Page 110 of Collision
Twenty-Seven
After two hours of sociology, my skull feels ready to explode, but at least being forced to focus on immigration trends and human rights means I don’t have time to be distracted.
“I’ve been trying to figure it out since this morning…” Tiffany whispers beside me, tapping her chin with her index finger. I detach my pen from my notebook and turn my attention to her.
“What are you trying to figure out?”
“What’s different about you today. I think I just got it, though.”
Instinctively I lower my head and look at myself. “I’m the same as always, Tiff.”
“Never, never, in the four years that I’ve known you, have I seen you wear a skirt that goes above your knees. And this shirt? I’ve never seen you wearing anything remotely low-cut. Your hair looks particularly gross today, but your clothes, darling, look like you want to impress someone. Now, the question arises: Who?” She tilts her face to the side thoughtfully. “Certainly not my asshole brother. For a moment, I thought it might be Logan, but you’re the one who told me that you don’t need to twist yourself to get his attention. So at this point, I’m wondering: it can’t be for a particular bad boy with green eyes and bulging muscles, can it? No, of course not, my best friend would never, ever dress up to attract the attention of that arrogant prick.” She blinks in a faux-innocent manner. “Am I right?”
I look at her in amazement. I don’t know how to respond to this insinuation, but she knows she’s hit the mark. I know too, and it plunges me into a pit of shame. Since when do I wear tight clothes just to impress a guy? A guy who, need I remind myself, treats me like crap on any given day.
“What were you smoking before school today?” I pretend indifference, nibbling on the cap of my pen.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she responds with a question in her eyes.
I shrug. “You know everything there is to know.” I barely manage a smile, but I can tell from the way she looks at me that I am a terrible liar.
“You sure? The wrinkles on your face say otherwise.”
“What? What wrinkles? I don’t have wrinkles!”
“You do have them. This one here, for example.” She points to a spot above my eyebrows. “It gets more pronounced when you’re surprised. And this one shows up when you are worried,” she continues, touching my forehead. “And this,” she points to the corner of my mouth, “wrinkles when you’re nervous. And right now, my dear, you are really nervous.”
I give up. Exasperated, I drop my head into my open notebook.
At the end of class, as the other students file out, I sigh and spill everything. “Yesterday I spent the whole afternoon with Thomas in a forest. We had a good time, talked about lots of things, until that evening when he showed up at the bar and saw me kissing Logan. He flew into a rage and got super drunk. Actually, he was already drunk when he arrived at the bar. Apparently he’s having a hard time, so he’s back to being his usual insufferable arrogant self.”
Tiffany stares at me for a few seconds with an incredulous look on her face. “Sorry, since when are you two talking again?”
“Since yesterday morning. He proposed a truce and apologized, in his own way. We decided to be friends.” She bugs out her eyes and bursts into thunderous laughter. I give her a blank look.
“What are you laughing about?”
“S-sorry, but”—she sheds a tear—“do you realize”—anothertear—”what you just said to me? You and Collins are friends?” She bursts out laughing again. “Okay, let’s hear it, what kind of friends are you? The kind who have sex with each other or the kind who paint each other’s nails?”
How about the kind who insult each other every other day?
“Neither of those. And, believe it or not, friendships between men and women do exist. Look at me and Alex, we have been friends for more than ten years and we don’t have sex or do manicures.”
“You two spend your time reading novels and watching TV shows. And that’s totally different; you guys are like siblings.” She stows her laptop, a couple of books, and a small bottle of water in her bag. “But never mind that. We’ll come back to this topic another time. Right now, I want to focus on the part where Thomas caught you making out with Mr. Boring. What happened?” she asks, vibrating with curiosity.
“In my opinion?” I say flatly. “They challenged each other to a pissing contest, and Thomas punched him in the face.” Tiff’s mouth drops open in surprise. “And there’s more. Logan told me that, when he gets back, he wants an official answer about the two of us, and then a few hours later, I found myself sitting on Thomas’s lap and letting him squeeze my butt.” I put my hands over my eyes, ashamed. Ever since Thomas came into my life, I have been doing things I am not proud of. I don’t recognize myself anymore.
“Oh. My. God.” She stares at me in shock. “Did you get the name of the spell that boy has clearly cast on you?”
“I don’t know, Tiff. I was very tired and he was very drunk and, I don’t know… It just happened.”
“Did it just happen?” she asks, quirking one eyebrow. “Honey, continuing to deny how you feel about him won’t make your feelings any less real.”
Another direct hit. I could try to deny it but what good would that do? She’s right, as always.
“I know.” I pause to collect myself before continuing. “I know I feel something for him, I just really wish I didn’t. Whenever I’m with him, I feel I’m riding this pendulum. One minute, I’m in heaven, thenext, it’s hell. And he is always the one who decides which way it swings. I don’t like it. I don’t want to feel so enthralled by someone who uses other people’s weaknesses as a weapon when he’s feeling defensive.”
“I know, honey.” Tiff hugs me and lovingly strokes my hair. “But you know what he’s like. You’ve always known. You want hearts and roses, but he’s only got darkness and thorns. No one can change that reality.” It might have hurt less if she had just stabbed me.
