
Finally an emotion. Worry.
For a second, I mulled over the idea of telling him a rapist had tried to jump me, or that a gangsta had tried to brand me, or that a thief had tried to steal my purse and rip my dress off, but decided against it.
I didn't know yet if his intentions were truly sincere. I had no idea all he had called to say. And for the time being, I chose to be hostile and gave as few details as possible.
"Yes," I answered, keeping my voice frosty. "I was fine. And so were the rats, by the way. The animal shelter volunteers were very nice and assured me they would be under the best care."
"That's great." He sounded like he didn't believe me. Why would he, anyway? He thought the fact that the babies were sucking their mother's blood dry was "interesting."
"So… I just want to say I'm sorry," he continued. "I'm sorry about Saturday, and I'm sorry about today in French."
My knuckles turned white as my grip on the phone tightened. His tone was too bland. Too suave. It was devoid of the deep emotional regret and sorrow a truly apologetic person would have. It lacked pain as abysmal as the core of the earth.
Furthermore, obviously he wasn't going to elaborate. He wasn't going to explain his feelings on the matter or the reasons he had done them.
"Sometimes, Paul, sorry just isn't enough."
Once upon a time, "sorry" would've been enough for me from him. Once upon a time, I was too in love with his physical perfections to look any deeper than his smile and his eyes. Once upon a time, I would've naively forgiven him without a second thought.
But this once upon a time didn't seem to have a happily ever after.
"I could've been seriously hurt on Saturday night, you know that?" All of a sudden, the ice cubes were gone from my voice, and I was fighting to keep back my tears. "You don't just leave a girl alone on a New York night and basically tell her to walk home. And today… I can't believe you drew what you did on the board. Some might have been seriously offended. And the demonstrating positions part…"
I found that I had something stuck in my throat and couldn't go on anymore. I tried to gulp whatever it was down, but dots of the soreness of the taste came right back up.
"But Suze," Paul was saying into the phone. "You were the one who suggested that. You planted the seed for that 69 idea."
"Yeah, but Paul," I tried a laugh and it, too, got stuck somewhere in my trachea. "I was being sarcastic. It was my way of telling you guys to get a grip."
There was a pause, then: "Well, those guys aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer. They get wild ideas from suggestions of that sort. I would advise you to stick to a moral topic next time you're in conversation with them."
I snorted. The chance of a next time was slim to none.
"So, anyway, Suze…" Paul's tone was soft again. Gentle and lulling, like a lullaby. I pressed the phone harder against my ear and bit my upper lip, thinking how unfair it was that even when I couldn't see his face or his eyes, he still could mesmerize me with his voice. "I am sorry. I'm more sorrier than I've ever been in my life. I screwed up big time on Saturday, and then today. All I'm asking right now is for you to understand, to forgive me, and to give me a second chance. Do you think you could do that, Suze? Do you?"
Each and every one of his words decreased in volume as they neared the end of Paul's apology, so his last two "do you" was barely louder than a genuine whisper. I had to stop breathing completely to hear it.
When he was finished, I was free to inhale and exhale normally again. But of course, I couldn't. The softness of his tone and the gentleness of his words affected me like everything of his did.
My breath was coming out in small gasps and I thought I was hyperventilating.
"Everyone makes mistakes, Suze," He went on, oblivious to the fact I was having trouble breathing on the other end. "Hell, I've made more than I can count. Especially in front of you. But I am really, truly, genuinely sorry for all the crap I've done. I want a second chance. I promise I won't let you down."
My head was still feeling a tiny bit woozy, but at least it didn't feel like I was having an asthma attack anymore.
When I regained my composure and fully digested what he said, I was reminded of Jesse.
Midnight walk/ride buddy Jesse. Jesse, with his ebony eyes and old-fashioned ways. Jesse, with his silky voice and last-minute advice.
What was it he had said?
"Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay? Everyone makes mistakes. You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."
I sighed. Before I opened my mouth, I knew what I was going to say. I knew that for the umpteenth time, Paul's enthralling voice and an image of his baby blues had won me over.
"All right, Paul." Another sigh escaped my pale, wayward lips. "What do you want to do? Or what do you want me to do?"
At the other side of Brooklyn, I felt a smile tugging at the upper corners of his mouth as he realized he had won again and managed to dodge another interrogation of his true feelings and motives. His tone was full of dry humor as he told me his request.
