Chapter 19 - Cold Shoulder

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It was this… it was this crazy feeling. I didn’t sleep at all that night; Harry Styles came so close to kissing me. I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. I felt what his lips were like for such a brief moment, it didn’t feel like enough. I had this awful fluttery feeling, and my cheeks were in a perpetual state of flush.

The following morning, I was excited for school. I think something was happening with Harry and I, I mean, it seemed that way. I wasn’t one for dating, at all, I didn’t know the first thing about boys and kissing and dating. I knew that when you kissed someone, you kind of had to like them, or find them attractive, right? So I drew the conclusion that he liked me. He liked me.

I was sitting on my counter, getting ready to leave for school. I had gotten a new car, since the old one basically blew up at the mechanics shop.

“Mom, what did it feel like when you started having a crush on dad?”

She smiled warmly. “Like little butterflies were jumping inside of me and my heart would race, and feel heavy like my head whenever he looked at me. Why?”

“Curious, I have no frame of reference on crushes.”

“Ah, everyone is different. You better hurry, I don’t want you late.”

“See you later,”

I bit into an apple and started to school. I was still eating as I approached my locker, kind of shocked there wasn’t a note inside. He stopped digging through my things some time ago, but we still did the note thing. It was just fun, and kind of cute. I shrugged it off, and headed to chemistry. I took a great deal of notes, but Harry never came to class.

“You blew us all off to try to get Harry Styles?” Rachel said as I stared at his empty seat toward the end of the hour.

“No, not at all.”

“Well, it looks like it.’ The bell rang, she got up. “Harry is kind of a slut with girls from other schools. Other schools so he won’t have to see their face every single day. You will be nothing but a notch.” She spun and left. I felt bad, but shook it off. I knew Rachel had called him a freak, and she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. She was wrong about this.

I walked down the hall, and even at lunch he wasn’t there. I was in art now, working on some figures when I heard the familiar sound of the heavy door slamming shut. I saw him, looking unfairly beautiful. He had on his black jeans that I was pretty sure were his favorite. He had a white undershirt beneath a blue and gray button up. He didn’t look at me, not once. I frowned, a bit confused. He was just about to kiss me last night, on a date. I asked to use the bathroom and went to my locker.

Why won’t you talk to me?

I left the note up a bit higher, so it was sticking out in the slots of the door, so he’d see it. I went back to class, hoping he’d check it by the end of the day. Sure enough, at three when I opened my locker, a new piece of paper was in its place.

I don’t think we should anymore. I won’t come around you.

I frowned, and ripped up the note. I didn’t get it. I knew we weren’t anything to the other, but we could have at least been friends. Would it have been so bad to keep talking? He was the only guy I felt comfortable around, hell, the only person.

I looked around for him after school; his truck was still in the lot. I didn’t see him. I went into the art room, Mrs. Hollas was distracted like always. I found myself in front of his creative space. I opened the door, assuming he’d be in there. Inside were all kinds of different sized canvases, all painted in black, white, gray, some were dark navy blues and dark reds. They were all so confusing, but incredibly beautiful, but so painful looking. I picked up the one he had been working on for a very long time.


It was me and him, underneath the tree in the court yard.

It was so beautiful, vibrant colors. It stood apart from the rest of them; it was polar opposites of them actually. I was shocked. I picked up the sketch pad, the one he had forgotten at home, flipping through it. I saw me, a very close, detailed drawing, down to the tiny birth mark I had on my temple. He had different colors beside it, like he was searching for the right fit to match my skin tone. It was… it was a beautiful picture. It was the first time I felt like that about myself.

My heart was racing a mile a minute as I held it to my chest, looking all around.

“What the hell,” I heard the door slam, “do you think you’re doing?”

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