Stories Based On Taylor Swift Songs

REPUTATION: 88. Don't Blame Me

88. Don't Blame Me (2/9/21)

My name and crime weren't even in the paper, and yet it seemed like everyone thought they knew what I had done.

Bebe and Chelsea, two sisters who shared an apartment in town, strutted across the tennis court, swinging their rackets back and forth. I watched them go, playing with the strands of hair that had come loose from my ponytail. A part of me thought to wave, but when Bebe saw me, her eyes aglow, I knew it wasn't the right time.

"Did you hear?" She whispered to Chelsea, who wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack of bulbs. How ironic, because my actions affected Chelsea directly; everyone else merely watched and snickered.

"She's seeing Andre," Bebe explained to her sister before grabbing a tennis ball off the rack and serving it over the net. The conversation ended with a mere mention of my boyfriend's name, the boyfriend who happened to be Chelsea's ex. Instead, they chucked the ball back and forth, throwing their pent-up anger all over the tennis court.

I crouched to retie my shoe, rolling my eyes in the process. The sisters had tormented me during our high school years, but after college, I thought they would grow out of it. Of course, I was wrong, and they were back to their old antics of spreading untrue rumors around the country club until every billionaire and socialite knew about it.

When I stood to my full height, I saw that Bebe was running after the ball, and Chelsea was looking right at me. It was at that moment that I waved to her with a smile on my face. She and Andre had broken up almost a year ago. I wasn't doing anything wrong.

The blonde sent a plastic grin my way, and I knew it was time to go. When I was back in the locker room, I threw my tennis racket and shoes inside before reaching for a robe. Sweat dripped down my back, and I needed to look my best for tonight.

In the shower, I took a few moments to recollect my run-in with the sisters and my new relationship with Andre. A part of me liked to believe that my reputation was so horrible that the sisters couldn't imagine Andre loving someone like me. There had been a few times where I flirted with the older men at the country club. It was the summer right after graduation, and I needed to pick up a few extra hours (and a few extra dollars) at the country club's restaurant. This wasn't a Hooters, mind you, and yet the male customers expected the waitresses to take any dirty jokes and jabs and reply with a chuckle. I played along, knowing if I did that the men would tip more.

There was one customer, who asked me to call him Mr. Dunbar. He was handsome, rich, and his father owned half the retirement homes in Florida. He came from money, but was barely thirty. Whenever he came to the restaurant, he asked to be seated in my area so I could spend the afternoon or evening waiting on him. I never kissed or engaged in sexual activities with any of the men; just toyed with them enough to make a few extra bucks. College was far too expensive these days.

My escapades continued the next summer, after my freshman year of college. But this time around, people started to catch on. Some of the men would complain when I told them I didn't want to visit their rooms after hours. This gave some girls who played tennis at the country club the impression that I was messing around with these men for money. None of it was true, but rumors run like wildfire at the country club. And Bebe and Chelsea were the arsonists.

I decided to cut my games short then; everything was getting too dangerous, and I didn't want to lose my job. Mr. Dunbar stopped coming to dinner. I stopped receiving high tips. Everything was normal.

Then I met Andre. We had gone to high school together, but hadn't run in the same social circles. He worked as a lifeguard at the country club, so we saw each other every summer during college. Now following graduation, I was back in town, and so was he. He didn't let me know he had dated Chelsea until after our first date.

I didn't care one way or the other. What I did care about was that Andre liked me, even with the nasty rumors flowing from one person's mouth to the next.

I hopped out of the shower and redressed, hoping to find Andre down near the pool. It was almost his lunch break, meaning we would have a half hour before both of us had to return to work. The restaurant was waiting for me, but as much as the rich older men wanted, I would not be serving them today.

I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top before leaving the locker room and making my way to the pool. From where I was standing, I could see Andre climbing out of the pool, his chiseled body drenched in small water droplets. I nearly froze to the ground, trying not to stare. He snatched a towel from his post and dried his hair and chest. The pampered kids he had been teaching how to dive a few minutes ago were running back to their parents, meaning the area was abandoned.

I met Andre by the pool, and when I knew Chelsea was looking, stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted like chlorine, but I didn't mind.

When he pulled away, he was wearing a wide smile on his face. "How was your morning?"

"Had to clean the tennis balls before lessons." I rolled my eyes. My main job was at the restaurant, but every now and then, they asked me to pick up a few chores around the country club.

Over at the tennis courts, Bebe and Chelsea were teaching the young kids who had just left the pool how to serve. Andre scoffed when his eyes landed on his ex-girlfriend.

"Is she still mad at you?" He asked me, noticing that I was staring at her too.

"Bebe is," I replied, rolling my eyes again. "I don't think Chelsea gets it."

"I think she does," Andre whispered, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw Chelsea walking towards me, leaving her sister to manage the kids.

The blonde stood a few inches from my face, her hands planted on her hips. Her eyes were thin as slits, but the façade dissipated when she noticed Andre out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey, Andre," she said, batting her eyelashes like a hummingbird beats its wings. "I didn't know you were working today."

"Sure am," he said in that aloof tone of his. He turned back to me, clearly losing interest in the conversation. "Wanna get lunch?"

I accepted the offer, watching Chelsea wilt like a flower as we walked away.