Try and Guess

Mr. Vela

"You know what I'm talking about!  Your story that you entered in the competition is brilliant!"  He clapped his hands once for emphasis.

I almost didn't hear a word he said because the blood drained from my face and the sound was faded to a dull throb in the background compared to my repeating thought, 'This can't be happening . . . This can't be happening . . .'  You know the feeling; when your heart is pounding forcefully, not fast, and nothing else mattered but that one thought in your mind.

"Kaitlyn?  Why aren't you speaking?" he asked.  I ignored his question and buried my head into the sleeve of my jacket.

Mr. Vela, like the amazing teacher he was, patted my shoulder gently and whispered soothing things like, "It's okay . . . You're going to be fine . . . I'm here for you . . ."  Slightly puffy cheeks appeared when I lifted my head again.  I wasn't usually such a sensitive person to cry like that, but that time it really was a different situation.

"I'm sorry," I apologized lamely.

"There's nothing to be sorry for."  I pursed my lips, not sure of what I should to next.  I should probably leave then.  I was about to pick up my backpack and just forget about everything, but my writing was on my teacher's laptop and he cut my off anyways.

"So now you can leave if you don't want to talk about it.  Or," he added, "you can open up to me just in case you needed to let things out."

I was slightly confused because it seemed like he wasn't really giving me a choice the way he said it.

"I'm not expecting you to do either of those options.  They're just different actions that only you can choose."  The simplicity of the words somehow calmed me down.

I smiled a half-hearted smile and rubbed my forehead.  "I won't tell you."  Mr. Vela took his seat in the stool.  "Don't say I will feel better if I do."  That's what everyone said when they wanted to know things they shouldn't have to.

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Sure you weren't."

"I put the memories I had into a story.  Even though it's loosely based, it meant something personal to me.  I wonder who even gave this to you," I muttered.

"Brayden did."

My head snapped up so fast I cracked my neck.

"What?" I choked.  "You're joking.  He wouldn't do that to me.  I told him I wasn't ready and he respected my wishes!"  My expression was one of a rock, never wavering.

"He did whether you like it or not," he said apologetically.  "I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," I quoted him in a depressed voice.  I bowed my head and turned to the door.  "I have to go."  I quietly left and walked across the frosty white grass to journalism.

Luckily I didn't see any of my friends and especially not Jake because he always knew when something was up.  I was getting more upset every step I took away from Mr. Vela's classroom.  I trusted Brayden.  I loved Brayden.  Well, I don't know about love, but I did like him very much.  Heck I still did even though I hated to admit it.

My steps on the pavement were getting louder and louder, strides stretching longer and longer.  Students rushing to class looked at me weirdly for a brief second and I was glad to find that I didn't give a damn.  Thank God this school was also an outside campus as well as an inside.  I liked going to my classes outside despite the harsh winter.  Too bad I had to walk into the main building where the elective classes were located.

I hated journalism.  It was just so uninviting, like a chore.  All of my questions I got in the Ask Ashley column were about how to get the guy you wanted, or how to deal with insecurities like being too fat and ugly.