Love to Hate You

Chapter Nine

After coming home from Justin’s I creep upstairs on flop down onto my bed pathetically. I can’t believe myself. Did I actually let him hold me? I actually allowed that? I must have been on a happy high, right? That stuff happens sometimes. I admit, sometimes it’s hard to completely hate Justin. I mean, he’s good looking and I’m a teenage girl with raging hormones! The only reason I hate him anyways is because he’s cocky and arrogant and a complete flirt. He’s not even sincere, and it’s sickening. I cover my face in my hands and roll over onto my front. My breath warms my face and I crinkle my eyebrows together.

Am I any better? Sure, I’m not a player and I’m not full of myself. In fact, I am constantly pointing out my own flaws! But, I hate to admit, I flirt with him. Wait. What? I don’t flirt! I tease! That’s different, right? I tease and I taunt and I make sure he knows I’m not interested. That’s not flirting right? I hope not. It’s all just a joke anyway. We both know that. It’s too much fun to hate him. I love it. I love being sassy and loud and difficult around him. I’m way too friendly for my own good sometimes and truth is, I just love to hate someone. I love hating him. It’s almost a natural response.

I push myself up and pull my knees underneath me. I look out my window at the fading daylight. My eyes glaze over as I begin to think again. I do that too much. My own thoughts will be the end of me one day. I’m always afraid someone can read my mind. Maybe it’s because I’m sour and reluctant to admit stuff to myself and I don’t want other people to know things I haven’t figured out yet. What haven’t I figured out yet? I haven’t figured out how to please the art teachers or how I feel about being in the band.

How do I feel about being in the band? Truth is, I love it. It’s fun and I can just be myself. I’m crazy and spunky and sassy around the band. It’s like I can’t hold back anything. I try to keep cool at school and I try to be helpful at home, but around the Heartbreakers? It’s like something just snaps. It’s like I’m rebelling against me. It’s like freedom from my shackled cool, calm, and collected. Am I even cool, calm, and collected? More unanswered questions. Do I even know myself anymore?

~*~

I sit in the art room during my lunch with a pencil in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. The door is slightly ajar and Mrs. Boots is bustling around her room, hurriedly straightening everything up. I glance up at her. Her greying hair bounces as she skips around the room in some professional looking black heels. Her art smock is still around her neck and clay plastered on her hands.

I look back down at my sketch and my lips twitch. I’m unsure of whether to smile or frown at what I’m drawing. I set the sandwich down and use my fingers to smudge the harsh lines of the skull and cross bones out, creating a soft and worn effect. I sigh and lean back in my chair, staring at it.

I’d drawn the bottom of the skateboard Justin gave me. Sometimes I like to sketch things people have given me. When I was fifteen, my mom gave me a purity ring for my birthday. I still have the sketch of the silver ring inside an old sketchbook and stuffed on my shelf. I don’t even wear the ring most days. My mom hasn’t noticed but my dad has. He questioned me about it a few weeks ago and I told him it was because I forgot to put it on, which was the honest truth. I also get sick of people asking me why I have one. I look down at my hand and realize I actually put it on this morning. Weird, I don’t remember doing so.

Mrs. Boots knocks into a table and it scratches against the floor like fingernails on a chalkboard. My skin crawls at the sound.

“Sorry.” She mutters and hurries back to the back counter.

I nod an ‘okay’ and glance out the door since I hear the high-pitched giggling of a giddy school girl. Moments later a bleach blonde girl dances around the outside of the room with a huge grin on her face. A tall tan boy with spikey dark hair follows her. His hand holds hers as he pulls her to himself and presses his lips to hers.  I gag and roll my eyes at the PDA. The boy suddenly pulls away and looks behind him into the classroom. That’s when I recognize the face.