Neighbors with the Bad Boy (In Editing And Reconstruction)

Memories

He glanced over his shoulder and scowled. “What do you want?” he roughly asked as he turned a corner.

I followed. “Well… I wanted to know if you wanted to come to a party with me on Saturday. It’s going to be fun,” I said with a smile.

“Why would I want to go to a party with a bunch of idiots,” he barked.

“Well, like I said, it’ll be fun.”

His fists were now clenched. “No,” he said through gritted teeth before entering a nearby classroom.

I stopped walking and sighed.

How was I going to do this?

I entered my third period and took the seat beside Brandon; a childhood friend. It had been a while since I last saw him, which was just a year ago. We had grown apart in that long period of time. I didn’t know why, though. He got into more “nerdy” and “science-y” things, while I just stayed in the boring normal crowd.

As I let my eyes study Brandon’s new developed face, I smiled. He looked older than what he had a year ago. He no longer was the boy with geeky glasses and braces—not to mention that horrifying hairdo that he believed was “cool”. His face looked much more mature—his cheek bones became sharper and a bit of stubble covered his narrowed chin. His golden hair was spiky and longer than the last time I had seen him. He looked good—more than good: Great.

“Hi, Brandon,” I said quietly.

Slowly, Brandon stopped talking to his friend and turned to me—and once his eyes met mine, shock and excitement covered his face. “Hey, Elyse. How’ve you been?” he said with a grin.

“I’m good,” I replied honestly. “How about you? How’s Mr. Smart-Guy?”

“Smart-Guy?” he repeated with a chuckle.

I nodded.

“Good, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

“You guess?” I laughed.

“Yeah, my Stanford plans aren’t very high at this moment. My grades are low and stuff.”

“How’s chess?”

“Good. So, how is your I’ll-get-Mike-by-2013 plan so far?”

Brandon was the only one who knew about my secret crush on Mike—besides Alex who only knew because he was abnormally smart and had no life. Brandon knew because when we were friends I had a diary, which I kept all of my secrets in. Every single one. And because Brandon was so nosey and a snooper, he found my secret journal in my pillow case—where I lazily put because I was too tired to put it inside of my bed-side table drawer and then lock it. So after reading the first couple of pages, which held my love and affection for Mike Jones, he confronted me about it and I sadly had to confess.

“Horrible.” I let out a frustrated sigh and leant back in my chair, as if I were exhausted.

“So does that mean I finally get my chance?” Brandon grinned cheekily at me.

I glanced over at Brandon.

Brandon had liked me ever since Freshman Year, but he didn’t tell me until a few days after he found out my crush on Mike. I was surprised. Very surprised. I didn’t know what to say. He knew I liked Mike. He knew how much I liked Mike. Brandon was a great guy, but I couldn’t date him and lead him on like that; it would only result in heartbreak for him. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever knew I hurt him—physically or mentally.

Which I guess was another reason why we parted in our friendship.

But as stared into Mike’s eyes, wondering and trying to figure if the question he asked me was filled with sincerity or playfulness, a little part of me wanted to give him a chance, to let go of ever going out with Mike, and to move on. To move on from the pain and suffering that Mike had put me through all these years, because I knew I couldn’t hold on to that very small chance of ever going out with Mike for much longer; it was time to move on.