Page 30 of Every Broken Thing

The line of jest disappeared in the distance behind me, and I almost crumpled the page to destroy the evidence. I wrote it in pen and couldn’t erase it, and there was no way he wouldn’t take this as a proposition. Two straight guys might joke about these pick-up lines, but they wouldn’t respond with this. I scribbled the sentence until it solidified into a blue rectangle with a few tears in the weak paper and rewrote my response below it.

Have any of these lines ever actually worked on a girl?

I handed the paper back, ignoring the confused curiosity on Ben’s face. It was the longest wait yet, and I peered over the aisle a few times to ensure he couldn’t decipher my original sentence. His brow creased with concentration as if he contemplated something important, and when I caught his eye, I crooked my eyebrow in challenge.

Finally, he reached across the aisle to pass the note over, and I jumped in surprise as the back of his hand landed on my thigh. The note sat between two fingers as he offered it to me, but the action of touching me was completely unnecessary in this particular situation. I didn’t mind, of course, but it confused the hell out of me as I plucked the paper from his grasp and watched him withdraw his hand.

Butterflies fluttered to life in my stomach as the heat from his hand lingered, searing my skin through my jeans, and I physically brushed the sensation from my leg with my palm. Hedidn’t want the teacher to catch us, that had to be it. He was being stealthy.

His reply lay at the very bottom of the paper below a few of his own scribbles, and I did a double take when I read it.

No, but it worked on a guy once.

The sentence stared at me from the page, and my lungs froze mid-inhale as Ben watched with a comical smirk on his face. I didn’t even try to hide my shock at his admission, and he made a motion with his finger, instructing me to turn the page over. I did quickly, the hope in my chest crashing abruptly from the one word I read.

You.

Me? Oh.Good one, Ben.Funny joke.

Disappointment rushed through me, turning bitter on my tongue. Of course, it was another line meant to make me laugh. God, I was an idiot to even consider something different.

I blanked out my face, shoving aside my dismay, and shot Ben an exaggerated eye roll. His eyes brightened with merriment as he laughed silently into his palm, and I smiled back, feigning entertainment at his joke. I was so delusional.

That, sir, was impressive. I grant you the utmost honor of having my phone number.

I wrote the words next to my number and tossed the note back to Ben with the heaviest air of sarcasm I could manage without actually speaking. His triumphant chuckle almost eased the crushing disappointment, but I forced myself to grin and laugh as he tucked the paper into his pocket.

We spent the rest of the class doing our own separate things, though every time I glanced over at him, I caught him smiling in my direction. It was a gentle, smooth smile, and I repeated a continuous internal stream of self-loathing comments as my heart swelled and throbbed behind my rib cage.

We were just friends! He was straight and would never be interested in me, and that was a good thing.

Yes, he was attractive and was turning into the coolest person I’d ever met, but I didn’t have to fall for him. I would not pine after some way-out-of-my-league straight guy. I did not need to get caught up in a one-sided romance. I would not like him!

By the time class ended, I finally convinced myself of this fact, but as Ben walked me to the theater room for rehearsal, I questioned my surety. There was a burning in my chest that matched the burning in my pocket—the same pocket currently housing a torn-off piece of paper with ten digits scrawled across it in Ben’s elegant writing.

10

Upside-Down Penis

Ben sat with me—us—at lunch the rest of the week and, if the glares sent our way from the girls’ swim team were any indication, the change of seating did not go unnoticed. Ben studiously ignored their reactions, and I was thankful I wasn’t in his shoes. Being the sole desire of every female on the swim team was a terrifying prospect.

Saturday found me backstage as I directed my stage crew with a vengeance. Today was our last set day before tech week, and we were behind. It was my fault for skipping set day last month after Boyt… just after. Now I paid the price for my weakness back then. Backdrops still needed painting, and the tomb where Romeo and Juliet bit the dust was still in pieces! Needless to say, I was in a sour mood.

As I painted a background of trees for the garden scene, my gaze wandered and latched on to two freshman boys attempting to nail a simple box together. My temper, which had been bubbling on the back burner most of the morning, boiled overas the two stooges bent yet another nail. I threw my paint brush on the ground and stalked toward them. The blond one paled, smacking the redhead to get his attention.

“Thomas!” I shouted, and the blond boy jumped an inch off the ground. “You’re supposed to get the nails into the wood, not bend them into a pretzel. This isn’t some hippie art class, you nitwit. And you, Orphan Annie,” I continued as I turned on the redhead, “space your fucking nails out! If I see either of you break one more nail, I’m going to show you exactly how to use a hammer, using your kneecaps as my practice boards! Is that clear?”

My voice steadily rose to screaming level, and the pure terror in their eyes satisfied my irritation somewhat. The redhead raised his hand timidly as Thomas trembled. “Yes, Annie?”

“My name’s Greg, and he’s Timothy, not Thomas,” he managed to squeak, and I raised my eyebrows at him menacingly.

“As long as you’re on my crew, Carrot Top, you’re whoever I say you are.” I straightened and gave them both one last withering glare. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” They both shook their heads. “Good boys. Now stop wasting my nails.”

I promptly stomped back to the tree I was painting to resume working. Not a moment later, a slow, sarcastic clap echoed through the room. I glanced over my shoulder to give Kim the finger, but it wasn’t Kim. Ben leaned against the wall, looking delicious in a pair of low-hanging jeans and a loose hoodie advertising California, his partially tamed curls dripping water onto the thick material.

“Wow, I think you literally scared the piss out of a couple of kids.”

His admonishment held no real heat, and I shrugged, motioning to the backstage area superfluously. “In here, I am theking and this place, my kingdom, and I rule with an iron fist. So best be careful how you speak to me, peasant.”

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