Him & I

37

His honey brown eyes rest on me, lips pressed in a thin line before he breathes out a long exhale. "Martinez, the thing is, you're not needed anymore."

His lips keep moving. Later he'll stop talking. Then he'll start talking again.

But I'm confused.

"Are you listening?"

"I'm not needed anymore."

"Yes, Melissa, you aren't. It's been a pleasure working with you, however."

"Why aren't I needed anymore?"

He sighs like I'm making this harder than it needs to be. "Hey. It's been a—"

"Why am I not needed anymore, did I do something wrong?"

"No! No. I've explained to you—"

"That you're revamping the club, what does that have to do with kicking me out?"

"We have new members."

"We have new members every other day. Did I do something wrong?"

"Stop asking that." He orders, any trace of emotion now gone. "The newer members need space to shine."

"Are there any other former members leaving besides me?" I wait, but when he doesn't respond, I get my answer. "Who sent you?"

He just stares at me, shaking his head again like I'm doing too much. I hate him.

"Who sent you?"

"Melissa, every report you've written will remain in your name. Let's leave it there. Okay?"

He goes off to the office on the right that's exclusively for executives. My eyes follow him till he gets in and shuts the door. Then I'm left with memories. Memories of me working on reports every day, every night. What it looks like when I'm done with it, the inner conviction that I could've done better but immense joy and mild pride when I get compliments on it from Derek who types. You're really good at this shit, Melly. Give me a blank page, all the inspiration in the world and I still won't write a word.

Thanks.

The last memory is of me running off to Pamela to tell her to guess who just asked me to join the MJR club. I later found out it was her who got it all planned out, had nothing to do with my luck or talent, but after a few uplifting words from her, I appreciated the act. It felt good to be a part of a group. 

Sigh. I palm my eyes when I get to my locker, then drag both hands up into my thick hair. A bad urge to pull at the strands. All the strands. But that'll be unhelpful, what's helpful is talking to Pamela. Because of course I know who sent George.

The sun shines brightly over the green field and I'm sure the grass must love it. Can't say the same for the cheerleaders who keep wiping their foreheads of sweat whilst trying to keep up with Pamela's instructions.

"5, 6, 7, 8... are we playing here? What's wrong with your limbs? All your body parts?"

I stay in the shaded area, watching her in her natural habitat. I hardly ever come to her practice, she never visited me in the MJR room either but it was more of a healthy space thing. We didn't need to be in each other's faces 24/7. And as she's the leader, there wouldn't have been any time for us anyway because when she's not dealing with the cheer girls, she's still busy.

Though Pamela loves it. I remember the night she actually changed our topic of Tyler Jones, which used to be a very hot topic for her— for us, just to inform me in a high pitched voice, how no seniors had signed up for cheerleading this year. In her eyes, it was a straight gateway to being appointed leader of the cheer team. I told her to not be so confident in order to avoid disappointment. But I should have known better. Pamela always gets what she wants.

On the extreme right of the field, is the football team. It's not a real practice, so they're in regular jerseys. Some have proceeded to take their shirts off since Coach T and his 'no shirtless' rule aren't around.

The girls, besides groaning at strict orders, begin murmuring amongst themselves. Amy rolls her eyes, T sends a timid smile my way, Margo and Steph watch me like I'm out to snatch their boyfriends too. I get this fleeting wicked thought of how I shouldn't be the one Steph is wary of.

That's when Pamela notices me.

I'm first graced with surprise. Then annoyance. Despite the hostility, I manage a wave. No smiles. She also manages to leave the team and meet me up using a light jog.

"What do you want?"

I mimic her and get to the point immediately as well. "Why did you do it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I just got kicked out of the MJR club."

I wait for a response. But what stands before me isn't Pamela anymore, it's Amy. I never saw how similar they looked till this year. Blonde hair, tan skin, same height, facial structure. Same steel look in her eyes now when she stares at me. I hate times like these when I notice their resemblance.

Realizing she's not going to do anything besides cross her arms and look down at me, I clear my throat. "Why did you get me kicked out?"

"Shit, okay. That's what this is about."

"I know it was you."

She scoffs, casting her gaze to the side. "You're so full of yourself now, aren't you. Is hanging out with Tyler the cause?"

"Pamela. This has nothing to do with him."

"Sure."

"It's true."

"Mhm."

"Are you so mad about it?"

Her eyes immediately narrow. The most reaction I've gotten so far. "Mad about what?"

"First of all, I did nothing wrong, let's make it clear. The only thing I didn't do was tell you. I didn't stab you in the back or anything, he wasn't dating you. Stop making reality.... twist in my head."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Melissa?" She asks, her lips parting in anger and arms slowly untangling from the tight akimbo.

"Listen,"

"No you listen, Melissa Martinez. You're so sure I got you out 'cause of how things are between us. But has it once crossed your mind, from when you marched all the way out here ready for a fight, that you might just not be good enough?"

Something pauses. I'm not sure if it's me or time. But of course it's me, time doesn't stop for anyone or thing, not even when your best friend of eight years hit on your weakest spot.

I'd have loved to hide the fact that her statement had an effect, yet it's no use. A look I know well enough crossed her eye, making it clear she knows she went too far. The only thing not clear is if she cares or not.

"You might not be good enough." She repeats, her voice breaking half way and it doesn't make sense. Is she being paid to say what she doesn't mean? "I'm sorry, Melissa, but your time could be up there. And there's nothing more to it. Don't ever come to me for such a thing— or anything, at all."

I watch her strut back to the group, yelling instructions to the rest of the group, seeming only a tiny bit disturbed by our conversation. While I'm head to toe disturbed by it, because everyday it gets clearer. Everyday it gets clearer and clearer that we'll never be friends again. I wish it didn't hurt.

I hate how lonely I feel now that she's walked away, leaving me to stand on my own on this part of the field. I hate everything.

At the far left where the guys are, there's Tyler ignoring the ball kicked to him to keep an eye on me instead. His eyebrows go high up as if to ask if everything's alright. It's not.
Someone else bypasses Tyler to get the ball.