Chapter 1
My best friend is a firm believer that tea resolves all the world’s problems. So when I show up at his front door bawling my eyes out like a loser, by the time I reach his couch, the tea pot is already hissing in the kitchen. But my brain fails to wrap around the concept that Chamomile tea is going to amend the obliterated pieces of my heart, or my dignity.
Jeremy and I had been together for two years. He was considerate and approachable, not to mention a really amazing kisser. Above all, he fit the image of ‘the perfect boyfriend’ perfectly. However, him pressed against Wendy Seville in the Girl’s Locker Room seems to rip that image into little shreds.
Sitting here strewn across Tristan’s leather couch like I’ve been doing since I was in kindergarten, I feel like an idiot. Was I the only one that didn’t notice? Could everyone else see that Jeremy wasn’t happy in our relationship and obviously needed to receive fulfillment from somebody else? If so, then I really am a complete and utter imbecile, G.P.A of a 5.0 or not.
Tristan strides in with a steaming tea cup in hand, a determined look set on his face. Maybe even an angry look. He hands me the cup.
“What did he do and where can I find him so I can beat the crap out of him?”
And that’s what I love about Tristan. Without me even needing to say anything, he already knows whose fault it is, and is prepared to perform bodily harm on them. For Tristan, that wouldn’t be to hard considering him being six foot two and quarterback on our football team. The thought of Tristan pummeling Jeremy in front of the whole high school almost made me laugh, feel better even.
Almost.
I finish off my completely pointless cup of tea and throw my wet face down into one of the white pillows sitting on the couch, not caring in the least the effect my running mascara will have on them. I hear movement and feel my feet lifted of the cushion and then placed down again but onto Tristan’s lap instead. He asks what happened and I divulge to him every graphic detail that I had to endure.
Softball practice had ended early, coach telling us we needed our rest for tomorrow’s game. So I’d gathered up my water bottle and glove and sprinted towards the locker room ahead of everybody else. Jeremy was supposed to be waiting for my there, we had plans for dinner.
But when I had gotten to my locker and started to spin my combination, I heard noises coming from the bathroom portion of the room. Curious, I’d stuck my head around the blue tiled corner and peeked in.
I don’t really know Wendy, but I definitely know of her. Not many people don’t. Being the daughter of a Hollywood singer/ song writer Christian Seville will give you that kind of fame. But when I had come across her sucking my boyfriend’s face shamelessly in a bathroom stall, I wasn’t concentrating on who it was exactly, just the fact that it wasn’t me.
“You could have at least broken up with me first, Jeremy,” I had told him, gathering the strength not to cry form, well, I have no idea.
His head had jerked back in shock, his hands flying off Wendy’s waist like she was on fire. His brown eyes shined with shame and guilt, and he just stood there, frozen. The locker-room door opened then, and the rest of my team had come filing in, chatting and joking with each other. But when they had seen me standing there unmoving, my arms limply hanging by my sides, they came over to me, my friend Grace slinging her arm around my neck, and looked to where my stupid boyfriend still stood without even smoothing down his wayward brown hair or wiping the hot-pink lipstick off his lips, and they were dead silent. They stood there, in a line, glaring at him with their arms crossed over their chests and hands on their hips. Jeremy swallows.
“Look, Lux, I can-“
“You can what? Explain?” I shook my head, the first of many hot tears escaping, “Just get out. Both of you. Now.”
And they had, Wendy adjusting her bright red halter top and lifting her pierced nose in the air, and Jeremy moping out after her like a sad, kicked puppy with his face directed towards the ground. And right when the door had swung closed, I dropped to my knees and broke in half. My faithful team rushed around me, planning revenge and saying how much better I was without him. But it didn’t help, and after having Grace peek out the door and make sure they were gone, I jumped in my car and drove here, to Tristan’s. Of course, I always run here.
And so here I am, ruining his mother’s nice white pillows and feeling sorry for myself.
“I’m going to kill him,” Tristan states simply.
I sigh and removing my feet fromt his lap and placing my head there instead, finding his ever-present smell of oranges pleasant and calming.
“You may want to wait until after the game tonight, he is one of our star players.”
That’s how we had met, too. Tristan and he were friends and he had introduced me, or set me up with him really, and I had definitely fallen hard. I thought he had too; he had never complained after all. The thing about me and Jeremy was that I had never let myself have strong feelings for anyone, I had very high expectaions. But it was differnet with him, he was different. Or at least I thought he was. But now the only person I have to blame is myself, for letting Jeremy be an exception to my standards.
“Fine. But right when the game ends, Jeremy’s face is going to become very familiar with my fist. And I have a feeling the rest of the team will not be happy either.”
I smile. Leave it to Tristan. I glance at my cell phone, and groan loudly.
"I really need shopping therapy, ya know?"
Tristan chuckles and stands up, grasping my hand as he does. He pulls me into a hug.
“I love you Luck, and I’m sorry I set you up with a jerk-face.”
“It’s all right Trist, not your fault.”
I pick up my bag and throw it over my shoulder. With a fleeting kiss on Tristen's cheek, I leave the only place in the world I feel at home.