"I want you to go to Kelly's party."
While lying in bed much, much later, I wondered about it. I wondered why I was letting Paul Slater do this to me, why I was still letting him play me and string me along like a puppet.
Why, after all this time, after all he'd done to me, I was still letting him deal all the cards.
Why, even though I knew he isn't any reflection of perfection, I was still wasting my time with him.
Why I was still so sensitive to his needs when he could give a fuck about mine.
Why I was letting my guard down every time I was near him and letting him manipulate and take advantage of me.
Why I was still letting him persuade me with smooth words and a pair of beautiful eyes that he was born with.
Why his voice, his eyes, even his hair, was still affecting me the way they had before my eyes were opened up to the rotten side of him.
Why I still couldn't get past his outer charm and splendor and get in deeper into the core of his real soul.
The clincher was why exactly I was letting him destroy me.
Devour me.
Showers and droplets of coldness fell on me as I realized I no longer had my heart.
From that first day several months ago, when he'd stolen it, all he'd done is stomp and tramp on it. He did not take care of it and treat it like something precious. Instead, like a kid would deal with his old toys, Paul Slater had thrown my heart into a trunk in his attic somewhere, taking it out occasionally to twist and abuse it, making it even more broken than it originally was, until finally, it either becomes so worn out and torn that it's been molded into an unrecognizable shape, or it shatters into pieces even smaller than tiny shards of glass and more numerous than all the stars painted in the night sky.
Because he had my heart, he had every other piece of me.
There was nothing I could do except try to get it back, or try to grow a new heart.
Ropes and knots wrapped itself around my stomach as I tried to trace all the days Paul had deceived me.
As I lay there, in a bed that wasn't mine, in a room that was unfamiliar, I knew all my stress and all the new pain and hurt I was feeling was caused by him. It was his doing. It was my undoing.
It was his fault that right then, I felt like I was a giant rubber band, being pulled farther and farther back until it was going to either break to snap.
And decision day, I knew, was the night of Kelly's party.
There was one thing I had control over right then. If I didn't go, I wouldn't have to face him. Floods and jumbles of all of my mixed up emotions wouldn't bother me. The pain wouldn't be so great.
The image of one day, just one day without feeling as if there was a butcher knife stuck on my heart somewhere, without feeling like I was an empty vessel without a soul, without feeling like I was a small and fragile butterfly in the face of a cruel and heartless winter blizzard was what convinced me.
I wasn't going to go.
Angus Tuck: Don't be afraid of death, Winnie. Be afraid of the unlived life.
Tuesday morning, a deep fear was bred in my stomach. As the day progressed, it climbed higher and higher until it was smack in the middle of my chest. It stopped there. Instead of continuing to rise into my throat, into my mouth, and out of my life, it chose to stay in the place where my heart once was.
Which I gaze into every other second, looking for what wasn't there anymore.
The fear bothered. It scared me, even. How you can be scared of something you're already scared of, that I don't know. What I do know is I had to do something about it.
Watching Tuck Everlasting (again) opened my eyes to that fear. It made me realize that if I continue to live my life as if excitement was just around the corner, I was going to get nowhere. If I continue to sit, wait, and wish all day for something to happen, then nothing was.
Much as I was scared of death, much as I was scared of being stuck for all eternity in heaven or hell or some place unimaginable, I feared an unlived life more.
I feared dying before I lived my life to the fullest.
In the wise words of Angus Tuck, the right thing to be scared of is an unlived life.
I knew I couldn't sit around and wait for excitement to knock on my door anymore. I was going to have to visit it every chance I get.
And that included going to Kelly Prescott's party.
Believe me, I didn't want to. I did not want to be stuck in a room full of idiots who thought the only thing life had to offer was booze and sex. I did not want to be in the same house as Paul Slater and let him tear my insides apart all over again.
But in the morning, my spirits are higher. My hopes and faith rise. That morning, I felt lighthearted.
I was convinced if I stay out of his way there, I could forget about him.
And besides, I believed Angus. When he spoke those words to Winnie, it was as if he was talking to me too.
Talking to my flamed soul.
And I knew: I had to go.
"What's up, Simon?" Gina said as she came out of her building and saw me standing there, hands in my pockets, waiting for her.
