Conceited and Cruel

T W E N T Y - N I N E

When I take my seat in seventh period, I can't help but notice Darren's black eye. It's gotten worse, however only being there two hours. Trace isn't in any of my classes -- other than Study Hall -- so I haven't seen him since lunch. I wonder if his ribs are okay. He takes Raleigh to work today.

When the Chemistry teacher walks in, I immediately grab my binder and shift in my seat to listen. Only to hear the most dreaded words fall off his tongue. "Today's a free day. I need to grade papers, and so I don't have time to mess with you kids."

Raleigh, my lab partner, turns to me with a concerned look. "He's lazy."

I laugh shortly. "Mhm. I can tell."

She smiles and nods toward a friend of hers, and I shrug, not really caring. I start to doodle on the very last page of my notebook, humming a tune in the loud classroom. I hear the chair next to me move and someone bang their stud next to me. Assuming it's Raleigh, I don't pay any mind. But then he speaks up.

"Tara," Corey whispers, nudging my shoulder. I glance over at him, a little surprised that he's not in his seat on his phone. "Look at Darren. He's got a black eye."

I bite my lower lip. "Yeah, I know. I was there when he got it . . . "

"Was it a fight?" He asks. I nod, watching as Corey raises his eyebrows. "When?"

"After lunch, before bell, after everyone left." I mutter, turning back to my doodling.

Corey frowns. "With you?" He runs a hand over his chin, and I stifle a laugh. Shaking my head after scrunching my toes to keep from smirking. "Then who? Someone all over you? He seems to you know . . . Have a thing for you." He raises a single eyebrow and smirks at me.

"Yeah, well, um, no. Not exactly. You see, Trace was by me, and Darren misunderstood and tackled him. He was pretty upset," I explain, not looking up from my paper, trying to hide the smile at my lips that formed when Corey said Darren had the hots for me.

Corey knocks my pencil to the ground. "Trace?"

I groan. "Really, Corey?" Then going on to pick up the pencil, I say, "Yes, he launched himself onto Trace. And hey, for a basketball player, he put up a good fight." Corey laughs, watching me as I come up, placing my elbows on my chair. "Now," I say, glaring at him playfully, "please don't ever pause my doodling!" I launch myself at him, gripping the mechanical pencil tightly.

     Corey laughs, pushing me into my chair. "You're a weirdo." He combs his hand through his brown hair, looking at me with narrowed green eyes.

     I cock an eyebrow. "I'm a weirdo?" I shove his chest, laughing as he rolls his eyes into the back of his head and creates the most appalled look. "You're the weirdo." I shake my head at him. Then, when he flattens his lips into a line, his gaze elsewhere now, I follow it.

      To where Darren sits, head in his hands. I frown, not liking seeing him upset. I wonder what's wrong? I purse my lips, and Corey hangs his head.

     "Dang," he mutters. "Now I feel bad."

     I shoot him a questioning look. "Why?"

     Corey looks up at me, eyes sad. "Because I hate him." A weird fury burns in my chest, and I swallow hard. "He has everything! Good looks, charming charisma, doggone-it, Tara, he's even got an accent. Stacy obviously is falling for him. And that sucks." He kicks the leg of the table, and I give him a sympathetic frown, understanding after all.

     "I knew it," comes a whisper. "I knew you and her had a thing for each other! I will make it my duty to unite you in holy matrimony!"

      The two of us turn to see Raleigh leaning expectantly against the lab table. "Oh, hi. Hope you don't mind my eavesdropping." We just laugh at her as she waves and winks.

      Corey sighs. "I feel like we need to go talk to him; it'll probably--"

     I cut him off, shaking my head at his offer. "I'll go." Watching in content as they both shrug in their agreement before turning to talk to each other. I turn to look at Darren, unwillingly drinking in his golden curls and taut muscles.

      Then I stride towards him, taking the seat by him and leaning real close. "Hey, Sperry's."

      He doesn't move, just mumbles something incoherent. I poke his shoulder, prompting him to look up. But he doesn't budge. Just mumbles that same jumbled up mess again. I sigh exasperatedly and shake my head. Then, caught by surprise when he jerks his head up and looks to the door as it creaks open.

      I gasp, fighting to grab ahold f the chair as I fall backwards onto the tiled floor. "Oh my gosh!" I yelp, moving on to cover my mouth with my palm.

     His lip is cut wide open, dried blood caked on it. The sight o it disgusts me. Blood. I hate blood. On top of that, I notice what I failed to notice before: his bruised jaw. It's discoloration providing clear evidence to what I know to be true.

      Trace did more damage than Darren originally let on.

     Even when I cause the loud and distracting commotion, Darren doesn't look at me, only watching the door as Marilyn Roth steps in. He looks angry and defeated. Upset and distraught. It hurts me. Bad.

      "If she sees me like this .    .    . " he shakes his head. "It's over. Oh, gosh, I've failed. I'm a failure. I'm so stupid. Blinded. You are the problem. If only I could get away from you." He finally turns to look at me, catching my wide-eyed hurt and surprise. "You've ruined everything. You little--" he stops, closing his eyes to turn around. "What is wrong with me?" It's a mumbled sentence, his own interrogation.

      And though I'm so angry and hurt with him for saying that, I still launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer. I want to comfort him. To tell him it'll be alright. He's fine. But there's no denying that I've broke him.

      He wrenches out of my grasp, pushes me away. I teeter on the edge of my seat. "No," he says, and the sound of it drowns me in defeat.

      Rejection -- my biggest weakness.

      "Don't come near me until I rip her of her title as Queen."

      I whimper, no matter how hard I try to force it down. But soon the grief is overruled by anger, and I stomp my way over to my table again, making sure to toss the chair I was sitting in at Darren. Silently screaming a line of horrible, evil things at him.

     He's not going to take Marilyn down. There's no way. He's broken. Can't rebuild himself. And although I've enervated him enough already, he needs me, no matter what he thinks. And that's not just my conceit boiling up. It's the truth.

      I'll take Marilyn down. Show her who not to mess with.

      Me and my kingdom.

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