How to Trust Someone

Chapter 8 - Liz

Chapter 8 - Liz

It's Friday, the last and best day of the school week.

The first week of school honestly wasn't as eventful as I'd expected or hoped. I was honestly wishing for some sort of explosive musical number from the musical students, maybe on top of a parade float built by the artistic students. But of course, no parade. We only get to have a pep rally, which just so happens to be today.

And I have to make a speech.

On the outside, I make it look like I'm absolutely ecstatic about making this speech, telling everyone that I'm "so, so excited" about it. But really, on the inside, my stomach keeps tying itself into knots. In other words, I'm extremely nervous about making a speech, especially since I don't have a word of it written yet.

I look up from my blank index cards and glance at the clock. I have exactly twenty minutes.

Hunching over my desk, I start scribbling down the first words that came to my mind. When I finish, I bite my lip and sit back, looking over what I wrote. I rack my brain to see if I can start with any of them. Nothing.

I groan internally, crumpling up the index card and shooting it into the nearby garbage can. It's art appreciation class, so all the good seats in the front are always taken, leaving me in the back between the garbage can and -

"You okay there, Liz?" someone asks me. I sigh.

- Garrett.

I send him a smile. It feels so unnatural on my face that I'm sure it looks ironic somehow. Garrett just quirks an eyebrow at me.

"I've never been better," I say, absentmindedly scribbling on the edge of one of the index cards. "Really, I'm perfect."

Garrett chuckles, shaking his head skeptically. "Obviously," he mutters. I grimace slightly.

I want to let it drop, so I can get back to writing my speech, but I just can't help myself. Garrett bothers me way too much for me to leave him alone, if that makes any sense at all.

"What does it matter to you, anyway?" I prod. "You hate me."

The second I say it is the second I realize how true it is, and how much it bothers me. It feels bitter on my tongue to say those three words together in one sentence.

Garrett stretches his arms over his head nonchalantly, settling his hands behind his head. He smirks at me.

"I wouldn't say hate," he says. "It's more like indifference, actually."

"Then why do you annoy me so much?" I retort. I get nastier with each word I say, more hostile.

"Because I think you're fake," he says. His hand rubs his chin, and his blue eyes flicker upwards in thought. Then he adds, "Actually, I know you're fake."

"Excuse me?"

"You pretend to be happy all the time, and you're not," Garrett tells me, his gaze catching mine. I narrow my eyes at him.

"I am happy all the time," I snap. Garrett chuckles.

"Exhibit A," he replies.

It takes me a second to process this. When I do, I contort my face to force the biggest grin I can muster. Garrett gives me a flat look.

"And you tell me I'm only pretending," I say. I wince internally when I realize how sarcastic I sound. Garrett leans towards me a bit, his eyes examining me closely. I feel uncomfortable under his gaze, like an ant under a microscope. My smile falters ever so slightly.