Page 16 of Every Thought Taken

“A boy in my grade said some nasty things about me today.”

I start to inch back, wanting to look at her. But she fists my arm and holds me in place.

“Stay like this. Please,” she pleads, her voice soft and almost inaudible.

Maybe she feels less pressure or embarrassment to talk without my eyes on her. No matter the reason, I respect her enough to do as she asks.

I drop my head on hers and nod. “’Kay.”

“This boy, Grant… I kind of had a crush on him,” she confesses and I stop breathing.

She lays a hand on my thigh. Picks at the frayed denim near a tear in the fabric. Gives me more of her weight. And the moment I exhale, she continues.

“At this point, I don’t know why I liked him. We never talked. He never looked in my direction. We shared one class together last year.” She pauses and shakes her head. “Guess I thought he was cute.” She shrugs, her fingers still working at the frayed material of my jeans. “But I never saw therealhim. Not until today.”

Is it weird to ask why she thought he was cute? Probably. But I want to know.

Obviously, it isn’t his attitude or personality that won her over. Is it the way he styles his hair? The clothes he wears? Maybe she liked his eyes or the shape of his face. The way he smiled.

No girl wants a guy that doesn’t smile. No girl wants a boy like me.

“What’d he do?”

She sucks in a deep breath, holds it a moment, then trembles on the exhale. The small shudder says a lot. Tells me it hit her hard. Harder than maybe she wants to admit.

“We were at lunch. Everyone in our grade was in the cafeteria. Lessa, Mags, and I sat at a table in the middle, where we always eat lunch. Out of the blue, Grant sat at our table. A few spots down, on the opposite side, he and Marissa Lasko—the most popular girl in our grade—ate and smiled and talked.”

She tugs harder at the frayed denim of my jeans. I don’t interrupt or ask her to stop.

“He caught me looking at them. I wasn’t staring. Much.” She sighs. “Guess I zoned out. Lost in my thoughts. Wondering what made Marissa so popular. Asking myself what attracted a guy like Grant to a girl like Marissa.”

Involuntarily, I shrug. “Attraction is subjective.”

Helena leans away. “That’s pretty profound.”

A half smile tugs the corner of my mouth up. “Thanks, I guess.” My face relaxes. “Haven’t I told you?”

Her brows pinch in the middle. “Told me what?”

I tap my temple. “Supersmart.”

She playfully slaps my leg. “Shut up.” Tugging me toward her, she rests her head on my shoulder again. “Already knew you were smart,” she whispers.

Silence blankets us once more. I know there is more to her story, but I won’t push. I may not offer the best advice, may not be the one to smother her with uplifting words, but I am a good listener—which is what she needs.

“He called me a fugly prude,” she says, a breath above a whisper.

Every muscle in my body locks up. Fire burns my veins. Pain lances the center of my chest as my breaths come in short, quick bursts. Fingernails dig into my palms as I clench my fingers tighter and tighter.

I want him to hurt. More than he hurt her. And I want to be the one who hurts him. A fist to the face, over and over until I break his nose. A swift kick in the dick, then to the stomach while he is down, again and again, until he apologizes and takes back his nasty, untrue words.

I hate him and every guy like him.

Who the hell does he think he is? What gives him the right to say such vile things?

Does he even know her? Obviously not. If he did, he wouldn’t be such an asshole.

Her fingers spread on my thigh before she squeezes. “Whatever you’re thinking,” she whispers, dragging in a shaky breath. “Please stop.”

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