Page 11 of XO

Kevin blushes a little, and I’m suddenly seeing a softer side of him. Perhaps he isn’t such a jerk after all. Guilt niggles away that perhaps while I felt these boys had been judging me the whole time for being different, I too had been judging them.

“What?” he replies defensively most likely regretting his admission.

“You know the play?” I ask to put him at ease.

“I’ve only read it fifty million times,” he says coyly.

“I gotta say, bro…” Jacob begins. “I didn’t quite peg you for a Shakespeare genius.”

“That’s because I’m not. My sister is a Juilliard student and that was her piece last year. I’d stay up at night running through lines with her on Skype.” He says it like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t understand it could be just he and I, out of the whole school, who knows anything about it. “So…” he continues, wiggling his brows, “… how about it? Do you have a date?”

“Oh, um…” I hesitate, not because I see Jacob clench his teeth and wonder why, but because I wasn’t even planning on going. “Prom, it’s… it’s not really my thing.”

“But you’re helping to plan it,” he states, confused.

“That’s where my commitment stops. I’m sorry.”

“Well, Jacob’s already committed to me,” Chelsea states it as if I had to be told. She slides her arm over his shoulders possessively, a move to prove an unnecessary point. Jacob doesn’t bristle at her touch, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy it. “We’ve been prom dates since freshman year, hey babe?”

I give a small smile because while they’ve sweetly promised themselves to each other since freshman year, Jacob had painted a big red target on my back, taunting and pranking me for exactly that long. I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the group gathered around me because while they’re all close friends, each one of them has demonstrated on more than one occasion that I’m an outsider, so their sudden attention has me all kinds of suspicious.

Checking my non-existent watch, I make out it’s time go. Pushing back, I grab my bag from the floor and make to stand, Chelsea closely watching with unveiled spite as I pull my long, dark hair over one shoulder.Like she has anything to worry about.There isn’t a single guy in the school who hasn’t had a boner for her at one stage or another. With her lengthy, platinum hair she wears loosely curled every day, to her stunningly long, toned legs perfect for high kicks and landing jumps, she has most girls either wanting to be her or idolizing her.

And worse?She knows it.

“I’ll come with you,” Kevin offers, and I try not to be visibly weirded out by his random offer.

“No. I’ll take her,” Jacob counters.

I stare wide-eyed at them both wondering what the hell is going on.

“I’m fine. I—”

“Jacob, you can’t go,” Chelsea whines. “Now we have our…theme…” she says the word with a roll of her pretty eyes, “… which is shit, I might add…” she looks pointedly at me as if it’s all my fault, “… we need to discuss what we’re wearing.”

I bite my tongue because after all the shit Jacob has given me over the years, I’m purposefully missing an opportune moment to take a stab at him being bossed around.

“You guys stay here,” Kevin asserts, hooking his bag over a shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Before the others can respond, he gestures for me to head out first. As I do, I glance back at Jacob who appears out of sorts, his concerned eyes locked onto mine.

“You don’t need to walk me out, Kevin,” I say as we enter the corridor, a little flustered by this level of attention.

He’s unfazed by my brush-off. “You never know what weirdos are out and about after school hours.”

I want to ask if he put himself in that category but decide it’s safer not to.

“So, prom,” he initiates.

Sigh.“I said no.”

Our footsteps echo through the corridor lined with student lockers and trophy cabinets until Kevin swings the front doors open hard enough for us both to walk through at the same time. “Heard it loud and clear, but a beautiful girl like yourself shouldn’t be stuck at home on prom night.”

Did he just call me beautiful?What is going on in the world for him to say such a thing to someone who, before now, he’s never even thrown ahiat.

At the top of the concrete stairs, I look up at him and squint against the afternoon sun. “I’m not stuck anywhere, Kevin, and it’s not because I don’t have a date. I’m not going as a matter of choice.”

Undeterred, he persists, “I’m going to be just as stubborn about taking you as you are about not going.”

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