Page 8 of Remember Us This Way

Unable to handle the intensity of her horrified stare, I shift my gaze down her body and realize just how much she’s changed. She’s not some scrawny kid in a pretty dress anymore. She’s taller now, wears her hair differently, and is more than aware of her body. Hell, she has tits now.

The last time I saw her, she was in a black dress, holding my hand at my little brother’s funeral. I’ve never been able to get the image of her from that day out of my head. It haunts me. But the girl standing before me now—this isn’t her. I don’t know this girl. She’s changed. She’s closed off, hesitant, and pain radiates through her eyes—a pain I know I put there, and one I sure as hell won’t be taking away. Besides, Zoey James doesn’t need me anymore.

My gaze trails back up, over her denim shorts that show off her toned legs, and to a sweater that falls off her bare shoulder. She crosses her arms over her body, and I narrow my stare, realizing I’ve made her self-conscious, but that’s her problem, not mine.

I know I’m being obvious, but so is she. Her gaze has roamed up and down my body at least four times already, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s seeing. I’m certainly not the same clean-cut kid she once knew. He was pathetic. Weak. But now? I don’t even know. I’m a fucking stranger to myself.

But when it comes to Zoey James, I know she’s looking much deeper than what’s on the surface—she’s trying to get a read on me, trying to figure me out, but I’m not about to let that happen. I’m not hers to save. Not anymore.

It feels like a lifetime of silence before she sucks in a deep breath and raises her chin, determination flaring through her green stare. I shake my head, willing her not to try, but before I can prepare myself, she forces a smile across her face and takes a hesitant step toward me. Her smile is so fake that it leaves me desperate to see a real one—the one that used to be reserved for only me.

She puts herself right in front of me, making my chest ache for a time when life used to be simple and carefree. When life used to be full of love and happiness instead of this dark hell I’ve been haunted by.

“Long time no see, huh?” she says, her eyes sparkling as if expecting things to be as easy as they used to be—as if the stars will align just by forcing us together. I have to keep myself from scoffing. I’ve gotta give it to her, she was always so optimistic, but if she hasn’t figured it out after three long years, then I don’t know what to tell her. What we used to be is over. Done. Dead.

I stare at her a moment longer, the silence so fucking loud between us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Her eyes widen. I’m sure she expected this to go a million possible ways, but this wasn’t one of them. A flicker of hurt lingers in her stare, and for the first time in three years, it’s a little easier to breathe.

Zoey’s taken aback and takes a second to gather her thoughts. “I’ve been assigned to show you around,” she tells me.

Like fuck that’s going to happen.

“Don’t waste your time,” I tell her. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?” she scoffs, her eyes blazing with the anger I knew was coming. “Three years of radio silence and all I get from you is I’m good?”

“What the hell were you expecting?” I spit, stepping even closer and watching the way she has to crane her neck to meet my eye, probably able to smell the lingering stench of cigarettes on my clothes. “You and me—we’re nothing. Not anymore. I don’t need you, Zoey. I haven’t needed you for three years, and I sure as fuck don’t need you now. So, let’s get this straight because I don’t want you trying to recreate something that will never be. I’m only here to play football, and that’s it. I’m not here for you. At this school, we don’t know each other. Whatever the fuck we used to be, doesn’t exist anymore. You see me in the hallways, you look the other way. You see me outside, you go somewhere else. I’m not some fucking project for you to save. Got it?”

A breath escapes her lips, and I watch the undeniable pain shooting through her eyes, dulling that bright green I used to love. “Wow, Noah. Haven’t you become a giant piece of shit?” she says, taking a step back and grabbing her backpack off the ground. Not meeting my eye, she slings it over her shoulder, more than ready to race out of here. But I’m not surprised, she’s always run at the first sign of conflict. What does surprise me is how casually she called me a piece of shit. The Zoey I knew would never talk that way, and I’m not going to lie, her disgust and judgment stings.

Meeting my stare again, she hesitates, trying to figure out if she’s going to tuck her tail between her legs and storm away or say whatever the fuck she feels she needs to say. “For what it’s worth,” she grits out, determination flashing in her hurt stare. “I was only doing this for your mom because she came to me yesterday, begging me to help you out because she’s so scared that she’s losing you. But you know what? She was right to be scared. You’re long gone, Noah. The kid I used to know . . . I can’t even see him in there.”

Zoey steps around me and storms to the door, and I have to resist reaching out to touch her, hating that part of me that still desperately craves everything that she is. Reaching for the door, she yanks it open but turns back at the last second, her long chestnut hair whipping over her shoulder. “You should have stayed away,” she tells me, her voice filled with the type of venom that somehow darkens my already blackened soul. “I was better off without you.”

And with that, she flies out the door, leaving a gaping hole right where my heart used to be.

I almost fall to my knees, and if it weren’t for the office lady staring at me like I’m a snake making his way into the chicken coop, maybe I would have. I stride up to her, and she keeps her narrowed stare on me, making it clear that we’re going to have issues. “Noah Ryan,” I tell her. “First day.”

“Oh, I know who you are, Noah Ryan,” she says, spitting my name like it’s poison. “And I am more than aware of just how much you need this school. This is your last shot, and if you think you can come into my office with that big ole chip on your shoulder and treat the students of East View High the way you just treated Miss James, you have another thing coming.”

I clench my jaw as she pushes a stack of papers toward me, not daring to take her furious glare off me. “Hear me, boy. I see students like you come and go every day, so don’t get me wrong, your football career means nothing to me. What matters is the welfare of the students in this school, and if you’re going to be a threat to that then you can walk straight back out that door and exchange this welcome pack for a pair of cuffs. Is that understood?”

“Yeah, got it,” I say, scooping the papers off the desk and turning away, not bothered to hear any more of her lecture. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. Zoey received my message loud and clear. She won’t be an issue for me, which in turn means that I won’t be an issue for that old bat.

Barging back out into the hallway, I’m pleased to find no hint of Zoey James or anyone else for that matter. It’s still early, and if I’m quick, I’ll have just enough time to make a pitstop to Coach Martin before having to get my ass back here for homeroom.

Quickly scanning through the welcome pack, I find my locker number with a padlock, a map of the school, and my class schedule. Then pulling them out of the pack, I dump the rest of the shit in the trash and make my way to my locker.

I quickly set up my lock code, more than aware that at some point, I’m going to have to change it, especially considering it’s 0228—Zoey’s birthday, February 28. And to think I just made a point that I wanted nothing to do with her. Ironic really.

I was better off without you.

Fuck, those words keep circling my mind. Why the hell do they hurt so much? She’s lying. She has to be. I could see it in her eyes. She lost half of herself when I walked away, and she never got it back. She isn’t better off without me; she just wishes she was.

After dumping my shit in my locker and programming the number into my phone, knowing damn well I’m going to forget which of these bastards is mine, I scan over the map, trying to figure out where I can find Coach Martin.

Students filter in through the doors, and to avoid the attention of being the shiny new toy for as long as possible, I piss off down the hall, pushing through the back doors and out to the football field.

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