Page 34 of Take Care, Taylor
“Not at all.” I picked up my laptop and notebooks, vowing to never leave them out again. “I do hope you got inspired, though. Perhaps you can finally accept that I’ve always been a better writer than you.”
“Too bad you never bragged about that to your football friends.” She hissed. “You could never let them know what you really wanted to do with your life, or else they’d call you?—”
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. The part of me that once agreed with her wanted to speak—but pride got there first.
“Shut up.” I dared her to finish, but she bit her lip. “Stay out of my shit like I stay out of yours.”
“Or else what?” She crossed her arms. “You’ll make my life a living hell again?”
I walked away from her and shut my door, my pulse still hammering.
But even as I leaned against the wood, I could still see her silhouette in my mind—her arms crossed, her jaw set, the soft rise and fall of her chest.
And for a second too long, I wanted to go back.
I can’t do this shit…
BULLY YEARS: TENTH GRADE
AUDREY
How does it feel to be the fugliest girl at school?
Is that why you keep your head buried in books and write so much—to keep us from seeing your fugly face?
Iheld back tears as I looked at the latest note that had been scrawled inside my favorite paperback with a glitter Sharpie.
I’d honestly thought that getting my braces off would change things—that I’d finally be like all the other girls.
Why am I still “fugly”?
“You’re not ugly, Audrey.” My mom’s voice filtered through my phone via voicemail. “Those girls are just jealous of you and how pretty you are, I promise. It’s just like the heroine inAshley and the Mean Girls,remember? It took a few years, but?—”
I stopped listening, upset that I’d called her in the first place. I had a mission to complete, and I was tired of her using her writing—yet again—to teach me lessons that didn’t exist.
If I could make it out of the cafeteria, through the campus garden, and past the water-sports complex without being seen by the “mean” cheerleaders, this might have been the first day of my Central High career that wasn’t a living hell.
But I needed to get by without Taylor seeing me, too.
We were the only ones left in the stands, and I refused to let him see me cry. I crossed my arms and told myself that none of these people would matter years from now. I vowed to fill out twenty more out-of-state college applications that night.
As I was envisioning myself on a leafy campus where fall actually lasted more than a few weeks, Taylor stopped in front of me and cleared his throat.
I didn’t make eye contact. I just waited for his hateful words and hoped he’d walk away right after.
“I moved your car,” he said, setting my keys on my lap. “They didn’t invite you because they were planning to paint all types of crazy shit on it and flatten your tires.”
My heart dropped to the floor; I didn’t even know how to respond.
“It’s in the teachers’ garage,” Taylor said. “Spot twelve by the window. You should head home in twenty minutes.”
When he didn’t immediately walk away, I looked up. “Let me guess—you left a bag of dog shit on the passenger seat in exchange for helping me. Or maybe you collected a month’s worth of cockroaches and placed them in my glove box so I can swerve off the road whenever it accidentally flings open?”
“No.” He had the audacity to look concerned. “Someone here did that to you before?”
“The someone is you.” I rolled my eyes. “You used lizards last time, so I’m just assuming roaches would be next.”
“I would never?—”
