A Girl Named Sweetie

3. The Insult

Sweetie's POV

Humming quietly, I throw out the wet paper towel I had just used to clean off the dirty tabletop. Since I was a young girl, I had been taught to tidy up before having company, even if it's only for a school project. "It's just polite," my father had told always told me. That seemed to be the reason for everything.

I glance at the photo hung up on the otherwise empty living room wall, staring into my father's kind eyes. He had died when I was just six years old, so it's not like I had even known him for the majority of my life, but I still miss him terribly. He named me Sweetie for the purpose of encouraging me to be just that - sweet. At least, that's what my mother says.

A loud knock rings out through the room, disturbing my thoughts. I shake myself out of
my trance, whispering a quick goodbye to my father's photo, and run to get the door.

As I open it up, a rush of cool conditioned air greets me, almost as fast as a body pushes past me and into my home.

"What's up, Jake?" I grin, only to be met with the familiar scowl he always wears on his face.

Sometimes I wonder if that's his way of smiling. I'm very much aware that he isn't happy - otherwise, he wouldn't be frowning so much - but a smile isn't just a way of telling people you're just overwhelmed with joy. It's simply a way to tell the world that you're here, that you're strong. Maybe that's why he knits his eyebrows together, why he turns down the corners of his mouth and glares with those deep ocean eyes. Maybe that's his way of speaking without talking.

"I've got shit to do. The sooner we finish, the better," he states, dropping onto the beige couch that sits next to the doorway.

I nod my head in response, picking up my pen and my English notebook. Flipping open to my page of ideas for our project, I begin to speak.

"Okay, so I was thinking we could write an alternative ending for the book in which Lenny doesn't die, and he and George start a new life somewhere else. Of course, we could shorten it to one chapter rather than two and only include the idea of George not killing Lenny, but I feel like putting the extra one would add some more clarity. Does that sound alright?"

He fiddles with his phone in response, and I take that as a yes.

"Why don't we start brainstorming ideas on how to start off the chapter," I suggest, sitting on the opposite end of the couch so as to give him some space.

"Yeah," he responds, still staring at his device.

Tapping my pen against the notebook paper, I try to think of ideas. Although I'm sure Jake's trying to come up with something too, he doesn't seem to be making much progress.

"It may help to take out a notebook, it always helps me to write down my ideas," I offer.

"I don't have a notebook with me."

Of course he has a notebook, wouldn't he carry one in his - hold on, did he even bring a backpack?

I look around the room, searching for any indication that he came prepared for this. When I come up empty, I try another approach.

"Maybe you can tell me any ideas you have, and I can write them down! And don't worry, I'll come up with some too."

Still tapping my pen against the paper, I offer my own idea.

"We can start the chapter the same way the last chapter of the original book starts, only changing it when George is about to kill Lenny," I say, jotting down the main points of the pitch.

He nods his head, now tearing his eyes from the screen and watching my hand glide across the paper as I write.

"Or maybe, we start the chapter when George is just about to kill him," I add, continuing to act as the secretary.

"Let's take a break," he blurts out, going back to looking at his phone and bouncing his leg up and down.

I stare at him, confused. I had planned on finishing the first chapter today, maybe more if we got to it.

"B-but we just started," I state, tilting my head to the side as if it would help me to understand what's going on with him.

"Didn't you say that we have, like, a month to finish the project?" he retorts as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yes, but this is a hard thing to do and it might make more sense to get as much out of the way as possible. Maybe I could start writing, and you can just jump in when something comes to mind!"

"Jesus fuck, can't you just let it go? We don't even have to start thinking about it yet."

I blink once, twice, three times. Why wouldn't he want to get it out of the way? Isn't that so much easier? Besides, he hasn't even been here for five minutes - I've never seen anyone blow up this quickly.

"Maybe if we just—"

"Shut the fuck up, okay? Do you ever stop talking? I've known you for what, two days, and I haven't heard you shut your mouth since. Are you fucking stupid or something?"

I sit there, opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. A single tear falls down my cheek - I didn't even notice myself start to cry. What just happened?

He sits there, staring at me for a few seconds, then stands abruptly. Not wasting any time, he stalks towards the doorway as I stay where I am, dumbfounded by whatever just occurred.

The door hinges squeak as he throws it open, stomping into the dimly lit hallway that offers entrance to all of the apartments in the building. Just before the door slams shut, I see him make a harsh right turn into the corridor, not bothering to make his footsteps light in order to not disturb the people below us.

I hope he knows that he's going the wrong way.