I got right to the point. "You heard about Kelly's party, right?"
She snorted. "Oh yeah. She invited me."
"Well…" We started walking toward the school, and for whatever reason, my strides today was way longer than usual. "She asked me to come too."
Surprise dawned on Gina's features, but she didn't say anything about her shock that Kelly invited the class freak. "But you're not planning on going, right?" Gina asked, striving to keep up with me in her three-inch heels. "I mean, who would want to waste a night away by being in the company of Kelly Prescott and her imbecilic cronies?"
"Um," I said.
"I mean, come on. What's to do there? Make conversation with people who don't even know the number of brain cells they have? Watch people sticking their hands down each others' pants on the sofa? Look on as idiots grind against each other on her living room dance floor? Or, here's a thought: blend in with the walls and wish you never came."
She was joking, of course. After it, she threw back her head and laughed a genuine laugh.
I didn't say anything. Without Gina there, I was nothing. Just vapor. No one was going to pay attention to me at all.
Without her, I didn't have the nerve to go.
If I actually do go without her, then she would be right about one thing; I most definitely was going to disappear into the wallpaper and spend the night wishing I had stayed home and watched The Notebook with her.
I couldn't go alone, especially since my best friend obviously thought the party was made for nincompoops. I couldn't do it.
For the rest of the walk to the school, I listened as Gina chatted about how evil her brothers were. I nodded and laughed at the right places and talked to her like I did every day.
But inside, I was dying. I was like a flower that hadn't been watered in a week and was slowly withering away into nothingness.
When we finally arrived at our lockers, the first thing I saw was Kelly Prescott, talking to Debbie Mancuso, all the while tossing her hair, rolling her eyes, and batting her eyelashes at any hot guys that happened to pass them by.
And then I saw Paul, grinning, walking into the building with his friends.
All the pain from last night flooded back. I was enveloped with the memory of me, pulling the covers up to cover my face, trying to block out the images of him kissing Kelly Prescott, of him kicking the dog, of him drawing that diagram, of his fingers on Kelly's nipple.
And then, his words as gave me a piece of his mind on how "fake" he seemed to think I was. Then his voice as he refused to take me home, his expression as he watched me walk away.
But there were good times too, I thought hazily. That kiss…
Someone who can kiss that good, someone who, even if it was only once, could make me feel perfect with a single touch, the sole person who reminded me of Jesse Tuck…
…He deserves a second chance.
"Susannah. Grant him one more chance, okay?"
The bell rang, and Gina tossed a "bye" to me as she glided to her homeroom. People in the hallways started to leave their lockers and walk in different directions to their classes. I lost sight of Paul as bodies, mounds of nugatory flesh, positioned themselves between us.
"Everyone makes mistakes."
I was dimly aware of the fact I had merely been standing there, unmoving, when gradually, the mass of people started to dissipate. I could make out Paul Slater again. As if by fate, he looked up just then, straight into my eyes.
First a smile… then a wave.
My heartbeat increased, and my palm felt acutely sweaty as I watched him traipse off to class.
"You'll never know what he'd do with a second chance unless you give it to him."
My eyes on his retreating back, something wobbled in my throat.
Jesse was right. Despite all, a part of me still loved him. Not because I wanted to. But because I had already fallen in too deep.
And I definitely owed Jesse something. In all sixteen years of my life, no one -with the exception of my mother and Gina- would have done what he did for me that night. No one but him would have volunteered to accompany a mere stranger home. No one should worry that much over someone he just met. But Jesse did. He saw to it that I arrived safely home.
When I was, he advised me of something. He made a request.
I owed it to him, and my runaway heart, to oblige.
I spun around, and was relieved to see that Kelly was still at her locker, applying lip gloss.
Hastily, I walked over to her, keeping my facial expression blank.
"Hey," I said.
"Oh, Suze! Hi!" She said when she saw me. Quickly, she capped the gloss, tossed her honey-blonde hair, and gave me her full attention.
"So, have you decided?" She asked, smiling innocently at me.
"Yeah." I gulped down the last of my hesitation and plunged on. "I'll go."
At this, the innocence in her smile disappeared. Replacing it was a crooked grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Her tone was devious and scheming as she gave the last word.
"Perfect."
A/n- Suze changed her mind five times. HAHAHA.
And yes, that happened for a reason.
Now, please review. :D